Disclaimer: Mickey owns all. Fear the Mickey. For tonight, he comes for you!

A/N: Big up-date! I've re-done this chapter, mainly because as I got to writing chapter four I realized some story wrinkles that I wanted to smooth out. One fact that I left out which I've now put back in is the fact that Jack gives Elizabeth the coordinates within her dream. This is important because in chapter one, we discover that the ancient spirits have encoded these coordinates within his heart...and to retrieve them he must enlist a woman who can see into his heart and discover them. So, to avoid confusion I've re-done this chapter so hopefully it will make more sense when you read chapter four. This one's much longer too! -breathes!- I hope you enjoy! Thanks again for taking the time to review!

I will probably be posting chapter four tonight! I'm working hard:)))

And now, the third chapter! (Again) I shall be silent! I promise. ;))) R&R, ye scallywags!

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I see my mouth moving when I talk to you;
I see my lips and I feel like a kid
Who can't keep something hid...

And if I am a sailor
You are the warm gulf wind
And you've blown into this little port

And roused my dreams again...

- Sarah Harmer

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Chapter Three: Letters and Numbers From the Heart

Elizabeth was warm. So deliciously warm.

For a moment she wondered if she was home, wrapped in the comfort of her bed and heated sheets. She wiggled experimentally, but found that whatever she was lying on, although certainly comfortable was much too firm to be her long lost bed. Perhaps it was her divan? Yes, that had to be it! She'd fallen asleep on the divan in the library again, probably after staying up late reading Antoine Galland's adventure epic Arabian Nights. This was dream, and soon she'd be surrounded by women dancing with shimmering veils and inhale the exotic scents of the Shah's crystalline palace. Indeed, there was something in the air that excited her-- that was making her skin tingle and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. As she wiggled in anticipation, she experienced a very odd sensation...

The divan wiggled back, and slipped its arms around her. What was more, she could have sworn she heard it sigh, a deep contented sound that gave rise to more tingles along her skin.

Strange. She didn't remember her divan ever sighing before. Or hugging her, for that matter. Yet she could not dwell on these logical observations; every time her thoughts strayed from the comfort of her position they seemed to dwindle and be snuffed out. Ah well! She needed a nice, peaceful dream and it had been so long since she'd felt this content. Elizabeth sighed blissfully and nuzzled further into the divan's cushions-- but wait...they didn't feel like cushions...they felt like...

Elizabeth felt her curiosity stir, breaking the glass surface of her consciousness and sending ripples of questions through her hazy mind.

...they felt like skin. Bare skin. Without thinking, she rubbed her face against the bareness...and sniffed. Now she knew there was definitely something afoot.

Her divan smelt like Jack.

"Call me a hopeless romantic darling but I'd hoped for somethin' with a bit more bang."

Elizabeth froze, her nose pressed to what was now clearly Jack's right pectoral. His hand slipped down her back to cup her bottom.

"Although I am willing to negotiate..."

Elizabeth moved so quickly that she tripped over her long shift, and sprawled limbs flailing into the warm sand.

Sand...

She glanced around herself wildly, her eyes first taking in the dark sky scattered with stars, the blazing fire, the sandy beach...the glimmering ocean...and finally, the man himself. Jack was stretched out on the sand, leaning up on his elbows leisurely. His eyes twinkled in the firelight as he watched her with an amused expression. "Come now darling, don't tell me you didn't enjoy that," he said knowingly, his gold teeth glittering as he grinned.

"How are you-- why--this is the beach we escaped from after Barbossa marooned you," Elizabeth exclaimed, not noticing his attempt to mesmerize her with his charming wiles. Jack let his grin fall a little. "Marooned us, love. If I remember correctly, I was one step away from tucking Barbossa in my pocket before you decided to play the martyring maid--"

"Incredible..." Elizabeth said breathlessly, ignoring Jack. "Everything is so vibrant...the air, it smells like the sea, and ..."

"Rum," Jack finished proudly, suddenly producing a large bottle that was so big he had a hard time holding it with one hand. Elizabeth frowned. "If this is a dream, this must have been before I burned all the rum--" she thought aloud to herself. Jack's face paled, his expression frozen in horror. "You? Burn? Rum?" he managed disjointedly, clutching his rum bottle to his chest protectively. Elizabeth looked at him, suddenly feeling as though the comfy veil that had allowed her to remain deliriously calm was suddenly being ripped away. "Jack, why are you here in my dream? If this is a dream, which it must be because I only dream about this beach in my dreams... and this has already happened, which means that this must be a dream, and I'm simply having a dream in which I know it's a dream...right?"

