The man with the whip laughed evilly, dropping the implement of torture and leaving the room. Jack hung limply by his hands, sweat pouring off him even as blood ran down his back. He was alone. He was never alone for long.

The door behind him opened with a squeak of hinges and soft footfalls assured him that there was no need to panic. An echoing click told him the door locked and from experience he knew the key hung from a chain around her neck. Also from experience he knew she had some very unconventional places for stashing objects such as knives. There would be no use in taking the key, anyway; the men would be between him and the exit.

"Nice of you to join me, love," he grunted, trying to take his weight on his feet, but his legs were too weak to support him.

"If you would only tell them something, we wouldn't have to keep meeting like this," she returned curtly.

Jack almost managed a remnant of his dashing grin, picturing her. Mina. An unlikely allay in this hell in which he found himself. She dressed in men's clothes, shirts stitched together in front to preserve her dignity and pants old and patched. Once in a while she wore boots, though more often than not Mina went barefoot. Her hair was chopped short, an auburn crown that would have been almost laughable had it not been for the flashing look in her green eyes.

He winced as the rope holding his bound hands above his head gave a shudder. "Just slash through that mess with one of those lovely knives; you've rope enough."

"You didn't seem to think them lovely when they were pressed against your neck." Mina smiled slyly, though she was still out of sight, working away at the mess of what one of the men had called a knot.

"Because they weren't, then." The rope came loose in a rush, pulling through the iron loop anchored in the ceiling, and Jack – unprepared – started to stagger.

Mina caught him before he fell, gently lowering him to a sitting position on the floor and looking appraisingly at both his back and the red lines it had left on her shirt. "Charming, Jack, really," she said dryly, kneeling down for a closer inspection. The old lines had faded to a paler shade, now interlaced with the new wounds. "You might at least tell them something, even if it's not the truth."

"They'd find me out, sure as anything," he grunted, opting to lie on his stomach despite the fact that the floor was something less than sparkling. "And then it'd be worse."

Mina pursed her lips, reaching for the bucket of drinking water and scraps of semi-clean cloth she had brought with her, dunking them and laying them across the broken flesh. "You've another problem," she said grimly.

"What, the idiot figured out the compass isn't worthless after all?" His eyes were closed, head pillowed on his arms, and it had been weeks since he had been anything resembling his usual self. "'Bout time; I was beginning to wonder, honestly."

"Jack." She put a hand on his shoulder, leaning around so that, when his eyes opened, he was looking at her.

"We've not gone anywhere in a few days, haven't you noticed?"

"My dear, he wasn't kind enough to provide my quarters with a window."

She closed her eyes briefly. "If that's the way you want it, fine. You tell me nothing, and I'll return the favor."

Jack sighed, reaching out to grab her wrist. "Mina, wait. What is it? What fresh hell does that man have in store for me?"

"You'd rather a stale one?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Good girl." The corners of his mouth lifted, though he himself was limp as a wet noodle. "Now, tell me: what does the bastard have planned?"

Her smirk grew stale. "A dinner party."

Jack blinked. "It's me ears, love. I thought you said –"

"A dinner party. Yes, I did."

Jack swore.

* * * * *

The governor was entirely beside himself. "Captain Torrington is the nicest captain in the Spanish Main, I'm sure," he said enthusiastically. "The Commodore and I had tea with him this afternoon. Delightful gentleman, really."

As he seemed to be expecting a response, Elizabeth smiled wanly. "Really."

"Why, yes." Popping a forkful of food in his mouth, it seemed Governor Swann could barely wait to swallow before he continued. "The poor man's had more than his fairs share of pirates, I'll tell you that. And he's handled it all so wonderfully! Perhaps," the governor continued, turning to his son-in-law, "the two of you might speak about some of your – shall we say – misdealings?" The sparkle in his eye told them all that he had managed to forget all but the triumphant conclusion of the desperate search for Elizabeth – and subsequently Will – the year before.

Will looked intrigued, though inside he felt that such an event might possibly the worst case scenario for him.

"Pray, how long are they staying, then?"

At this the governor looked smug. "He's sent forth an invitation for the two of you to dine with him aboard his ship tomorrow and spend the afternoon with him, as well. Hmmm?"

Elizabeth's eyes lit up, though she demurely patted her mouth with her napkin. "I think it would be lovely," she said conversationally sneaking a glance down the table at her husband, who looked rather dumbstruck. "Unless, Father, you would wish our help in preparing the festivities."

The governor did not catch Will's silent pleas that he urge them to stay, as the event was only five days in the future. Instead, he smiled lovingly at his daughter. "Now Elizabeth: I think the two of you deserve a little fun.

After all, you've been working a lot lately," he said to Will. "I think it would be a nice change of pace."

Yes, and exactly the change of pace Will did not need right then, nor ever. Such a change – especially if temporary – might be more damaging than any torture the human mind would conceive.

"Oh, Will, let's," Elizabeth urged, a fresh sparkle to her eyes as she grabbed his hand. "Please. For me."

Taking a deep breath – and wondering whether this would darn or relieve him – Will nodded.

The governor beamed. "Wonderful! I'll send a messenger down to the harbor immediately and let him know you'll both come."

* * * * *

Torrington was not his real last name. For most of his life he had used his real last name. That is, if he used a last name at all. Mostly he went by his first name, or any variant thereof. The captain could identify who was calling him by what name they used. It was rather useful in some ways, though inconvenient in others, especially if he had introduced himself as Billy Torrington and someone called from across the way using another, more recognizable name.

