Three

McKay followed his glance, and swore so profusely that Elizabeth blanched. "Damnable Spaniards – this voyage is turning into a nightmare!" He swiveled to Jack and spoke quickly. "Captain Sparrow, I know this is an unusual request and you owe me nothing. But you know as well as I that the Yorkshire is simply not well-armed enough to fight off a Spanish privateer. She's carrying at least thirty guns."

Jack's jaw worked. "Risks of the game, I'm thinking. What are you asking of me?"

McKay visibly controlled himself. "I am authorized by the Crown to commission you as a privateer for His Majesty's Navy. I will do so on condition that you agree to defend us against the Spaniards." He saw Jack's skeptical look. "And I'll make it worth your while. I have on board a hundred pieces of gold that I'm willing to render to you as reward. Oh, come on man!" he cried. "Your friends will otherwise end up as shark bait, or rotting in some Spanish hellhole waiting for ransom!"

An inordinately smug grin spread across Jack's face. "Well mate, when you put it that way, how can I resist?" This time, when Jack extended his hand McKay took it gladly.

Crossing the ramp to the Pearl, Jack's demeanor changed utterly from affable man of the world to that of a ship's captain gearing for battle. "All hands to the braces! Mr. Gibbs, order all cannon at the ready!" There was a madness of activity on the deck of the Pearl as wind was measured and sails were trimmed or let out for maneuvering in close quarters.

Chaos reigned aboard the Yorkshire as well, as long-unused cannons were primed by inexperienced sailors. One man lost two fingers when a spark ignited some loose powder. The ship's surgeon would be a busy man that day.

Elizabeth glanced to Will, trying to keep her voice light. "Well, we have a bit of time before the fun begins. I think I shall go and change."

Will blinked. "Elizabeth, how can you think of clothing at a time like this?"

She shrugged. "It's obvious that my new gown is an utter jinx. It's going over the side the instant I can get it off, and the damnable corset with it. I shall simply have to give up fashion entirely, and wear men's breeches whenever I sail."

Will was left speechless as Elizabeth stomped off to her cabin.

As the Spanish ship approached, the crew spent the time stowing gear, smoking a last pipe, and sharpening their blades. Will thought it was odd; the tales one heard never mentioned how much time aboard ship was spent merely waiting for something to occur. He thought the suspense might be worse than the actual battle.

But the first cannon shot came soon enough all the same; across the bow, such a cliché really, but still it nicked off the end of the bowsprit, and the outer jib collapsed like a dead man's shroud. Will wondered for one moment if Sparrow would renege on his word and simply retreat into the distance. The good Lord knew that the Pearl could outrun the privateer easily, especially as the Spaniards were far more interested in capturing a British merchantman than in tackling hardened pirates.

Of course the enemy would have no way of knowing that the "pirates" intended to defend the Yorkshire rather than simply run away with whatever booty they'd already got. That element of surprise might just be what would save them. A trouser-clad Elizabeth burst out of her cabin with a cutlass in her belt and a musket in her hands, just as the Pearl came about and let loose with a volley of cannon fire broadside to the attackers.

McKay bellowed orders, and the Yorkshire let off its own cannon; a mere five to a side, but deadly nonetheless when they found their mark. The Spaniards returned fire, and Elizabeth gasped as splintered wood flew about them. She took cover behind the bulwark and steadied her musket. Still too great a distance to be a sure shot, but there was nothing to be gained by holding fire.

Now began the necessary maneuvering of all three ships as cannon were reloaded and pistol-fire crackled from the decks. Will fired pistol and musket, then crouched to reload as McKay took his place at the rail, spyglass in hand. The captain's voice held a note of satisfaction. "Ah, I can see the looks on their faces! Not expecting the Pearl to fight back as well, were you? That's it, panic, ya bilge-vermin – we've got forty cannon to your thirty!" McKay lowered his glass and pulled a huge pistol from his belt, letting it off with a blast that rang in Will's ears.

Elizabeth fired another shot at that instant. A man on the enemy's deck dropped, his hand to his chest. She suddenly felt sick. It was quite different, killing a living man rather than an undead pirate.

The enemy ship began to peel away; could it be that they were giving up already? So it seemed, as they ran out their sweeps and stilled their guns. "Bloody cowards!" McKay snorted, but he didn't look at all sorry that the battle had been so brief.

The aftermath was almost as chaotic as the fight itself. The crew checked for damage, worked the bilge-pumps, and cleaned and stowed weapons. Will went to check on Elizabeth's father, and the surgeon saw to the wounded. McKay ordered Collins to signal "approach" to the Pearl, which had happily sustained almost no damage.

This time it was McKay who boarded the Pearl, smiling in gratitude as he shook Jack's hand. "Well done, Captain Sparrow! I must say this has been rather more excitement than I care for. I very much appreciate your keeping your word."

Jack raised one brow. "And why wouldn't I? With such attractive inducements as what you offered, eh?"

McKay cleared his throat. "Quite right, quite right. I shall be happy to issue your letter of marque immediately, if you will be so good as to tarry while I prepare it."

Jack held up a remonstrating finger. "And my gold."

"Yes, yes, and your gold. Yes indeed. Won't take me long." McKay sighed just a little. He wouldn't make a farthing off of this voyage, it seemed.

Elizabeth's shout floated across to them. "Captain Sparrow!"

Jack turned. "Aye love, what is it?" He couldn't help but smirk at her reply.

"Captain McKay would be honored to have you all as dinner guests!"

McKay's eyes met Jack's in a very male glance. "Women. Can't live with em, can't scuttle em either."

Jack snorted as they crossed the ramp to the Yorkshire.

"Clearly, you've never been to Calcutta."