Jack seemed to seriously consider her nonsensical babbles as if he were going to be asked to recite them later. When he finally spoke, his words were only slightly slurred.

"Unless I'm only in your dream because this is your dream, which means that contrary to your previous opinions on the matter the you who is dreaming wishes to be marooned on an island with the me who is also dreaming, or not dreaming-- but of course, this is only a dream so what do I know, eh?"

And with that, he lifted the rum bottle and toasted her.

Elizabeth scowled at him.

"Now I know this isn't my dream," she muttered darkly. Jack's responded by quirking a questioning eyebrow as he took a generous swig of rum. "Why's that?" he asked afterwards, his voice thick as he swirled the liquor around in his mouth before swallowing loudly.

"Because in my dream, you are not drinking, you're not talking in riddles and you most definitely are not behaving like a scoundrel!"

"Are you sure you were dreaming of me?" he asked in all seriousness.

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush. "In my dreams, you don't tease me either. We talk about the sea...you tell me about your adventures, and then..." she trailed off, feeling the heat seep into her skin as she blushed scarlet. She bowed her head, her long hair acting like a curtain.

But it was too late.

Jack sat up, his poise now dignified-- like a cat whose attention has just been caught by something curious--and patted the ground next to him, beckoning her to come and sit beside him. Elizabeth should have hesitated; after all, they were alone, he was drinking copious amounts of rum with his shirt half open and he had already grabbed her bottom. All of these warnings should have pointed stubbornly to one conclusion-- he can't be trusted. Yet confused as she was that Jack seemed to have taken over her dreams she found she couldn't resist his soundless request. Feeling the sand sink between her toes, she stood and made her way to where he sat. She didn't sit, but looked down at him stubbornly.

Jack tugged on the hem of her shift.

When she still didn't sit, he slipped his hand beneath the hem and grasped her bare ankle. He gave a deep chuckle as Elizabeth gasped, scandalized.

"So tell me darling. These dreams you have of me--"

"Dream!" Elizabeth interjected, hoping he would not notice her blush. "There was just one."

Jack's smile grew. Elizabeth felt her skin flush, feeling bare beneath his gaze.

"Dream, then. I don't tease you even though it amuses me heartily. We talk of the sea, and I tell you of the great adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow..."

His hand began to gently massage her ankle.

"...but what intrigues me is what you didn't say we do."

Elizabeth's knees felt wobbly, and she extracted her ankle from his grasp. He let her go, and kept his gaze trained on her face as she sank to the ground beside him. Drawing her knees up to her chest as he had done on the real island where they'd been marooned, she refused to look at him.

"What could we do to pass the time I wonder," Jack said with a suggestive grin.

Elizabeth leaned as far away from him as she could, trying to maintain a respectable distance. So much for wonton, dreamy inhibitions! Yet there was something about this place which told her it was not a dream, nor was it reality. It floated somewhere in the middle, a hidden plane between the two worlds of consciousness. Jack leaned towards her, brushing so closely she could feel the prickle of his mustache against her cheek.

"How about we do a trade-sie? I'll tell you what I think would happen, and you tell me what you think would happen. Savvy?" His voice was a deep rumble, heavy with something she could not name but that made her feel inexplicably hot...hot in places she dared not name aloud. Her lips parted, her throat suddenly parched in the wake of this sudden heat within her. Somehow, his hand had meandered from his lap to rest on her knee. His touch burned though her thin shift, and he splayed his fingers wide only to close them around her knee cap, swallowing it completely. She turned then, and looked at him. She couldn't help it-- it was as if he'd turned her face away from the shimmering sea to look at him instead. But he hadn't; he'd simply willed her to meet his gaze. Somehow, she knew he'd been silently commanding her.

Their mouths inches apart, she felt hypnotized by the shape of his lips.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, his gaze dropping to her own lips.

"Do you trust me?" he murmured, his mouth open and his words warm and moist with emotion-- like the kiss he was dying to give her.

