Sorry about the delay, guys. I just want to let you know that I have been very sick for about two years now, and I have my good and bad days. On bad days my mind is completely gone and I can barely get out of bed. So if I don't update for a while sometimes, that's the reason. Don't be mad! Thanks to all of my reviewers, you guys are the rockingest. Much love!

Oh, and by the way, I'm totally stealing the characters and setting. Just in case you were wondering. :o)

Chapter 3 – Delirium

Elizabeth opened her eyes to almost total blackness, shaking and sweating, her vision fading in and out. Shivering in her wet clothes, she noticed that in contrast to its earlier rolling, pitching motion, the ship was now rocking gently.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap!

The noise was coming from the deck above her, sharp and loud in her ears. It sounded like the ceiling was going to fall down on her, crushing her under the debris, cutting off the light and air that was just above it, yet seemed hundreds of leagues too distant... She realized that this was the noise that had interrupted her slumber, restless as it had been.

"Oy, wench, get up. We's 'ere." A head blocked the light for a moment.

They had reached land! Elizabeth grinned in delirious excitement. Of course, they were docked; that explained the change in the ship's motion. This was her chance, probably her single, solitary chance before they locked her up and did God knows what to her. She was suddenly too tired to speculate on what that might be.

The tapping came again. "I said get up. Don't make me 'ave to call the Cap'n now," the anonymous pirate said grimly.

She swallowed at this reminder of Bloody Silas. Looking up at the small visible patch of sky, she decided to play up her injury as much as she could, feign weakness so that they would underestimate her. Then—she would catch them unawares, make her escape before they had a chance to react!

It was foolproof. She smiled.

She called up faintly, "I can't climb up, I haven't the strength. I've lost too much blood."

The faceless pirate grumbled at this and walked away, leaving Elizabeth in silence. He returned shortly and a heavy rope ladder came hurtling down, narrowly missing her head.

She grabbed a rung that was level with her chin in one hand and hoisted herself up—or at least tried to. She swayed on her feet, her skirts heavy with water, feeling dizzy.

Realizing with vague alarm that she actually was extremely weakened, she considered for the first time that this miscarriage might very possibly kill her. Medicine was advancing rapidly these days in England, but the islands of the Caribbean weren't exactly awash with qualified doctors, and it was not uncommon for a woman to bleed to death after losing her baby.

She saw herself floating in the dimness, hazy and insubstantial, grey, staring back at her with dead eyes...the specter held a dead baby in her arms, small and shriveled, obviously underdeveloped...she blinked, horrified, and it was gone, but she could still see those empty eyes and the chill of their blank gaze on her...

She shook her head, filled her aching lungs with the fishy-smelling air and banished the image from her mind. The next step. Think about the next step. Gathering her courage, Elizabeth grabbed her sodden skirts in one hand and the rung next to her head with the other, picked up one foot, and placed it on the bottom rung. Bracing herself, she pulled her body up.

She almost fainted from the effort, and the pain. Trembling and gasping, she almost lost her grip on the ladder. Look here, Elizabeth Turner, she told herself in sudden annoyed clarity. You're going to do this because you've no other choice. So buck up and stop being such a pansy.

With renewed determination, she stepped up to the next rung, shifted her weight, and pulled herself up. She blocked out the pain by sheer force of will, running solely on adrenaline now. The metallic taste was on her tongue. Step, shift, hoist. Step, steady, hoist. Step, shift, hoist. Her lungs burned, and so did her calves. Her head pounded and white spots appeared at the edge of her field of vision. She lost count of the steps, and the rungs seemed to stretch upward into infinity.

Suddenly a grimy hand was thrust in front of her face. She stared at it dumbly until she saw that it was outstretched, reaching. Grabbing onto it in hysterical relief, she let herself be pulled up out of the dank hellhole that had been her prison for the last few days.

He dropped her as soon as her feet touched the deck and she landed in an ungraceful heap at his feet, tears on her flushed face. The words "thank you" came to her lips, but she bit them back just in time. This man was a pirate, she seemed to remember, scum on the shoes of humanity like the rest of the crew.

