Cutler visited her later that evening and it was from him that she discovered that she had muttered the names of several pirates, some well known, others less so. Dwelling on her dreams made her head ache and her stomach growled loudly for want of food. She lay weakly in the bed as Cutler interrogated her. There was nothing she could do. Her mind seemed to dwell longest on the images of the pirate she knew to be Jocard. She shivered at the memory of the torture of the slave owner. Cutler watched as the spasm wracked her body and he grinned. He liked her weak and scared, thanks to the dark dreams that had plagued her for two weeks, she was now exactly where he wanted her.

The Doctor arrived the next day and told her that her recovery might be long.

"You're underweight…you're susceptible to all manner of things right now. We managed to get water into you, but not enough. Your muscles have atrophied. It will be some time before you feel yourself."

But Isabelle would have none of it. She ate heartily, leaving nothing left on the plates sent to her and she drank so much water that she thought she might drown. But it was what her body craved. By the end of the first week, Isabelle was able to sit up on her own and a few days later her maid dropped a china pitcher at seeing Isabelle standing precariously on weak legs beside the foot of her bed. She was recovering faster than anyone had anticipated, many thought faster than was safe.

Isabelle sat in the sun and let a slow smile spread across her lips. I must look like the cat that just got into the cream. She thought. Initially no one had wanted her to venture outside, but Isabelle wanted fresh air.

"No more lemon, no more roses and no more sprigs of rosemary! I want to go outside and sit in the sunshine! I want to feel the sun upon my cheek!" She had railed. The yelling had made her dizzy, but she would not let on. Her maid had finally acquiesced and Isabelle had dismissed the garden staff that she might enjoy the solitude of her day. She did not think she could bear to have the thoughts of the gardeners beating against her. She was still too weak to hold her own against many people.

James Norrington let himself into the back gate and walked slowly up the garden path. It was comfortably cool in the shade of the walk and James bent to smell one of the fragrant tropic roses that grew along the pathway. He glanced up at the window he knew belonged to Isabelle. The door to her balcony was propped wide open and the curtains flapped softly in the gentle breeze. He wondered how she was doing. He had neither seen nor heard from her since she had awoken.

He sighed and decided that he would ask Lord Beckett about his sister. He was still thinking about how to broach the subject of Isabelle Beckett when he rounded the curve in the path and entered the center hub of the garden. Isabelle sat in a lounge chair, her head tilted up to catch the full force of the sun's rays. A slight wind tugged at the fabric of the lacy collar on her gown and James caught sight of how thin she had truly become in her illness. The ridge of her collar bone cast deep shadows across her pale white skin.

Isabelle opened her dark eyes and looked around slowly. Someone was in the garden with her. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light of the noon day sun, but when they had she was quick to smile.

"James! What are you doing here?" She made a move to rise, but found it difficult. James knelt at her side smiling. He was happy to see her. It meant he didn't have to ask after her when he spoke with Beckett.

"I came to speak with your brother. I must say it is a pleasant surprise to see you."

"No it isn't." She saw herself through his eyes. Pale, all skin and bones, dark circles beneath her eyes. "I look like a cadaver."

"I've seen cadavers. You look nothing like any of them." Isabelle saw a memory of James'. Moonlight filtered through the clouds and a great battle raged on the decks of a man of war. She forced the moonlight drenched scene from her mind and smiled weakly at him.

"A good deal worse then…" James laughed at her. She still had fire in her. At least her illness hadn't robbed her of her spirit.

"I ought to lie to you and tell you that you look lovely, but then I might be doing you a great disservice. You might decide to stop eating and you'd disappear completely."

"Ha! You mean I haven't?" She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Damn if the banter didn't take all the wind from her sails.

"Are you alright?" James reached a hand out to grasp hers. The bones stood out on the back of her long elegant hands and the skin felt cool to his touch.