"Why..?" she asked softly, unsure of his question but responding to his caress despite herself.

"I asked first, love."

Elizabeth considered for a moment, and was surprised when the answer seemed to float unbidden to her lips.

"I feel safe with you," she whispered, her voice betraying the trembles that rippled through her body at his nearness...at his hand which kneaded against the flesh of her knee softly. He made a growling sound in the back of his throat, as if admonishing her.

"It's not the same thing, darling. But never fear. The next time you see ol' Jack you'll understand why I need you to trust me..."

Elizabeth watched with a mixture of confusion and curiosity as Jack gently took her hand in his, and lowered it to the sand. Pressing against her fingertip, he guided it along the sand, drawing out first a letter, then a number:

W 26 52...

Elizabeth watched as his hand guided hers, his touch warm yet the rings he wore on his fingers cool against her skin.

...N E 25 36...

Jack pulled her hand back. Elizabeth looked down at what Jack had drawn with her finger;

W 26 52 N E 26 36.

"What does it mean?" Elizabeth began, a flurry of questions rising within her. Jack didn't reply. Instead, he raised her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckle.

"In case I don't get another chance..." he murmured in explanation, his expression one Elizabeth couldn't discern.

"I don't want to have any regrets when the time comes for me to square my debts..."

Elizabeth suddenly felt his touch growing lighter and his voice becoming distant, as if he were speaking to her over a great expanse.

"We don't have much time left, love. Will you trust me?"

"I...!" Elizabeth began, frightened at the significance of his question but not wanting to leave...

And yet she was. She could feel herself slipping from the dream world, the beach...she was tumbling backwards and as she did she could hear his voice calling out to her still.

"Say yes, love. Just say yes."

But she couldn't.

Her vision grew inky, bright pools of white suddenly springing up from behind her closed eyes. She felt as though she'd been pulled back into her body-- her body which was lying on a bed. Still in the throws of half-sleep, she moaned and tried to move her limbs. She ached all over.

"I think she's wakin' up!" she heard a voice say with apprehension.

"Then go and get the Captain! We have our orders!"

"Ooh, right!" the first voice said sheepishly. Elizabeth heard the pattering of boots and the closing of a door. Memories came swirling back to her as if someone had suddenly pulled a drain, letting them pour back into her head. The letter to her father-- she had run away and forsaken Commodore Norrington, and the respectable life he'd represented.

Rogers...

The three pirates who had attacked her.

Jack. He'd saved her, after being mistaken for a possessed goat.

And then...

Her eyes shot open.

Sitting bolt upright in the feathery bed she glanced around herself in a panic-- she recognized this room. The dark, mahogany walls and ceiling. The bright bay windows-- the cry of seagulls circling in the blue sky just outside them.

She was aboard the Black Pearl.

A pair of large, round eyes stuck on a rugged, bedraggled looking face appeared above her.

"Easy, poppet," came a gruff, sand papery voice that was as familiar as it was dreaded.

With a shriek, she reached for the first thing that came to hand-- which happened to be a rather large, leather bound book-- and threw it at the pirate who was sitting by her bedside. The man nearly toppled off his chair, and scrambled backwards to get away from her as she picked up another heavy volume menacingly. "Oi!" cried Pintel indignantly, before ducking as the volume flew past his head. Deciding to retreat and re-group, he dashed out the cabin door and banged it shut behind him. He looked around himself, hoping no one had seen his hasty escape.

"That'll do Mr. Pimple. I can take it from here."

Pintel twitched. "It's Pintel, Cap'n." he said with as much deference as he could muster.

The Captain of the Black Pearl waved his hand airily.

"Mr. Pommel, yes. As you were."

Pintel felt another book hit the closed door, and a muffled cry that sounded something akin to: BloodypirateJackSparrowI'llgetevenIswearletmeGO!

"Are you sure that's wise, Cap'n--?"

"Jack, are ye sure you shouldn't take this with you?" asked Mr. Gibbs, who had insisted on accompanying Jack. He held out his pistol. Jack looked from it to Gibbs, appalled.

"Need I remind you, gentleman, that we are the pirates and that," he pointed at his closed cabin door, "...is one woman?"

The one woman sounded like she was trying to smash the window of his cabin.

Jack ignored the ominous noises.

