DISCLAIMER: I have no claim whatsoever to any of the brilliant POTC characters; I am grateful to be sitting at a banquet table set by truly talented storytellers.

Jack Sparrow Returns

Descending the stairs as quietly as possible, I found Highcliffe's Great Hall silent and empty. Hanibal must have ordered all his men into Pencarren's streets, for the entire house seemed quite deserted. I slid cautiously around the half-open door of the library and slipped into the room.

There were perhaps a dozen tankards scattered about, and several fresh splashes of rum on Hanibal's desk. The floor was littered with a sheaf of loose papers that looked as though it had been dropped and trodden on – all signs that my uncle and his ruffians had departed in haste. I snatched up my letter to Barbossa and threw it on the fire; at least it would now be out of Hanibal's reach. Crossing the room, I found my bag still in the corner where Hanibal had thrown it.

I searched through my belongings quickly, retrieving my scimitar and wedging the Messenger badge securely under my bodice. Then I crouched down and stealthily began to load my pistols.

As I concentrated on the guns, I heard a sudden cry of "Hold yer fire!" from the direction of the door. Gun in hand, I jumped to my feet and turned to find Jack Sparrow in the act of entering the library, his pistol aimed at me. His eyes widened as soon as he saw my face, and he heaved a sigh of relief. The warning shout had come from the man standing just behind him, none other than Peter Dawes, an old gypsy friend from years ago.

"Bless my eyes!" Mr Dawes exclaimed. "If it edn't Young Nina!"

Jack lowered his pistol, carefully letting down the hammer and holstering the weapon. "Didn't see it was you, darlin'!" he said, and stepped forward to embrace me. "That was close!" He motioned to Mr Dawes. "I've rallied our friends, and we've done our bit to get Hanibal's little army out of Highcliffe, at least for the moment. Now we've to find the armoury keys."

"Clasp-knives and cutlasses ain't enough t' finish the dogs," said Mr Dawes. "A few muskets with bayonets would be more to my liking."

I nodded and explained my own business. "I'm looking for the same keys. We need to arm the Pearl's crew – they were captured and disarmed while I was at Plymouth." Then I drew Jack away from Mr Dawes' hearing.

"I have no proof," I told him in a low voice, "But I think my uncle is trafficking in supernatural matters. I'm afraid to think what it means if he has the Basilikon. I couldn't see it, but somehow I keep feeling that he's got it. He told me he took the Pearl using some sort of mystical fog – and I promise you he's no madder than I am. And he's taken my spancel."

As I spoke, I had to step lively to keep up with Jack, who was darting about, rummaging through drawers, boxes and chests. "He's got the town subjugated," I continued more urgently, as I tagged after him, "And the Pearl's crew imprisoned in Williams' mill! There are batteries of cannon covering the harbour, two ships sailing under his colours, and a horde of murderous rogues doing his bidding!" I paused, waiting anxiously to hear my friend's plan.

"First things first, love!" he replied, continuing his search. Suddenly he gave a triumphant Aha! and spun about to face me. In his hand was a large ring of jangling keys. "And Hanibal's forgotten one thing," he added with a confident grin.

"What?" I asked, eager to learn of some extraordinary advantage, hitherto overlooked.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" he explained, with a great flourish.

Seeing me look somewhat mystified, he added, "An' he's up against me, Barbossa, me dad, an' you, Brat! If we can't stop him, who can?"

Who indeed, I wondered, but I returned Jack's smile and tried to look heartened.

We set out with Mr Dawes immediately, leaving the library through a window. Cutting across neglected fields, keeping away from roads and footpaths, we made our way at a rapid pace towards town and the armoury. Mr Dawes walked ahead with the keys, leaving Jack and me to converse as we tried to keep up with him.

"Are we expectin' a bit more company, courtesy of King George?" Jack enquired.

I nodded, breathing hard as we strode along. "One warship with seventy guns, the Royal Oak; and he'll pardon you, your father, Barbossa and all the crews through an Act of Grace. But I had to promise all my money to the Crown–"

"Plundered your coin, did he?" Jack remarked. "Then where's the Act of Grace for you, Brat? And how d' ye mean to live without a sixpence to your name?" He studied me with a bright-eyed stare.

"I won't need a pardon. I'm – well, I'm assuming Captain Harry's commission." We stopped momentarily and Jack looked at me in surprise. "I'm a King's Messenger now," I explained, "So I've got some sort of immunity. And I suppose I can always live off the diamonds."

