Disclaimer: Gwen and a few o' the crew mine. Jack not mine. All ships, friends, and haunts of Jack not mine. Anyone who sues me over this shall get my empty pocket as a settlement.

Author Note/Disclaimer on Historical Matters: Some of the historical references and allusions I make are based on real fact and historical knowledge, or on pre-existing legends. However, I will fabricate some facts and myths all my own.

Chapter 3: No Answers for Gwen

Gwen was awakened suddenly, and she reached automatically for the nearest available weapon, the dagger Jack kept under his pillow.

Jack snickered at her as he shut the door behind him. "No need for that," he said teasingly, waving a hand toward her brandished blade. "I'll give it back."

Gwen lowered the weapon and then tucked it away once more as soon as the haze from her nap cleared out a bit from her mind and she realized it was only Jack. But she asked through a yawn as she stretched her arms and back, "Give what back?"

Jack flew his hat throw the air like a saucer and grinned at her as it skidded onto his desk. "If ye haven't found you're missing anything, then never mind. Sometimes I lie."

"Sometimes?" She lifted an eyebrow at that. "But if you're talking about this…" she reached for the chain and its locket tucked down the front her shirt, pulling it out for him to see. "You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are."

Jack made a face at her. "Nor are you," he tossed back. "I found me razor days ago."

"You were actually going to use it?"

"I didn't say that."

Gwen smiled. "And is that all you've found missing? You're behind."

He smiled indulgently back at her. "How do ye know you're not behind?"

"Let's see… My locket. That deck of cards I liberated from the Sea Maid. My bandana. Oh, and those newer boots I never wear. Anything else I've missed?"

Jack scowled. No, there was nothing she had missed. But he would confess it: yes, he had started this. Ferreting her locket away from time to time to tease her. She must have been around him too long, picked up an inclination towards vengeance. Started pilfering some of his things in playful retaliation. And as tended to happen between them, one thing led to another, led to another, led to ridiculousness.

But now, rather than validate her question with a response, he reached nonchalantly to pick up a book lying open beside her, half under part of her skirt.

At the same time, Gwen had looked up to glance out the window and she realized how low the sun was on the horizon. Only an hour or so before sunset. How long had she slept?

"What of the other ship? And Captain Anamaria?"

Jack was idly flipping through the pages of Julius Caesar, which Gwen had apparently been reading before she fell asleep.

"Gone. For now." Jack paused, closing the book and setting it aside on the desk, though he continued to stare at it as though it might decide to do a trick or spontaneously combust. "We'll be returning to Port Royal. And running another errand elsewhere. Then we rendezvous with Anamaria's Gilder and perhaps some other ships."

"Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure."

Gwen frowned at his answer as well as his countenance. He was supposed to say something like,"Not yet, but we'll make one," and flash a mischievous grin. She wasn't accustomed to seeing Jack look indecisive. She was used to spending days just trying to figure out what was going on in that mind of his, only to discover all her guesses had been incorrect when it actually came to carrying out his plans of pillaging or looting or sporting in other ways. But she hadn't ever heard him make plans to rendezvous with more than one ship at a time, though, and even those one-ship meetings had been few.

"Have you ever heard of Greek Fire?" Jack asked then. At her slight headshake, and ignoring her baffled expression at the unusual question, he went on, "More'n a thousand years ago, the Eastern Roman Empire started using a new weapon on the sea. Liquid fire, essentially. They sprayed it on enemy ships. And it couldn't be put out with water alone. No one's ever been able to explain what it was made of, or how it worked. Maybe… maybe there isn't an explanation."

After a moment of silence, Gwen reached out and touched his arm uncertainly. "Jack?"

"Or what if the reason there isn't an explanation for so many ancient mysteries is that no one's ever tried to explain them the right way?" he went on, as if he had never stopped.

Gwen's brow furrowed. He was starting to worry her. This wasn't entirely like him at all. He spoke aloud to her occasionally while working through thoughts or plans, but not with so much detail… or uncertainty.

Jack didn't respond to the expression on her face, or even seem to notice. He pulled out his compass, which was as fickle as it ever had been. Following his first adventure with Gwen, it had eventually resumed its "normal" patterns of operation. It had led them safely to the more southern, somewhat warmer American colonies when Jack had decided to go; it had led them back again to Tortuga.

Now, he flipped it open, to see where it thought Jack should take the Pearl. At Jack's odd expression, Gwen craned her neck to see the face of the compass, to see where it pointed now that caused him to make such a dubious face.

East.

Gwen strolled along through the market stalls, looking at this and that, and smiling tolerantly at the merchants who actively tried to talk her into buying something. If she saw something she liked, perhaps she would buy it. Perhaps. If the fellow was nice enough. But if the merchant was a grump, she might just… liberate the item.