"Right. That'll be all." he said quickly, waving his hand expectantly. His crewmen glanced at each other, then at their Captain, then back to the door doubtfully.

"We'll just be.. eh.. around, should you and the lady need...refreshments," Gibbs offered, before he and Pintel, turned disappeared down the narrow passage.

"I was only doin' my duty. She was the one who wanted," muttered Pintel, and here he shivered, "parle...!"

Gibbs nodded, glancing back down the passage way at Jack, who seemed to be acting out a conversation with the still closed door.

"Aye. 'Tis a strange spell that comes over Jack where that lass is concerned. Best if we keep a close eye on it."

Pintel agreed.

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Jack paced.

He stopped, offered a courtly bow to the door, and then muttered to himself and began pacing again.

This was much trickier than he'd anticipated. Somehow, he had to convince Elizabeth that for the good of mankind, namely his kind, she had to help him retrieve the directions to the city of Thêsea-- directions that ancient spirits had encoded within his heart.

Piece of cake, mate. Now she'll think your barmy and a scoundrel. Now, if only there were some way to convince her to understand my heart...oh, sods! I don't even know if I have one...

Jack stopped his inner monologue and thumped a fist against his chest experimentally. "Oi! You in there...! Tell me the way to the lost city of Thêsea, you loathsome cad!"

Nothing.

Hm. Maybe it only speaks to you if you're a woman--

Jack stopped abruptly, and swept his arm aside as if clearing away his troubled thoughts. "That's it...! Jack ol' boy, that's it!" he murmured to himself, a slightly maniacal smile curling his lips. Twirling around to face the door again, he straightened the lapels of his over coat, and made sure the wilted lace of his cuffs was properly arranged. What he was about to do was madness.

Perhaps that's why he now congratulated himself on hatching such a brilliant plan. He remembered Will Turner's words to him as they'd attempted to commandeer the Dauntless: This is either madness...or brilliance...

'Yes, dear William how right you are,' Jack agreed whilst rubbing his hands together, the threads of his logic entwining beyond repair.

His unexpected detour to Port Royal after setting sail from the coast of Emilia Romagna off the Adriatic coast had surprised even himself. "But Cap'n! We only have four days to make it to safe harbor 'fore the gales!" Mr. Gibbs, his second in command had protested.

Jack had known this was true.

Going three days out of their way back to a port where their faces and descriptions decorated every tavern door-- it was madness. Yet when he consulted his compass, the arrow had resolutely pointed north west. Port Royal. Miss Elizabeth Swann...

He's barely set his boot down on solid ground before his body had taken him towards the village. Then, he'd seen her dressed like a lad and fighting the good fight. She'd been frightened. He'd especially admired her headbutt. Utterly charming. Slightly balmy, but charming. Seeing the birth mark on her neck had clinched it. He had to admit, he could have simply asked her to come back to the Pearl with him.

...But where was the piracy in that?

He allowed himself a small smile as he remembered the way she had gazed at him with worry and concern.

Are you mad?...! You have the entire fleet out looking for you!

Jack felt a swell of pride. He hadn't realized it could feel so satisfying to have someone truly care about what happened to him. Someone that wouldn't look at his death as an advantage, a blessing or a fortunate accident. Elizabeth could ensure that he need never want for anything again. With her by his side, he would find the lost city of Thêsea and live out his days on the sea as a free man...a terribly rich, free man.

Splendid.

Now all that was left was the asking part.

A thrill of determination shot through his body, and with the confidence of a man who has seen the underbelly of danger and laughed defiantly, he wrenched the cabin door open wide.

"Been pondering, love. What say you and I tie the knot, figuratively speaking that is--" he began with gusto.

His proposal was cut short however as a leather bound book hurtled straight for his head. Jack nimbly ducked behind the door again and banged it shut behind him.

Oh bugger.

Cursing to himself, Jack listened at the door as the shuffling and banging ceased. Steeling himself, he opened the door a crack. "Am I to assume Sleeping Beauty has woken from her peaceful slumber?" he called through the door, trying to sound buoyant. He winced, hearing a loud thunk! as his favorite paper weight bounced off the door. "Ah. Well, I'll just pop back later then--"

"Come in." her voice called, muffled by the wood door.