Confused? That is the way he wanted it.

The captain looked out over the harbor, at the dark water and the golden trails sent out by lights from open windows. Somewhere, he thought, my prize is waiting. A smile curled his lips, mimicking the mustache he planned to grow again after this trick was over.

For a while, the captain had thought that such a situation would never arise. Every half century; those were the words that had been spoken. After being on the Pearl, Billy was sure that he would not live long enough to meet the next mark, though the thought was by turns comforting and horrifying. The curse had been on his family – the Torrington family, if you will – for centuries. Every fifty years – or "half-century," if one went by the poetic verse of the real thing – the oldest member of the family would be set upon by a demon of sorts.

Unless, of course, the curse was deflected to another member of the family.

Torrington intended to deflect it in a way that would also serve his own intents and purposes. So far, things had not been going well. Many of his former shipmates had been killed.

It was part of the curse, of course. The other curse: Only those who succeeded in breaking it knew where to find the island again. Torrington did not know how to find the island; he had spent the last year trying.

Now, though; he was close to cracking through, Torrington was sure. Just a few more hours. And what were hours, really, but minutes, and those minutes, seconds?

Soon. He repeated the mantra to himself, cold brown eyes raking the growing darkness. Very soon, indeed.

* * * * *

Mina was stretched out in front of the doorway, feet propped up on the doorjamb, though she was not keeping an eye on him. Eight months assured her that she did not have to. At least, not when it was only the two of them. Jack was chained to a timber, anyway, and it was unlikely that he could escape in order to do anything.

"We need a plan," he mumbled through chapped lips. "A plan."

"And I'm sure one will come more easily if you only speak louder," Mina said irritably.

Levering himself up on an elbow, he glared at her sternly. "A PLAN!"

She made a face, turning her head to look at him. "I was being sarcastic, Jack. But then, you should've known that; you've been it often enough."

He closed his eyes, slumping back down to the floor. "Women."

"At least you admit I'm more than a girl." Mina smiled mischievously at that.

He smiled slightly. "You've grown up."

Mina snorted. "Last time I saw you, I was ten. I'm glad you think I've grown up."

Jack almost laughed. "Yes, those were the days. Scabby knees and tangled curls . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll thank you for that wonderful description of my childhood self, Jack Sparrow, and assure you that my memories of you are just as flattering."

"Mina, you're too kind." He doffed an imaginary hat. "Where is my chapeau, anyway? Has that loving father of yours gone and gotten it all greasy and louse-infested?"

"He's not worn it, if that's what you're asking." She swung her legs around to sit up. "His hat's bigger."

Jack scowled. "Oh-ho, now that's not fair! We all know who you like better between the two of us; let's not be lying, love."

"But telling the truth would break your weasely black heart!"

"I don' have a heart, love; 's why I became a pirate." The sparkle, all but gone from Jack's eyes, up and disappeared.

Her face fell. "Oh, Jack. I didn't mean it, not that way."

"I know," he replied gruffly, gaze fixed on the shadows thrown by the beams above him. "I know it, well and good. But that doesn't help."

Mina bit her lip. "You deserved better, anyway."

"Better? Better?" Jack was up on his elbow again, searching her out across the darkened room. "I deserved whoever I wanted to deserve!"

"Then you were wrong." There was a hopeful upward twitch to the corners of her mouth. "For once in your life." She got on her hands and knees and crawled close enough to gently squeeze his shoulder. "Jack?"

"Yes, love?" Expressionless, his eyes focused up at her.

She hesitated a moment before deciding that changing the topic completely would bee a good idea. "I was thinking. Three of us might be able to pull something off."

He shrugged. "'s only one more. And not very good; fights fair, you know. Follows the rules and all."

"But still, one more . . ."

He shrugged, though not enough to remove her hand.

"Jack, I'm a prisoner her just as much as you are!"

"Aye, but I get the honorary title of first mate." He winked, good humor returning. Well, at least as much as it could in his present situation. "And you're stuck with captain's daughter. Not a lovely ring to that."

"Jack. Please be serious long enough to listen to me."

"About what? The boy's going to be a wreck, if I know anything about 'im. He was close enough before; this'll send him over the edge, I'm sure."

Unfazed, Mina lowered her voice and bent closer. "I have a plan."

Jack stroked his beard. "Crazy?"

"Yes."

"Suicidal?"

"Possibly."

"Is it one of your plans where, if one tiny little detail goes wrong, we get lined up and shot without even a last meal?"

"That's the sort."

"Well." He sat up, putting the tips of his fingers together and resting his chin on them. "Let's hear it, then."

* * * * *

Elizabeth sighed as she brushed her hair one thousand strokes. "Will, what's wrong?"

"Why should anything be wrong?" But the lightness in his tone did not match with the way he stood before the window, arms crossed and gaze turned inward as his eyes rested unseeingly on the harbor.

"It's the same thing that's been wrong for a while, isn't it?" she asked bluntly. "And you won't tell me."

"Nothing's wrong," he repeated firmly, pulling the shutters closed before turning to her. "Absolutely nothing."

She turned back to the mirror. "You're a terrible liar, you know," she pointed out softly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Then I'm not a pirate, after all." Before she could say anything else he crossed the room and kissed her cheek. "Come, let's to bed; we've a busy day tomorrow."

Sighing, she set her brush aside, troubled by the unknown that was troubling her husband. She lay awake long into the night, the sliver of light that cut between the shutters falling across the room like a path she could walk to the stars.