Jack's face became intensely interested, like a cat that suddenly notices a flutter amongst the branches of a hedge. "Diamonds? As in, sparkly little trifles? Baubles, so to speak?" he asked.

"Indeed," I replied. "It was really the oddest thing – after I made my petition, a friend of the King actually handed me a little bag of them! I think she was the Duchess of Yarmouth."

Jack smiled knowingly, preening a bit. "Quite a charmer, isn't she? You must have mentioned my name."

"Trust you to have made her acquaintance," I remarked with a laugh.

"And where might said diamonds be at the moment?" He cocked his head to one side, frowning as he scrutinised my attire.

"Hec-mmm, Barbossa has them," I answered a bit too quickly.

"Barbossa has them?" he repeated, as if I had announced the return of Davy Jones.

"I should say, he has most of them." I opened my hand and showed Jack several diamonds I had palmed. Jack looked slightly mollified, but still wary.

"He had taken my father's sword," I replied, trying to explain. "So I traded the diamonds; at least I thought I had. He was to keep them and give me back the sword."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Diamonds for a sword. Brilliant," he said.

"And exactly where is said weapon-of-fabled-value?" he pursued, as I looked sheepish. "So he's got that, too, has he? And you expect he'll give it back? What are you playin' at, Brat?" he said, shaking his head. Then his expression changed to one of suspicion, and he added, "And speaking of the old scallywag, the other night . . ."

I interrupted him. "I dreamt–" we both said at the same time. We exchanged brief smiles; there were other occasions when we had experienced similar dreams.

But now Jack held up his hand, silencing me. "Was it a dream? Or a nightmare?" he inquired apprehensively. "Are you and Barbossa . . ." Words failed him, and he tried again.

"Were there actual, certifiable instances of having-it-off-ishness between you and . . . ?" He stopped once more, with a disgusted expression.

Finally, "Did that dirty old sod get a leg over you?" he demanded indignantly. I raised my eyebrows as he made a vulgar gesture with his hands and gave me a look of squeamish disbelief.

I looked away quickly, but Jack saw at once that it was true.

"On my ship? In my bed? Euugghh!" Aghast, he made a face and gestured with both arms. "God, Brat, it's a wonder the bed-clothes didn't strangle you!" Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. "The miserable, scurvy old . . . goat!"

My face flushed with embarrassment as I tried to explain. "I was wrong about him. At least, I was wrong about my feelings for him."

"And you're still wrong!" Jack retorted. "I insist on knowing exactly what he did to you!" He jabbed a finger in my direction for emphasis.

"What do you think he did? We had supper, and–"

"Stop!" Jack shouted, throwing up his hands. Ahead of us, Mr Dawes stopped walking and turned around, but Jack shooed him onward with a wave and turned back to me.

"So," he continued accusingly, "It's 'supper AND', is it? That'll do for the grisly details, thank you!"

Then he gave me a sly, calculating look. "You know he'll leave you, right? Love 'em and leave 'em – that's Hector!"

"Funny thing about that," I replied, walking faster. "He said exactly the same about you."

Jack pressed on, keeping pace with me. "He's a wicked old reprobate who's had every jade and bunter on four continents – do you think he's going to stop?" he asked with another jab of his finger.

I almost laughed. "Would you?" I retorted. Jack lifted his eyes to heaven, and I continued, almost trotting along to keep ahead, and talking to him over my shoulder.

"I care not a louse about his women!" I insisted. Stung by Jack's objections, I was ready to tell any lie that would silence him. "Let him have his pleasure where he will!" I added hotly. "What do you think goes on at the Court of St James, by the by?"

"He's old! Old and ugly!" Jack argued, catching up with me. "Why, I've caught toadfish that were better looking! Most of them, in fact!"

"I think he's the handsomest man in the world!" I declared wildly.

"That sallow streak of filleted earwig?!" Jack shot back.

I was furious. "Stop it! I'll have you know that he's got–"

"You stop! I don't care what he's got – spare me stomach the details!" Jack shouted, whilst making vigourous motions to the startled Mr Dawes to continue along the footpath. "Just tell me," he demanded, making his final appeal, "Is this what your dad would want for you? A dirty old reprobate that once tried to kill you? What d' you think Captain Harry would say?"

I ignored Jack's insults; at least I knew what my father would have said. "My father always told me that he wanted me to be happy, whatever life I chose," I told Jack firmly. "He would see what this means to me, and he would understand."