Four

"I tell you, James, this has got to stop. You know it as well as I do." Geoffrey Bainbridge was a refined man not given to strong emotions, but now he pounded a fist on the dining room table. The silver vibrated in response.

Norrington frowned and poured himself a glass of the excellent tawny port. "You're quite right. But we can't have our men running hither and yon every time the rumor of a raid comes to our ears. Half the time they're at the wrong end of the island when the bastards strike."

Bainbridge's face reddened slightly. "It's maddening that our intelligence has been so scanty and inaccurate. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that the raiders have been crossing a few palms with silver to make our informers cover for them."

Norrington brooded over his glass. "Mmm, could be; they've certainly taken enough booty to make it worthwhile. At least the raids are less deadly; we've had only six killed this past twelvemonth, if you don't count Barbossa's assault."

Bainbridge's glance rested on his friend's downcast face. "Don't blame yourself, James. Certainly nothing you could have done to prevent that one. But this strike-and-scatter raid pattern disturbs me. It's as if there is a larger plan behind it."

"I'm trying not to allow my mind to wallow in that thought, Geoff. Don't want to drive myself daft thinking the world's out to get me," Norrington grinned slightly.

The downstairs maid set a platter of fruit at Bainbridge's left hand, bobbing a curtsey as she did so. "Ah, thank you, Molly. Ask Jennings to open another bottle of port as well, would you?"

Norrington shook his head. "My thanks, friend, but I must be off soon, and you know how it affects me." He sliced a bit of mango off the pit and popped it into his mouth.

Bainbridge barked a laugh at that. "Oh, right, I've seen you in your cups so often, how could I forget? Damn, James, you have never been sheets-to-the-wind in your life, that I know of." He filled his own glass again.

The set of Norrington's jaw told Bainbridge he'd hit a sore spot. "Best to keep it that way, don't you think? There's very little I loathe more than a drunken sot. And being a gentleman is no excuse for that lack of self-control." He cleared his throat and gave a short laugh. "I'm sorry. But you see my point? One glass and there I go."

Hmm, something very personal going on there, Bainbridge reflected. But he rose when Norrington did, and shook his friend's hand warmly. "To each his own, then. Give my best to your charming sister."

"I shall indeed. I fear I may soon need to arrange for a paid companion for her; she is becoming rather wild here in Port Royal, in a household of mostly men. Let me know if you hear of a suitable gentlewoman, will you?" Norrington's face held his characteristic half-smile.

"Of course I will, though I should expect her to soon receive an offer or two of marriage, and then she will no longer be your problem."

"Oh no. She will always be my 'problem', Geoff. She's all I have left of family." With that, Norrington took his leave, and a thoughtful Bainbridge sat down to finish off the port.

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Captain Gillette joined Norrington and his sister for dinner the next evening. Kidder admitted him with a bow, and escorted him to the front parlor of the comfortable townhouse. Sarah had strategically placed herself before the window, where the golden light of the fading afternoon lit her hair and made her skin glow as she smiled up at him.

Gillette bowed over her hand, his face flushing beneath his heavily powdered dress wig. "You're looking very well tonight, Miss Norrington," he said quietly.

Sarah rose and flipped open her fan. "Why thank you, Captain. It's very kind of you to dine with us this evening, with all your duties and such. I think my brother works you men much too hard!" She smiled again.

"Nonsense, Sarah," her brother commented brusquely. "Gillette wouldn't dream of shirking his duties. I fully expect him to be given a larger ship very soon now, he's done so well with the Cornwall."

"You must show me around your ship very soon, Captain. James won't let me on board the Dauntless. Some foolish thing about superstitious sailors." She pouted prettily as she took her brother's arm, and they processed into the dining room.

"I'm afraid it's out of the question, Miss Norrington. My sailors are even worse than the Commodore's, I'm sorry to say. If I allowed a woman on board a naval vessel, they would be tying knots inside out for a month."

Her shoulders stiffened with irritation. "The crew of the merchantman that brought me here certainly didn't share their fears. Oh very well, just leave me here to rot while you men have all the adventures."

Norrington gave her a stern look as Kidder ladled soup. "Perhaps you'd rather be in England still, stuck out in the wilds of Dartmoor with cousin Edwards and her nine children?"

The spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. "Good Lord, no. I'm sorry, James, I don't mean to be cross. But it has been a very lackluster month since I got here, I must say!" She slurped her soup.

Norrington winced. "Then I've done my job. We're working to make Port Royal a sober, productive and respectable town. Our vigilance is what keeps this place from becoming another Tortuga. If I had my way, half the taverns would be shut down, and then we'd start on the gambling dens." He gave Gillette a brief smile.

It wasn't easy dining with military men, Sarah mused later as the cheese course was presented. It had been "pirates this" and "raid that" and conspiracy talk all during the meal. Gillette held himself to a single glass of wine, seeming to understand her brother's longstanding dislike of heavy drinkers, and the man obviously had no idea how to flirt properly. She really must encourage James to have larger dinner parties, or she might expire of utter boredom.

The gentlemen skipped the usual after-dinner port, and joined her for tea and cakes in the parlor. Sarah felt an honest pride in pouring from the family silver service, one of the few things left after her mother's death and the selling of their possessions to pay the ensuing debts. But she wouldn't think of that, or the year between finishing school and coming to Port Royal, when she had lived on the charity of her relations, and played nursemaid to the little Edwardses.

Soon Gillette rose to depart, bowing once again over her hand. "Miss Norrington, despite what the Commodore has told me about your mother's sad death, I cannot help but rejoice that it has brought one of England's fairest to our little island. I hope that I may help to make your life here a bit more amusing, if the Commodore will permit."

She positively beamed up at him, though his narrow face was not terribly attractive at that angle. "That would be lovely, Captain! I shall look forward to it." And, she mused, if she had any skill at all, she would be getting a tour of the Cornwall.