"I will be when people stop asking me that blasted question." She said through gritted teeth. She opened her eyes and turned them to Norrington. "I'm weak, I have to admit that. I get tired easily, but I'll be damned if I'm going to lie about indoors and let it get the best of me."

"There's the spit and fire I've come to admire!" He chucked her gently under her chin and smiled as he stood. "You're on your way to a fast recovery, I've no doubt of it. I'll leave you to it though, as I have some business to discuss with your brother."

She smiled as he bowed and strolled through the garden towards the house. Why did her heart feel lighter every time he was near? Perhaps it was because she could unburden her soul to him. He knew about where she had come from, he knew about Cutler's malevolent nature and the violence. They had shared much this past year, even if James Norrington had been gone through much of the winter. The only thing she could not tell him was her deepest, darkest secret…the one that would most likely drive him from her forever. That thought alone brought her back to earth, her heart feeling as if a leaden stone had been locked inside it. She winced at the painful thudding in her chest and lay back to soak up more of the sun's rays. She wouldn't think about that. It wasn't time to reveal everything.

Later that evening, Isabelle sat in her bed with a book in her lap. Slowly, her vision became clouded and she lost track of the words on the page. Deeper and deeper she slipped into the darkness and eventually let it envelope her.

Isabelle saw a darkened city built close to the waters' edge. Lanterns danced in doorways and the reflections flickered in the black water. The song Isabelle had heard in her dreams was sung by a solitary voice somewhere in the darkness. Soon she saw Elizabeth step from a shallow bottomed boat and stand facing men that were less than desirable looking. Isabelle stood in the shadows and watched as a man descended to the waterside. Isabelle gasped as she recognized one of the men from her dreams. What had his name been? He was the one that had reminded her of Jack…Barbossa! That was it! Elizabeth and Barbossa made their way through the crowded underbelly of Singapore and were led to a bath house. Isabelle saw the patrons of the establishment and was shocked. They were not entirely human. One might say, they had been at sea a bit too long for many had sea creatures attached to their extremities. Steam permeated the room and released a bevy of scents into the humid air, not all of them pleasant. Isabelle saw Sao Feng emerge from the mists. She recognized him from the scars on his head and the crimson scarf in his hand. Elizabeth and Barbossa conversed with him for some time, Elizabeth growing angry, and Barbossa remaining calm and double dealing. Isabelle could barely follow the conversation when suddenly Will Turner was hauled from one of the baths, his arms lashed to a stout log cast over his shoulders. Both Isabelle and Elizabeth gasped when Sao Feng threatened to jab a pointed spike through Will's chin. Isabelle found it difficult to hold the connection, but she had been summoned to this, she had to see it through. Especially after going so long without knowing exactly where Elizabeth might have disappeared to and fearing she was dead. Isabelle watched as swords were drawn and a man held hostage by Sao Feng. The vision flickered and wavered and she struggled to hold fast to it. There was confusion, but she wasn't sure why. Before any blood could be spilled, Mercer and a squad of Company Marines entered the room. Shots were exchanged and Isabelle saw Mercer aim and fire at Elizabeth. He missed, when Will Turner dove and pushed her out of the way. The ball instead struck another woman in the forehead; she fell into the arms of her twin sister, the girl turning shocked and angry eyes on the dark Englishman. Isabelle watched Elizabeth fight with a ferocity that showed how hard the past eight months had been on her life. She was no longer the well bred young woman, daughter of a government official, but the product of hard living amongst pirates and scraping out a living by the edge of a sword. Isabelle lost track of Elizabeth in the confusion of the fighting, but instead found Will who had Sao Feng cornered at knife point. Isabelle focused all she could on what the two of them were saying, but could catch little. She felt wave after wave of mistrust wash over her and she finally understood that both were making deals that they didn't expect to keep. Sao Feng gave Will a tube shaped package and then waved in the distance. Will disappeared into the melee and Isabelle slipped away from the fighting, the darkness and found herself sitting once again in her own bed in her room. She took a deep breath which sounded loud in the darkening room and leapt with fright when she saw Cutler towering over her.