Jack's hand hovered above the door handle, every finely tuned instinct he possessed advising him that if he entered the dragon's lair, he would be singed to a crisp. Hell hath no fury, and all that. Yet for reasons which baffled his exercised habits of self-preservation, Jack took a deep breath and took the plunge. The door creaked ominously as he opened it and peaked his head into the room. At first he was amazed (and relieved) at how unharmed his cabin looked. There were a few books scattered by the doorway, and as he picked his way over them he saw Elizabeth sitting at his writing desk calmly. Her head held high, she regarded him as if he were a guest she had invited for Sunday tea.

"Captain Sparrow," she greeted him imperiously, nodding her head with dignified formality.

Jack considered again why he'd refused the pistol. The look on her face was serene and cool-- a sign that either meant good things, or very bad ones.

"Miss Swann," he replied with a courtly bow.

There was an awkward pause.

"Fine weather we're having."

"Jack...?"

"Yes?"

"Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"In so many words...yes."

"I see."

Another pause.

"I won't demand an answer yet. Just give it a once over and then I'll make all the necessary arrangements."

"Arrangements...?" Elizabeth asked, her voice strangely vacant. Jack watched as she stood, and despite his complete confidence in his plan he felt a prickle of doubt. He watched her approach him, wearing the same breeches and tunic he'd seen her in the night before. He couldn't help but admire how vibrant she looked-- even more so than when he'd seen her six months ago at her engagement celebration. Despite the dire need for the Pearl to set sail post haste, Jack had lingered one day to sneak a peek at the blissful couple. Yet Elizabeth, radiant in her blush colored satin gown had looked anything but blissful. She kept glancing out the window, in the direction of the docks. Jack had wondered if she had been looking for black sails on the horizon.

"And did you 'arrange' to have those men attack me?" she asked calmly, her voice only accentuating his secret perusal of her. Her skin was pale, but glowed in the dusky light. He watched her draw even closer with eager anticipation; he'd waited a long time to see those eyes again. They flashed in the dim light, but he was too distracted with drinking in her features greedily to notice the rage that swirled within them.

"No, I didn't arrange that. I did however arrange a heroic rescue. Which reminds me... if I remember correctly I promised a certain lady I would expound upon how much I've missed her charming company--OW!" he cried out in pain as her fist made swift and brutal contact with the side of his nose. Stumbling back, a hand pressed to his face he gaped at her incredulously.

"You hit me--!" he managed, his voice distorted as he clutched his rapidly swelling nose.

"You kidnapped me!" Elizabeth bristled, her whole body trembling in anger.

After being attacked, kidnapped, and then trapped in the most disturbing and...provocative dream she'd ever had, to find that it truly had been the inscrutable Jack Sparrow behind her misery was more than she could bear. How dare he...! And how dare he ask her to marry him!

"If it weren't for you I'd be half way to India by now! Free! Not betrothed against my will, not doomed to a life of isolation and regret-- free!"

"And who says you aren't as free with me as you would be in India?" Jack said loftily, rubbing at his nose experimentally and dusting off his dirt smeared over coat as if he'd just taken out the dust bins instead of trying to recover his dignity from the walloping wench.

"I do! I've traded one prison for another! Or are you trying to have me believe that you kidnapped me for the sole purpose of asking for my hand? I can assure you Captain, there are many other ways of securing a woman's affections, but knocking her unconscious is not one of them!"

"But it did get you aboard," Jack countered stubbornly, realizing with slight anxiety that they were slowly inching their way closer with each angry word.

"How about flowers? Poetry? A bloody limerick! And since when have you been interested in marriage, you of all men!"

Jack put a hand to his chest, looking wounded. The surprising thing was, he actually felt wounded too. "My dear Elizabeth-- do you not trust my good intentions?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to retort that no, she bloody well didn't when she stopped. A vague recollection swam up to the fore front of her mind-- and she recognized it's sweet longing immediately. Her dream.. the dream she'd experienced while under the effects of Jack's sleeping powder.

'Do you trust me?'

'I feel safe with you.'

'It's not the same thing, darling. But never fear. The next time you see ol' Jack you'll understand why I need you to trust me...'

