He ended up going into town anyway, though his craving for the nightlife was severely diminished.  He wandered from inn to inn, only to spread the word among his men.  The Pearl would pull out in the morning, in search of more rich fools to steal from.  They'd had enough time in friendly port. 

            He told none of them of the real reason he wanted to leave.

            Jack hated attachments, hated expecting and being expected.  Predictability, to his way of thinking, was a great deal like dying.  Dying was predictable, everyone did it.  So he planned to have his big, masted, wooden idea of freedom out of the harbor before Amelia Hamilton could come looking for him again.  He only regretted he wouldn't be able to see the surprise on her face.

            Walking back to the docks, the sun just beginning to tint the sky blue instead of black, Jack thought of the words she'd spoken.  Milton's fallen angel, she'd referred to, and only moments after claiming she was making a deal with the devil.

            Someone thought an awful lot about evil, Jack surmised with a grin.  Maybe all that fire he'd seen had been naught but a showing of hellfire, as it were.

            A woman like that would do fine enough on her own. 

            So he told himself, to ease the conscience he never thought he had.

~~~

            She was a listener.  A survivor had to be, and a survivor she was.  Though it was dangerous for her, risky, she hung about the inns and public houses, listening to the talk of the town, the pirate ship that had sailed in only that morning, its gold-laden crew tipping much and lifting more from innocents.   

            Listening, she heard what sounded very much like her guarantee to passage. 

            "The cap'n of that beaut' was in 'ere but an hour ago," the serving wench crowed to a table of half-drunk smithies.  "An' a beaut' he was, as well.  Comes in here, throwin' his arms about like one of them stage actors, orderin' this an' that for 'is men.  Then, just before he walks out that door, he orders barrels of rum to be sent up to the docks in the mornin'!  Three barrels of it!  Paid a handsome price for it, he did."

            That was all Amelia needed to hear.  Slipping away, she took back alleys south, toward the docks once again.  She would need to be ready when the barrels came. 

            Keeping to the dark, quiet corners of the town, Amelia let a piece of her mind wander.  He'd meant to scare her away, of that she was certain.  Rubbing her fingers over the tender skin of her throat, she felt a shiver run through her.  She'd heard enough bawdy speech to last her a lifetime; the men who often called on Philip were none too bashful about what they said, what they touched, and where they looked. 

            But none of them had eyes like that. 

~~~

            Jack stood at the bow of the ship, watching as the water stretched before him, listening to the squawking of the gulls onshore fade behind him.  It had always been one of his favorite sounds, the sound of receding land. 

            Gibbs sidled beside him, one hand on his flask and the other on his ever-expanding stomach.  "Ho, there, Cap'n."

            "Good day, Gibbs."  Rather than turning just his head, Jack turned his whole body and faced Gibbs, his eyes intent, but he said nothing.

            The awkward posture and focused stare didn't bother the older man a bit; he was more than used to Jack's odd behavior, and was starting to see when it was real and when it was little more than a trick.  Right now, the cap'n had other things on his mind.

            Gibbs didn't like a distracted captain.

            "It be none o' my business, Cap'n, but that doesn't save me from wondering why we're pulling out earlier than ye first said." 

            Jack tilted his head and looked ruminative.  Finally, he shook his head as though shaking off a particularly deep line of thought and clapped a hand to Gibbs's shoulder.  "Gibbs, my man, we're pulling out because I said so, and be it as I'm the one that killed the cur who took my ship in the first place, I get to make the decisions, and that be the decision I made, savvy?" 

            "Savvy," Gibbs muttered by way of an answer, surmising that Jack was in another one of his moods.  In his opinion, Jack was a fine man, though a bit crazy at times, and he talked as though he'd been fed with a fire shovel.  Tongue ran at both ends, it did, and that sort always made Gibbs nervous. 

            His flask didn't talk so much.

            Moving toward the stern of the ship, Gibbs left Jack to whatever thoughts were serving as ballast. 

            They had nearly an hour of relative quiet, Jack and his crew.  Anamaria was, unsurprisingly, fighting with one of the newer men, and that provided enough noise for seven ships, in Jack's opinion.  Though he would regret it, it would soon be time for her to move along.  'Twasn't proper for her to be there in the first place, Jack reckoned.

            "Anamaria, love, you seem a bit touchy today."  Jack slung an arm over her thin shoulders, leading her away from the man she'd only been minutes from killing with her bare hands.  Looking back over his shoulder, Jack saw the crewmen roll his eyes and wave in gratitude.

            "Get your damned hands off me," she spat, ducking under his arm and glaring at him for good measure.  She'd made the mistake once, and only a fool repeated mistakes.   Seafaring bastard was lucky she hadn't killed him in his sleep, slit his throat like the filthy pig he was. 