"Tell me, my dear. What is it you've dreamt of now?"

Isabelle's maid had come to tidy up and had found her mistress back in the throes of the sweat, similar to that which had gripped her more than a week and a half before. Fearing the illness had returned she had rushed to fetch Lord Beckett. Beckett had realized it for what it was and was now going to interrogate her before the vision slipped away, as most dreams are wont to do.

"I saw them. They're alive." She whispered. She glanced to where the maid cowered at the foot of her bed. "I'm thirsty girl, go fetch me some water."

"Right away miss." The girl ran from the room to do as she was bid.

"She knows not to talk. There's no need to send her away."

"I'd like for her to think of me as any other mistress and not fear me as a witch."

"As you wish." Cutler said with a shrug as he sat beside her. "Now, who's alive?"

"Swann and Turner." She sighed. "They're in Singapore."

"Then Mr. Mercer will find them."

"He did, but they will elude him. He'll be returning to us shortly." She leaned back into the pillows and shut her eyes. Cutler slipped his hand beneath hers and stroked the skin on the back of her hand.

"What were they seeking in Singapore?" He asked softly.

"I don't know. That was unclear." Isabelle wanted to go to sleep. The vision had sapped much of her renewed strength.

"You aren't keeping anything from me, are you Isabelle?"

"Of course not…." Cutler grasped her hand and squeezed it bringing her back to the present painfully. She hissed and tried to pull away.

"You had best not be. If you think of anything, you had best come to me post haste." He left her in the dark, rubbing at her hand where she was sure he had bruised it.

Isabelle insisted on not being allowed to sleep all day. This had a two-fold benefit for her. One, it kept her on a normal schedule of eating and exercise and a normal sleeping pattern and two, it prevented her from dreaming too frequently of anything she didn't wish to.

"It's time to put things into action on our front." Cutler announced the next week. "You'll be needed. You'll be accompanying me when the Endeavor sets sail."

"Is the ship finished?"

"Yes, it was finished while you were ill. The information you picked up the other night necessitates our swift departure. Be ready as fast as you can. The ship shall be christened and sent on her maiden voyage in the same day."

The day of the christening dawned gray and slightly chill. Isabelle had filled out well, considering that it had been barely a full month since she had succumbed to the dreams and the sickness. She was almost back to her normal weight and looked less like a walking skeleton and more like the statuesque woman she was. The dress that Isabelle and her maid had chosen was still large in some places, but there was nothing to be done about it. The white material was offset by a wide blue ribbon around her waist and blue embroidery on the bodice. It was a flattering dress, but to alter the dress anymore than they already had would have destroyed the line and cut of the gown. It was still big around her waist, but they cinched it in as tight as they could with the ribbon. In deference to the poor look of the weather, she put on a long wool coat. The thin wool was a deep, midnight blue color with large glass buttons of the same color that marched up the front of the coat in two rows. The coat also had a high collar that kept the wind from her neck. Black braided frogging traced its way and curled up the sleeves from wrist to elbow and across the back and tails of the coat as well. The coat stopped just below her knees. It was well cut and warm, but not overly so. She wished her other coat hadn't been destroyed the summer before. The gray coat had been her favorite, but when she and James had spent those many days at sea, it had been beyond repair and she'd been forced to throw it away. She sighed as she thought back to her last sea adventure and hoped that the one she was about to embark upon went much smoother.

The Endeavor was a large ship with triple gun decks that had been painted black and yellow. The sails were new and still white; they looked liked clouds wrapped around the masts of the great ship. Crewmen stood along the rails at attention and stared off towards the horizons. Merchants and officer's families crowded the quay and waved, trying to catch the attention of loved ones.