Elizabeth suddenly felt very dizzy. She realized she was very close to Jack now, and unthinking she reached out to clutch his lapels as she steadied herself. Jack reached out immediately to assist her, and as his hands touched her shoulders lightly she was struck with a jolt of numbers and letters. They sprang into her mind unbidden:

W 26 52...N E 25...36

As she absorbed them she heard Jack's voice faintly calling to her.

"Lizzie?" he sounded concerned. Elizabeth smiled despite the disconcerting flashes she'd just seen. His voice was comforting. She'd never heard him call her 'Lizzie' before-- indeed no one ever had. She liked it. She looked up into his face and was startled to see that they were just inches apart. Jack's dark eyes narrowed on her face as if he were trying to see into her and discern the cause of her sudden discomfort. She was about to tell him of her strange experience-- the dream and the sudden rush of numbers and letters when he spoke.

"You wouldn't have made a good sailor, darling. So why wereyou trying to gain passage on a ship that goes half-way around the world...? What are you running away from..?"

Elizabeth stepped back from him, her temper flaring as the numbers and letters faded into the back of her mind.

"That is none of your concern--"

"Oh, but it is my concern," he cut in smoothly, taking a tentative step towards her but making sure to keep an eye on her fists.

"It concerns me a great deal. Why would a most beloved daughter, the Governor's daughter no less be tryin' to make a break for it, I wonder..." he said ponderingly. Elizabeth felt her temper flare, his flippant manner making her want to try out her left hook.

"I was simply trying to avoid--"

"Ah-hah!" Jack cried loudly, waving a finger at her in triumph "so you do admit you were escaping the confines of your gilded cage...?"

"Gilded cage...? Elizabeth repeated, her anger temporarily replaced with utter bewilderment. Jack didn't explain, but instead took her by the elbow and lead her back to the bed-- a bed she realized with a flutter in her stomach must be his. Helping her sit, he was surprised when she gave no protests. He thought of telling her of the old shaman's words-- the ancient spirits and their cryptic instructions, the deal he'd made with them. Perhaps if she knew the score, she'd be willing to help freely. Yet his tongue couldn't let well enough alone.

"Seeing as you are my captive, I shall refrain from asking you to marry me again until we are more suitably disposed."

His hands hovered over hers, as if he were unsure as to whether or not he dared touch them. Remembering his sore nose however, he rose from her and took a step back. "Is it me?" he couldn't help but ask.

"...No."

Jack paused, looking thoughtful.

"Is it Will...?"

Elizabeth stooped, and picked up a particularly heavy book. Jack made his exit, quite certain he'd worn out his welcome.

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Gibbs was striding down the passage way just in time to see the Captain rush from his cabin and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Troubles, Cap'n? Did she give you our headin' yet?"

"All in good time, Mr. Gibbs. I'm sure after a little nap she'll be right as rain," Jack said, the confidence in his voice completely at odds with his anxious expression. Gibbs looked doubtfully at the cabin door. He couldn't understand it. Why did Jack insist on bringing that lass aboard? She was clearly possessed. As a child, she'd always been too curious, too dogged for her own good. Gibbs remembered the way she'd insisted on accompanying him while he attended to his morning rounds--making sure the sails were trimmed, making sure every deck hand he out ranked was doing his part. The child had followed him like a shadow. It had made him uncomfortable to say the least. She constantly peppered him with questions-- why did the sails need to be trimmed? What was a rat line, and how come it didn't contain any rats? Had he been a pirate? Did he know any pirates? Why did his beard make him look like a walrus?

It had been endless.

The one thing Gibbs had appreciated was that the little girl was the only one on board who listened to his stories with rapt attention. He was surprised that she seemed to be absorbing his knowledge like a sponge-- it was flattering, but certainly not proper.

Certainly unnatural.

Gibbs shuddered at the thought of having to deal with her spirited moods yet again. For the past six months his life had been so quiet-- so peaceful. Well, there had been that spot of trouble with the old Greek hag conjuring up a tempest to drown them all like rats after Jack had skipped out on her payment. And then there had been the bit of bother with one of the craziest pirates ever to be banished from Spain-- a man known only as: La Rosa de Muerte. Jack had apparently stolen one of the Spanish privateer's most sacred possessions-- the result of which being that the frenzied Spaniard had chased the Pearl for four days and three nights...

...Until Jack found a detour, and lost them off the tip of Africa.

Never mind the detour that had lead to an enormous whirlpool.

