The Spaniard was good, maybe even great, but Devonshire was better.

"It's a simple enough transaction," Devonshire said, leaning back and toying with the golden coin in his palm. "I give you the coin, you give me one of your boats and enough water to make it to land."

The Spaniard smiled grimly. "Or I could kill you here and now."

"Ah, yes," Devonshire said, "but then you'd have that pesky curse to worry about, wouldn't you?" He watched the other man carefully, and allowed his free hand to creep toward the dagger at his hip.

"I have heard of this curse," the Spaniard sneered. "but no man with a head on his shoulders would give it a thought."

Devonshire stood, and for the first time since he boarded the Spanish galleon, was in the light of the moon. "In that case, I suppose I'd better take yours off."

The other man stared and whispered, "Diablo muerto..."

"If you like," Devonshire said. He grinned mirthlessly and drew his sword. "Be ready to meet a few more."

The Spaniard stood, shakily, and reached for his own sword. He was braver than most, Devonshire had to give him that. "Don't bother," Devonshire said, and ran him through.

Five minutes later, after rifling through the Spaniard's drawers, Devonshire found what he was looking for. Twenty minutes later, he was on the open sea in a sound lifeboat, with two barrels of water.

Three days later, he flagged down a passing Royal Navy ship and clambered aboard.

The leftenant, a young man of thirty or so, looked him up and down. "Devonshire Jones, I presume," he said.

Devonshire smiled. "I take it you're familiar with the Royal Museum."

"Only one Brody Markham, who warned me that I might run across you, and instructed me that if that were the case, I was to give you a letter which I have in my cabin and keep you on board until we reached Port Royale."

Across the hall from the cabin, a girl of ten or so closed the door gently. "He's doing better," she said cheerfully to the officer.

"Excellent work, Miss Swann," he replied, amused.

The girl curtsied, and walked quickly past them.

Once Devonshire was in his cabin, the locked the door and broke the seal on the letter.

To whom it may concern, namely and hopefully Devonshire Jones:

I hope that your previous endeavor was successful, and that you are well and have not been taken ill with some mystical disease or curse. The news I bring to you is of the utmost importance. Once Captain Ellis' ship anchors at Kingston, you must make your way to Tortuga. It is an island in the Caribbean, a wretched hive of scum and villainy overrun with scoundrels.You ought to be right at home. In Tortuga there is a woman by the name of Marie Anne, tavern wench in name, pirate in actuality. She carries a golden Aztec token, emblazoned with a skull. If at all possible, retrieve it and bring it to the Museum for study. This piece is highly dangerous and all precautions must be taken. Trust no one, not even old acquaintances. Except me. I'm all right.

Ever your friend and ally,

Brody Markham

Devonshire refolded the paper and threw it casually into his bag. He knew Tortuga, and he knew Marie. She would not be as easy to outwit or terrify as the Spaniard. She was one of the few girls he knew to have ever outwitted Captain Jack Sparrow--hell, she was one of the few people he knew to have ever outwitted Captain Jack Sparrow. But Jack had not known her then as Devonshire knew her now.

**
The Ocean's Roar was closed. The wooden sign hanging outside read, "Open all day except when the tables need cleaning." Devonshire ignored the sign and pushed the heavy door open. "Marie Anne," he said.

The dark-haired girl behind the bar did not look up as she slung a rag across the craggy surface. "It's Anamaria," she said. "But I'd bet my tavern you're still Devonshire."

"That's my girl," he said, walking over to her. "Anamaria. I like it. It flows. Like you."

"Like the sea," she said. She flung the rag down and tossed her hair. "If it's the coin you're looking for, don't bother. Captain Barbossa and his men have been here already."

Devonshire leaned on the bar, feigning casualness. "Did you give it to them?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I?" She put her hands on her hips, a posture she had taken often when he knew her five years ago.

He smiled. "Marie--Anamaria."

She cocked an infuriating eyebrow.

"Don't play games with me."

She laughed in his face. "I'll tell you something, Devon. I'll tell you because I like you." She reached into her pocket and fished a coin out, held it to the light. A coin that glimmered in the lamplight, with a golden skull gaping from its surface.

Devonshire instinctively snatched for it, but she pulled it away and drew a knife. "Not quite, Devon. I'll be keeping this for a while, I think."

"Until Barbossa and his men come back, you mean," he said.

"I don't think so." She was still smiling. Bloody cocksure wench.

"In that case," Devonshire said, and leaned in to kiss her.

Anamaria dodged him, as he expected, and he took advantage of her distraction to strike her, hard, on the side of her head. She crumpled in a still heap on the floor. Devonshire leapt over the bar and rummaged through her pockets, knowing that she would wake in less than an hour. He intended to be as far away from Tortuga as possible when she did.

"Much obliged, love," he said, and walked quickly out of the tavern.

**
Anamaria dimly heard the door slam, and struggled to raise herself to a place where her head was above the rest of her. She didn't need to check her pocket to know that the coin was gone, along with Devonshire. She cursed--just once--and pushed herself onto unsteady feet.

"Bugger this for a lark," she said with feeling, and staggered out the door after that damn English pirate.