            Jack was preparing to speak at her—which was precisely what he did, he never quite spoke to her—when the racket arose from belowdecks.

            The shouts were jumbled at first, and then one shout rung clearly above the others as the sounds moved closer to the main deck.

            "A woman!"

~~~

            She knew she'd have been better off if she'd only stayed put for a while longer, but it was positively stifling in that barrel, she smelled to high heaven, and a corner of one of her two books was poking into her ribs like a brand.  She'd simply had to get out.  What would have been the use of escaping if she'd gone too mad to enjoy it? 

            The barrel she'd deposited herself in had a knothole knocked cleanly out toward the bottom, the rum mostly emptied.  Though she'd had to stand in several inches of rum for the better part of two hours, Amelia counted herself lucky that no one had guarded the delivered barrels closely. 

             It was hard to count herself lucky at the present moment, however.

            "It's a bloody stowaway!" the first pirate, a painfully skinny man with bloodshot blue eyes, yelled, his hand outstretched to point out her location.

            "I can explain, sir, if you'd only…"

            "A woman!" Another pirate joined the first, crossing himself fanatically.  "It's a woman on board!"

            "I can assure you, I—"  Amelia didn't get the opportunity to finish her sentence before each of her arms were grasped and she was practically dragged to the upper deck. 

            He smelled her before he saw her.

            He heard the shouts, the frantic clamoring of his men, and then he smelled rum, cloyingly sweet and mixed with something else.  "What's going on here, mates, have we a bit of a problem?  I smell my knock-me-down, and I—" He broke off as he saw her, stopped in mid-swagger.

            Her dark, thick hair had swung into her face, her hands were pinned to each side by the men holding her, but she looked Jack directly in the eye as though issuing a challenge. 

            "Well, well," he said softly, stroking his beard.  How to play this one? he wondered, stepping around her in a semi-circle, looking at her from all angles.  He was impressed.  Grudgingly impressed, but impressed nonetheless. 

            The Black Pearl had never had a stowaway before.

            "It's a woman," Gibbs stated unnecessarily.  "And ye know they be bad luck, Cap'n."

            Amelia rolled her eyes.  "A superstitious lot here, are we?  Bad luck's a myth, sir, though I'd not doubt for a moment such a phenomenon followed this one."  So saying, she jerked her head toward Jack. 

            "You speak as though you know me, missy," he said, his eyes lighting dangerously, warning her to speak as he spoke, or…

            Or what?  she wondered.  Another little performance of what a pirate would do? Her breath quickened against her will and her cheeks flushed.  "I—I know your sort," she said hesitantly.

            Anamaria stepped forward, envy clear in her eyes.  "Ye call this one a woman?  Look at her hair," she sneered.  "What did ye do to it, hack it off with a cutlass?"

            Jack took a step back to better watch the scene.  Anamaria, confrontational, her belligerent attitude big as life, stood with her hands on her hips, fingers ticking anticipatorily at the hilt of her sword.  Amelia's chin had shot up at the mention of her hair, and Jack saw the look in her eyes was far sharper than the weapon Anamaria wielded. 

            "I sold it to a wigmaker, though I cannot see it would be any of your concern.  After all, it's you wearing the britches of a man, and not myself."  Amelia smiled sweetly even as Anamaria lunged toward her. 

            Gibbs hauled her easily out of the way as Jack advanced once again toward the stowaway.  Standing toe-to-toe with her, he narrowed his eyes, flicking a glance around to insure his men were paying attention.  "Well, then, what is it you want from a gallery of rogues such as ourselves, mistress?"

            Amelia clenched her teeth, biting back the curses she wanted to spew at him.  Arrogant pirate, treating her as a misfit when his whole life had been out of line.  "I only wish for you to drop me off at the next place you stop.  Surely a competent band such as yourselves can manage that task for me."

            "She's mighty big to speak so," Jack said loudly, taking the one extra step that would bring their bodies flush.  "A mighty big lady indeed, to be so bold as to challenge Cap'n Jack Sparrow and his crew.  We're the bloody terror of the seas, madam, not your transport.  Unless you have something to offer me in return, I'll just throw ye overboard.  'Tis a trig bloke I am on trading."  Weaving his strong fingers into her hair as he had before, he grinned. 

            "Good," Amelia breathed, feeling the heat of his body seep through her thin shift.  Keeping her eyes directly on his, loathe to lose a challenge, she slid her hand cozily between their bodies and down, and the artificial wide-eyed innocence on his face gave way to true wide-eyed shock. 

            Murmurs and whistles ripped through the crew, and nasty laughs rose up here and there. 

            Not a one of them, least of all Jack himself, saw what she was doing. 

            In less time than it took for Jack to grow completely hard with want for the hands sliding down his body, she'd snatched his gun from his breeches and stepped back, cocking and pointing it directly between those enticer's eyes.