"Governor Swann! Lovely morning isn't it?" Cutler asked as he came to stand beside the older man. Isabelle grimaced, thinking that it was most certainly not a beautiful morning, but held her tongue. Cutler smiled and moved off to speak with someone else he saw in the crowd. The governor turned to Isabelle and bent over her hand. His eyes locked on hers a moment when he felt a piece of paper pressed into his fingers. She nodded, almost imperceptibly and moved on. She kept her eye on him as he moved away from the marines that were a constant guard to him that he might better read the note she'd slipped him in private.

Do not ask me how I know the information I divulge to you, but your daughter is alive. Her last known location was Singapore. She's moved on. She and Turner are together, accompanied by a man named Barbossa and those loyal to Captain Sparrow. I know not what they do, or where they go. Just be thankful in knowing that she is safe.

She saw a slight smile cross over the governor's face and he tossed the piece of paper casually over the side of the dock and let the tide pick it up. Soon the ceremony was begun and the governor made a pretty speech, as did Cutler. It was only right, as he had financed the ship. James Norrington stood beside her throughout the long winded speeches.

"You look well this morning." James whispered without looking at her. "It's good to see you out and about."

"I'm glad to be out. I'm looking forward to this voyage for once."

"You're accompanying us?" Isabelle nodded slightly.

"You didn't know?"

"No. I had no idea you'd be coming with us." James wondered why Lord Beckett would insist on having his sister in his company. What good would she do aboard the ship? It was clear the man had no fondness for her. The memory of Isabelle's appearance in his stables the night Lord Beckett had struck her was strong in his mind. He looked down at Isabelle and saw her shift her feet as Beckett continued to prattle on about the strength of the company and the good that would come of having the Endeavor patrolling the Caribbean waters. "Lord Beckett…he hasn't tried to…" She glanced up at James, knowing full well what he was talking about. She'd seen the same flash of memory that James had. Briefly she thought of the night when Cutler had grasped her hand painfully but didn't want to worry James. It had been nothing, not to the extent Cutler's previous violence had gotten. She was almost grateful for being so weak.

"No." She whispered. The governor cleared his throat on James' other side and the two of them fell silent, their cheeks turning scarlet at having been scolded. When Cutler was finished speaking the crowd erupted into hardy cheers. Isabelle grimaced. How much coin had been distributed through the crowd to warrant such a reaction? She turned with the Admiral and was about to make her way to the ship when a voice in the crowd shouted out to stop the party.

"Isn't she going to be christened properly?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Cutler asked, peeved that someone should steal his thunder. A bottle of champagne was lowered from the poop deck and swung before the dignitaries.

"'Tis tradition to break a bottle o'er her. Brings the ship good luck."

"Let the lady do it!" Someone from the far side of the dock yelled. The crowd laughed nervously. It was quite unheard of for a woman to christen a ship; it was considered bad luck by many sailors. Isabelle heard the nerves and old superstitions race through the air from the sailors on deck.

"I couldn't possibly. It would bring the ship bad luck." Isabelle said, echoing the thoughts of many.

"I don't see why we should support such superstitious twaddle, my dear." Cutler said with a smug grin. "We are entering a new age and driving such nonsense from the water."

"Need I remind you, Lord Beckett, that you have in your possession a still beating heart of a legendary sea captain." She whispered close to his ear. "Superstitions and myth are still very much alive in this new age."

"And need I remind you, Isabelle, that you are in my keeping and will do as I instruct." Cutler whispered back grasping her arm in a tight grip, as if wishing to enforce his supremacy over her. "Now, give the people a good show and do as you are told."

Isabelle plastered a smile on her face to hide her anger and pain as she turned to Admiral Norrington.

"I'm sorry, but I've never been to one of these events. What is it I'm supposed to do?"

"Break the bottle across her side." James said. He was as nervous as she was. "Just swing it back and let it go." Isabelle grasped the bottom of the champagne bottle, the green glass feeling cool and heavy in her hand. She swung the bottle back and let it go. The thick glass bounced off the painted wood with a heavy thunk, but it did not shatter. The crowd gasped and Isabelle thought she heard the audible groan of the sailors on deck.