After a moment, during which we walked rapidly, side by side and somewhat out of breath, Jack resumed in a quieter, sardonic tone. "Give any thought to the considerable age difference, love? Or do you just want to make said dirty old reprobate die with a huge grin on his face, preferably sooner rather than later?"

This arrow struck home; I was only too aware of Barbossa's age, and Jack's barbed reminder brought me very low. I stopped and put my hand on his elbow.

"Jack," I pleaded, "listen to me – Oh, why does it have to be you, of all people, that I'm explaining this to? – I'm in love with him, and it's the last thing I expected. After James, I wanted nothing to do with love; I shut my eyes. And yet, one day . . . there he was." I remembered my first sight of Barbossa as he boarded the Pearl, and how I had been powerless to stop staring at him.

"I thought the passions he stirred meant that I hated him," I told Jack. "But my heart knew him from the first moment, and now I can't run any more. Don't you see? His age, his past, his faults – none of it matters!"

To my intense mortification, I felt my eyes start to well up. "I can't help it," I said, "and you're only making it hurt."

Jack was instantly alarmed. "No! Stop it!" he said hastily, giving me a quick, awkward embrace. "No tears! Mouse, I am ordering you – bloody hell, you know I hate it when you cry."

"No more than I do," I said, rubbing my eyelids and clearing my throat to compose myself. After a moment, I added, "Apologies, dear. I lost my head."

He tilted my chin towards his face with a worried look. "Really got it bad, eh, love? You actually fancy the dirty old scallywag, don' ya?" he sighed. "Who'd have thought the randy old git had it in him . . . " He kissed my forehead and looked at me questioningly. "Have you told him?"

I shook my head. "No . . . well, not everything. I have spoken with him. And we've . . . communicated in other ways," I added, my face colouring.

"I always did say he fancied you," said Jack. "Well, if he feels the same about you, then you should tell him what you just told me." Then he held up a warning finger. "But don't you say a word yet! Not till the opportune moment, savvy?" I nodded and he winked at me. "You'll know when it's time," he said.

Then he shook his head, laughing under his breath. "Oh, and next time you fall in love with me deadly enemy and want me advice, let's have a bit of warnin', eh, love? So I can put an ocean or two between us."

"I did tell you about this – in my dream," I reminded him, just as if it were a waking conversation. We resumed our journey, trying to catch up with Mr Dawes.

"And how did I take it?" he challenged me.

I shrugged and replied, "Rather well, I thought. You mentioned something about the universe having a wicked sense of humour."

"Hmmph," he responded with a sharp look. "Well, in my dream there was rum."

"In mine, as well," I assured him.

"Aha! Therefore, consequently, and in witness whereof, even in your dream I had to be drunk as David's sow to take that news so well – Q.E.D."

Then he waved his arm at our surroundings. "D' ye see any rum now?" he asked. I shook my head and sighed.

He frowned for a moment, then one side of his mouth turned up in a half-smile as he surrendered the argument. "Never mind. Can't be helped, can it? It's only that . . . well, that's really torn it. You were always there when I needed you, Brat. I could always count on you. I'll miss you is all, savvy?"

"You can still count on me," I insisted. "That hasn't changed! I'll still be there when you need me!"

"Not a chance!" Jack scoffed. "He won't stand still for that." Suddenly, his face brightened. "Hang on – shouldn't he have to ask permission, assuming he's got the nerve to do right by you? I'm your family now – or as good as! And what are his intentions anyway?"

"At the moment? His intentions are to defeat Hanibal."

Jack nodded and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Well, if it comes to giving anyone in matrimony," he said with a golden grin, "I would insist upon standing in for Captain Harry, of course."

"Yes, of course; if it should ever come to that," I said, immensely relieved to be let off so easily. After striding along with me in silence, during which he seemed to weigh another question, Jack peered at me inquisitively. "Anything else, love, in that dream?"

I considered our dream conversation. "Yes, in fact there was: you told me Marianne wasn't your mother – that we're not cousins."

"Did I now?" he said casually. "That's interesting."

At that moment, the sounds of cannon fire erupted. We listened to the guns; the Troubadour was cannonading the town, and there was no answering fire. Pintel and Ragetti had succeeded in spiking the guns.

"Right, then," said Jack. "Let's arm the populace, darlin'!" We broke into a run for the armoury.

Next: Chapter 26 - Let Justice Be Done - In which the fate of Pencarren is decided.