"Miss!" came a low voice to her right. She turned reflexively toward the call.

"Miss." The man motioned her toward his stall. Gwen glanced over his wares, feigning interest in the wooden toys and utensils she saw as she approached indifferently. (Though she did give the fruit vendor beside him a second glance, feeling she might like a snack.)

"There's a fella followin' you."

Gwen's eyes widened and she took a step back. "Following me?" she repeated, pleased with how sincere she managed to sound.

The man pointed, and Gwen took her cue to glance back at Jack. He had come ashore before she had. But she'd noticed him when he'd come out of a bar a few streets back, just after she passed it, and he'd been trailing her at a hundred feet or so ever since. He hadn't seemed particularly motivated to catch up and walk with her, so she hadn't waited for him either. Besides, he had been arrested once or twice in the past six months in towns like Port Royal, and it was more helpful for all parties involved that she didn't get caught up in it all if he did cause trouble. The jail-break process was usually easier if there were somebody on the outside as well.

"Oh," Gwen said, in a tone of, she thought, well-feigned surprise and uneasiness. "Thank you, sir. I'll hurry straight home and lose him. It's nearby."

The merchant nodded vaguely in agreement at her as she moved off. Gwen grinned as she turned down a side street. One of her most useful tools in her world of piracy, she had discovered, was her innocent face. How easily people still saw her as an innocent little thing to be protected, rather than one you needed to protect yourself fromAnd how ironic it would have been if she had decided to lift something from the man's stall then.

But never mind that. She was almost to the Turners' residence, so she picked up her pace, whether Jack be following her or not.

She turned up another street, one that was lined with fewer, but larger, buildings- the houses of some of the better-off citizens of Port Royal. Finally reaching the one near the end that was her goal, she rapped on the front door with the brass knocker and waited, turning back to idly observe Jack's progress up the street.

A few seconds later, the door opened behind her, and a butler ushered her in. After learning from her the nature of her call, he floated away to inform the mistress of the house of her visitor. Gwen resisted the urge to whistle or hum to fill up the grand silence in the entry hall. The sound of footsteps on the second floor caught her ear and she turned toward the staircase just as Elizabeth appeared on the upper landing, smiling down at her as she began to descend.

Gwen smiled back in greeting as she took in her friend's appearance. It had been right at six months ago when she had last seen Elizabeth. And it was clear that there was indeed a third Turner now, even though the babe was not anywhere near to be seen or heard. Gwen hadn't seen Elizabeth at all during the months when her body had been swollen large with child. But now she looked much the same as she had then, at the end of her first trimester, though perhaps a little lighter, with the extra weight she still carried. Besides which, there were tell-tale signs in the way she smiled so warmly, so motherly, and in the extra wisps of hair escaping half-hearted attempts to smooth them.

"He's sleeping," Elizabeth said in answer to the unspoken question as she reached the bottom of the stairs and embraced Gwen.

But before Gwen could respond to this, the front door opened and Jack clumped in without bothering with knocking. He then sprang lightly up half the stairs, taking them two at a time, before he paused abruptly and turned back to the two women staring up at him from the foot of the stairs.

"Elizabeth, darling, ye look fantastic. Fetch me some rum, aye?"

And with that, he turned and bounded up the final steps and disappeared into the right wing.

Elizabeth turned back to Gwen, mouth half-open, though she knew she should know Jack well enough to not get flustered at his behavior.

"He's…" Gwen tried to explain. "He's Jack."

"That he is," Elizabeth said dismissively. Gwen realized then that Elizabeth was looking over her appraisingly, in the same way she had done Elizabeth.

"So how long?" Elizabeth asked after a moment.

"It's been seven months," Gwen said with a smile. "Sea life suits me."

There was no denying this. Her complexion, while still not particularly dark, was not nearly as ghostly fair as it had been seven months before. Her hair had been shorn a little shorter and was currently pulled back from her face and gathered at the nape of her neck. (Though from time to time, she still allowed Jack to braid it.) Whereas she had bordered on actually being scrawny before, her work as well as her martial training on board the ship had built more muscle into her frame. All the activity and exercise in her daily life gave her a respectable appetite, and since she was no longer eating like a bird, her body boasted healthier curves as well. Even Jack had commented on her changed physique. Well, not exactly commented… not in so many words, anyway. Or not really in any words at all…

"It does suit you," Elizabeth said slowly.

"Are you going to show me the baby or not?" Gwen asked.

Elizabeth smiled. That was, of course, the most appropriate, anticipated, and appreciated request anyone could ask of a new mother. "This way," she said, turning to lead Gwen to him. "We named him Jonathon William, partly after Will and his father. Will's been calling him Billy, though. I'm afraid it's going to stick."