Then Jack had insisted on taking time to slow the Pearl in order to give directions to some deranged Captain named Ahab. Coming out of his reverie, Gibbs saw Jack looking pensive. Never a good omen.

"That child's been trouble from the time she was yay high," Gibbs tried to convince him, raising his hand to reach just below his belt.

"I'm tellin' ye Jack-- if that child's got anythin' to do with what yer plan we'll all go to hell in a hand basket."

"My dear Gibbs," Jack said with a mysterious smile, a gesture that made the hairs on the old sailor's neck rise.

"That's precisely the point."

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Commodore James Norrington gazed scrupulously at the man sitting across the table from him. He'd had a bad feeling ever since he'd first laid eyes on the self-proclaimed privateer. A man who was banished from his own country and forced to make his life as a pirate for hire seemed a poor candidate for a rescue mission. Yet he'd had no choice. As upset as he'd been to learn that his fiancé had decided to take leave of her sanity and brave the un-chartered waters of the far East, he'd been furious to learn that she'd left Port Royal with the one man he loathed above all others: Jack Sparrow. His first instinct had been to give chase immediately upon acquiring this information from three men who called themselves 'Good Samaritans'. Norrington had asked the men to describe the circumstances surrounding the abduction-- yet all the men would say is that Jack Sparrow was sent from the devil himself in the form of a goat, to snatch the young lass just as they had been trying to see her safely home.

Norrington had given them their just reward for the information; shackles and a prison cell. Accommodations that he should have extended to Jack Sparrow when he'd had the chance.

Now, with rumblings of a war with the French being scattered throughout His Majesty's colonies, every Naval ship was bogged down in Port Royal, and under strict orders not to leave port until the danger of attack was over. And so here he was, a respected officer seeking help from a man who claimed to be a perfectly respectable privateer.Yet in actuality, hewas something much worse-- apirate with delusions of grandeur.

He could understand why he and Jack were enemies.

"I was given your name by a most reliable gentleman of His Majesty's Navy. I hope that my trust has not been mislaid." Norrington said at last, refusing the mug of ale that was placed between them. The man across the table from him grinned knowingly, his ornate laced sleeves spilling onto the table top as he reached for his ale.

"Si, Comodoro. I can bring you Captain Jack Starling."

"Sparrow..." corrected Norrington. The privateer took a experimental sip of the ale, and immediately made an "Si, the vexing villain who flies from one desastre to another. I happen to know where he is headed at this very moment..." He looked from his ale mug to Norrington. "You english call this wine...?"

Norrington leant across the table, his voice dangerously low. "Here this: I am giving you this task because at present my hands are tied. I cannot leave Port Royal, and until I can I am forced to rely on your talents to hunt The Black Pearl down. If you should find them, I want Sparrow brought to me, alive."

"...And the beautiful senorita?"

Norrington gazed at the privateer coldly.

"If anything unfortunate should befall Miss Swann I shall make it my purpose in life to make sure you never see your homeland in one piece."

The man laughed at this, his voice rich and musical.

"Comodoro, you speak like a man who is, forgive me, inexperienced in love. Surely it has crossed your mind that the senorita may not wish to come back."

"I do not care for your advice. I am offering you employment. Have we reached an accord?"

The privateer seemed to consider the Commodore for a moment, before reaching out a finely laced hand.

"Si, Comodoro. I shall catch your Sparrow; but I have one condition."

"Name it." Norrington said, already regretting his decision. The privateer leant across the table as well, his dark eyes flashing. "That I am given the Black Pearl, to dispose of as I see fit."

Norrington held out his hand. "Then we have reached an agreement."

The privateer smiled, the scar which cut across his smooth face giving his features an added wildness.

"Then I am at your service, señor. La Rosade Muerte is at your service."

TBC...!

A/N: Just as a point of interest, 1001 Arabian Nights was published in French between 1704 and 1717, and was the first European compellation of the Indian/Arabic stories featuring Scheherazade. For those of you unfamiliar with the tale, it is a collection of adventure stories told by a Queen to her insane husband who is about to execute her...yeesh. (If only Ann Boleyn had thought of that, although somehow I doubt it would have worked) ...and yet again I'm off working on chapter four, which I'll hopefully post tonight! I hope you liked the revisions! R&R please!