"She's getting over an illness!" Cutler said with a laugh. "She's not a very strong creature at her best of times!" Isabelle glowered at Cutler but James was by her side in a flash and caught the bottle up from where it swung slowly back and forth on it's rope. He looked down at her and noticed the bleached pallor of her skin.

"You don't feel faint do you?" He whispered, his hand going protectively to her narrow waist, prepared to drag her away from the edge of the dock.

"No, but I know that can't be a good sign." Her dark eyes focused on the place where the bottle had struck the wood of the ship.

"It's nothing. As your brother said, you're still weak from being ill." He guided her hand to the bottle and placed his over it. "Just let me…" He swung the bottle for her, putting more force into it and this time it shattered against the side of the ship. He whispered the name "Endeavor" and the crowd cheered, but the damage had been done. The ship had not been christened on the first go. Cutler, Governor Swann, and several other high ranking officers went up to the ship to take their places and prepare for the voyage. James accompanied Isabelle.

"So what is that?"

"That's a gangway." James said as they approached the slanted approach to the ship's deck.

"No!" Isabelle huffed and glared up at him. "That! With the bottle and the gasping! Really, I'm not so much of a girl as to not know what a gangway is."

"I'm sorry, I misunderstood you." James said laughing. "The christening of a ship is an old tradition. We did another on its launch day, but this is more of a crowd pleaser."

"What do you mean?"

"On its launch day, we all drank some wine on her decks, spilled a bit into the boards, and tossed the cup aside."

"Why would you do that?"

"It's an old tradition. In some places in England, it was the tradition to have the first toast on the ship be drunk from a very expensively wrought cup. When the cup was tossed over, people used to dive after it. It was believed that good luck and wealth would be brought to the one who came up with it."

"Well of course! If it was expensively made, the cup would fetch a small fortune at market, would it not?"

"True indeed." James said as they reached the deck. "Soon, ship builders grew angry at having to fund a cup, and so had only one made. Then they'd rig nets around their ships to catch the cup when it was tossed over."

"Why still toss the cup then?"

"Tradition." James said smiling down at her. "It had been done for so long, that it had become a part of ship building lore. To not throw a cup overboard was to doom the ship."

"Did Cutler have nets run about this ship?" Isabelle knew how tight fisted Cutler was. Either he would use a cheaply made cup, or he'd have retrieved it himself.

"Not necessary….we threw it into a rowboat to one of the marines."

"So why the bottle of champagne?"

"It became a bit of a show for the public--makes a big splash and noise and looks good. The other is more private. But that's all sailors' lore and you'd be bored to hear all of it."

"I'm bored standing on this deck watching Cutler and his cronies plot and plan!" She whispered. The ship lurched softly as it eased away from the quay and set out for the mouth of the harbor.

"Excuse me, I must go and see to our departure." James said bowing over her hand. He left Isabelle to walk the decks and watch the sailor's race up and down the masts along the ratlines, furling and unfurling sails and hauling tools up and down to their comrades who stayed aloft. She held a hand to her eyes and watched as the men leaned over the yardarms and let the billows of canvas catch the wind and help pull the ship forward. It was fascinating to watch. The ship eased out of the harbor and turned to follow the coastline. She heard laughter behind her and turned to see the men folk gathered around one another. Telling some bawdy joke I have no doubt.

"See that they keep those ropes trim and the sails taught, Mr. Gilette." James' voice rang over the deck.

"Aye sir."

"Mr. Jones, alter our course four degrees to port. I'd like to avoid the shoals around Crock's Head Point.

"Aye Sir."

Isabelle watched James Norrington issue orders and felt the calm that he did. He was at ease on this ship. This was where he belonged. He looked over the decks of the ship and beyond the bow, focused on the spit of land jutting out into the sea, eyes trained to look for any danger that might befall him, his crew, or his ship. He glanced down and saw her staring at him. He smiled briefly before turning back to his duties to sail the ship and meet up with those already in the armada that Cutler had been gathering.