The crew that killed Will and destroyed their child.

She staggered in agony to her feet and looked up at her jailer. He was disturbingly ordinary-looking. Reddish-brown hair, millions of freckles on a sunburned young face, faded blue eyes that regarded her with a singular expression. It could almost be described as...pity, sympathy...even a rough sort of kindness? No, absolutely not kindness. Surely he was incapable of it. But she found that he did not inspire the instinctive revulsion in her that certain others of the crew did.

He looked away from her quickly, almost guiltily, and said, "Cap'n says you's to be taken ashore." He looked up when she gave no sign of hearing him. She grimaced weakly at him.

"I'm very weak," she said faintly. "I lost my baby. I need a moment to collect my strength." This last part she said a little challengingly.

He gave her a sharp glance, then nodded once. She sighed and sat down next to the mast, leaning against its broad base and closing her eyes in weariness. She really was tired. She woke to find herself swaying upside down, the ground receding below her. The view of the shifting dirt combined with her motion made her stomach twist in protest. Elizabeth realized she had been thrown over someone's shoulder. She stiffened at the physical contact with a member of Bloody Silas' hated band. Looking at her captor's pants, she let out a relieved breath as she noted that they were blue, not crimson; the arm that was wrapped around the backs of her legs was not that of Bloody Silas. She closed her eyes and relaxed her body, hoping he would not realize that she was awake.

The temporary well-being caused by her period of rest was quickly fading. She started shivering, temples pounding. The rush of blood to her head caused by her awkward position was only making it worse. Unsure how much longer she could keep up the pretense, she nonetheless tried to relax her shoulders to stop the shivers before they got stronger. Suddenly she heard a rough, familiar voice.

"You've been carryin' the wench for fifteen bloody minutes," growled Silas. "Just drop'er carcass in the dirt. She'll get the idea." Great, thought Elizabeth as a hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up. Just when I had almost gotten the shivers under control.

"I don't mind the load," said the voice from above her calmly.

"What are ye Abel, some kind of prissy nancy-boy in tight white breeches?" The other men laughed uproariously at this.

Abel stiffened. "Seein' as she's fevered an' weak an' it ain't her fault, I figures I can carry her a little ways. It is cause o' us she's in this state."

Dead silence. "You accusin' me of somethin' boy?" said Silas dangerously. "If ye'are, say it plain now."

Elizabeth felt Abel's racing heart through her dress. Taking a deep breath, he said in a slightly unsteady voice, "No, Cap'n. I just...she'll slow us down. I know ye're in a hurry."

There was a pause, then Silas barked, "What are ye lookin' at, ye filthy buggers? Move!" With shuffling feet, the group started walking once again.

Elizabeth didn't know what to think of this evidence of consideration from Abel, even to the extent of him challenging Bloody Silas, whom he was obviously terrified of. Deciding to test his loyalty, she wiggled a bit to let him know she was awake.

"Are ye all righ'?" he whispered to her.

She breathed in relief; he apparently wasn't going to give her away.

"Better than before. Where are we?"

"Well..." he hesitated.

"What does it matter, I'll find out soon enough regardless. I just want the knowledge. It would be a small comfort."

"Tortuga, then." Elizabeth felt a frisson of excitement. Tortuga! She knew of Tortuga! In fact, Jack Sparrow and his crew were here often; it was their base of operations, or at least had been. Surely it wouldn't have changed in a mere six months? In any case, someone here would know of Jack, would have some kind of word of the Black Pearl.

She felt the fuzzy, lightheaded feelings start to dissipate.

It was time to formulate a plan.

OpraNoodlemantra: You go girl! He definitely deserved that kick! Yes, ahem, well...definitely our lovely Jack will be showing up soon...but I won't give anything away. Thanks for the good wishes. Yes, Silas will definitely get his due, but we might have to wait a little while... ;o)

carby luva 313: It gets better, don't worry. Thanks for reading!

WolviesLover: Thank you! Yeah, that's one of the things that irks me about a lot of fics. They just move unrealistically fast. I'm trying to keep the realism of both the characters and the setting, as well as the pacing. Hope you like this one:o)