Gwen shuddered involuntarily as she followed Elizabeth up the steps. Bill. Also the name of her grandfather. She realized that she had never told Elizabeth about that little detail of their adventure-- about her finding out that the defunct old ex-pirate Bill Jacobs they'd found on that island had in his younger years impregnated a prostitute, who then gave birth to Gwen's mother. Bill. That was name that just kept coming back, it seemed. Funny ol' world.

Will let himself into his home just past three that afternoon. Ever since Mr. Brown-- the master-smith, if one chose to call him that, whom Will had learned his trade under-- had died a year ago, Will had been able to keep much more decent hours than he used to. He was completely in charge of his own time now, and with two young apprentices to help him, he concentrated almost solely on filling orders for swords and other such finely-detailed work, while the youngsters practiced their metallurgy skills on horseshoes and wrought-iron gates.

He made his way up the stairs, heading for the room beside the master bedroom, the nursery.

"How's my Billy?" he asked, grinning at the infant as he gently scooped him up. "Where's your mother?"

"Will, must you wake him up?"

"He was already awake. He was looking at me," Will protested, turning to greet his wife, who had come in behind him.

"So you finished Captain Gilette's commission?"

"I did," he said distractedly, peering down at his son. Then he looked up. "Elizabeth… I could have sworn I saw Smithy at the market on my way home. You know, Jack's quartermaster. Have you heard from him, or was I imagining things?"

"No, you probably did see him. Stocking up the Pearl, I would assume. Gwen said she thinks they're going on quite a significant voyage, but Jack-"

"Still won't answer," Gwen finished for her, having followed to see where Elizabeth had gone off to. "Hello, Will."

"Gwen," he acknowledged with a smile, and then addressed a question to both women at large. "Where is Jack, then?"

"He's locked himself in the library," Elizabeth said exasperatedly. "He came out once, and apparently filched Brant's house-keys so no one could disturb him." The butler, who functioned more as a groundskeeper and boss over the other servants, had discreetly informed Elizabeth earlier that he had lost track of his keys, including keys for all the locking doors in the house, shortly after the 'unkempt visitor' had stopped him in a hallway.

"Well, what's he doing in there?" Will asked, sounding much amused. "Reading?"

"He does read," Gwen said quickly.

Elizabeth and Will both turned to look at her. Whether because they doubted he had taken over a room in their house just to read a book or because they were just surprised at her abrupt defense of his motives, Gwen wasn't sure.

As if on cue- and really, Gwen certainly wouldn't put it past Jack to have heard some, if not all, of this conversation just now anyway- the library door just up the hallway burst open, and Jack came forth.

"Well?" Gwen said immediately, by no means shy about confronting him now that he had finally come out of hiding.

"Yes, very well, thank ye," Jack said, peering curiously at the baby Will was cradling.

"Jack," Gwen said in a mildly reprimanding tone. It was time he started coming clean about what was bothering him so.

"Gwen, luv," Jack echoed after her, turning to her then. "Where have ye been all day?"

"I sold the Black Pearl to a fine gentleman in a red coat and a powdered wig. I got a very good price for it, but he won't pay all until he has your hat as well."

"He'll have to kill me for either o' those."

Will and Elizabeth exchanged a knowing look at their teasing.

"I also destroyed all the rum in the world."

Jack winced visibly, and he narrowed his eyes menacingly at her. That was not something to joke about.

"So what were you up to all day?" Gwen asked sweetly.

"Planning," he said nonchalantly after a moment. In Gwen's opinion this hardly explained why he felt he needed the use of a library in the Turners' residence just to plan. "How do you feel about Rome?"

A/Ns: Cookies for anyone who noticed the Seinfeld allusion in the title of this chapter. Couldn't resist, mate.

History Lesson: Greek Fire was real stuff. It was like ancient napalm. The Byzantine Empire (also known as the Eastern Roman Empire- this was after the collapse of the "real" Italy-based Roman Empire) used this weapon around the very end of the seventh and the beginning of the eighth century, though there are only a few recorded instances of its use. Using what basically amounted to a flamethrower, with a large brass tube, and some sort of pump, Byzantines sprayed this stuff on enemy ships. It couldn't be put out with water only; some tried using urine or vinegar to put out the fires. In fact, though, most liquids seemed to just make it worse, even water. There are records of two entire fleets being completely or nearly destroyed by use of this weapon. To this day, while many have tried, and some weaker approximations have been made, no one has ever been able to successfully reproduce Greek Fire. Some legends suggest thatit was given to the Byzantine ships by gods or some supernatural figure.