THEN

The night shift was never appealing to Eora. She had much rather been off to bed, but her duties dictated that, for at least one night a week, she pulled her weight in the graveyard. There was never much to do really, and the boredom ate at the brain.

The only real good thing that came out of the deal, was that Eora was able to take the wheel. Other nights, Jack would weigh anchor, but when either Jack or Eora were up, their journey could continue.

This particular night, most of the others who were forced to stay awake sat on deck, playing poker. But, what struck Eora as particularly strange, was the eerie silence that seemed to stretch between hands. Sometimes she could hear whispers, but they were quickly shushed. Eora kept a weary eye out for them. They were planing something, and she knew all too well, that some gents didn't like staying away from port too long. If they chose to jump her, she was going to have to find a nice, violent way to get out of whatever blind date they found for her.

Hours passed, and still no one left the game. Eora, however, could still not shake the bad feeling that had settled in her gut. Finally, the game was over and done with, and the group rose.

She watched each of them carefully, but they all pretty much filtered off to the other side of the ship. Only one lone figure approached the stairs and slowly rose to her level.

"How was the game Barbosa," Eora said trying to be friendly. She hated the man with a passion, but had never let on to Jack or the crew. But if push came to shove, she was going to guarantee that she was not going to be the one thrown overboard.

"About as boring as any game can be," he answered with a sickening smile.

Eora returned a smile but remained silent. Barbosa approached to rail and looked out to sea. There he stayed for what seemed like a good twenty minutes, just standing there. Eora watched him out of the corner of her eye, not turning her back for a moment, but not turning to face him either. Finally he turned around. "Ye know...Jack..." He said delicately, "he's got some real problems it seems."

"The crew doesn't trust him," Eora answered. "That would be tough on any captain."

"Aye." Barbosa tapped the wood, scheming. "He seems a bit distanced from ya." Eora gave him a glance. "Ye haven't noticed, hm?" Barbosa asked. Before she could answer, he continued. "How he's been hiding things from ye...? No?...Then I guess ye wouldn't know that...he's rethinking his crew selection."

Eora didn't know whether or not to believe him, but tried to speak calmly. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. There's no crew better than ours."

"Ye should tell him that," Barbosa said then attempted a smile, "cuz he's also rethinking yer position."

"What..." Eora spun to face him, almost taking her hands of the wheel. Her jaw had dropped at the accusation and her eyes were wide.

"Not fair is it, luv?" The man said to her, again approaching. "But I have a proposition for ye...if ye care to listen."

Eora remained silent and turned back to the wheel. The action seemed invitation enough for Barbosa, and it didn't take long for him to tell her what he and the crew had been talking about.

PRESENT TIME

"I still don't trust the lass," Gibbs said as the crew waited for Jack and the hunter to return. "She's doubly bad luck. Women hunters."

"Bad luck my teeth," Anamaria snapped. "She's doomsday."

"Dead men tell no tales," Mr. Cotton's bird chirped. The man quickly tapped at the parrots peak to shut it up.

"If its not bad luck yer worrin' about, Ana, then I'd like to know what it is. She seems straight enough with the captain." Gibbs said taking a sip of the gin in his canteen.

"She seems to talk straight but she's a snake, I can tell," Anamaria said pointing to the approaching row boat. "Think she's got everyone fooled, but I know." The crew began working the rope in preparation for lifting the boat back onto the Pearl.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous of the competition." The crew laughed.

Clenching her teeth, Anamaria fought against the severe urge to mop the deck with Gibb's amble frame. 'I'm not jealous,' she thought to herself, 'I just hate her guts.' That seemed a weak excuse, but Anamaria knew there was something funny going on, and it was not comical in the least.