Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

Chapter Eleven: Bootstrap's Successor

Jack Sparrow awoke just in time to see the main deck of the Wayfarer's Redemption rushing up to meet him. He landed with a thud, body limp from being struck so hard before. His head felt as if his head was being slashed repeatedly by multiple swords, and the pain seemed to centralize around the bridge of his nose which was probably broken. He could taste blood on his upper lip, and when he explored the area with his tongue he found the hairs of his mustache caked with coagulated gore. He spat out a mouthful of copper tasting liquid to the deck and rose to his knees.

"Now…" he announced, body swaying unsteadily, "Which one of you slags hit me?"

The crew stared at him, each one bearing a malicious expression. He was surrounded by the Wayfarer's new crew and recognized none of the faces amongst them, say for a few he had seen once or twice in a tavern not long ago – when he had money. They grumbled amongst themselves, some praying that they would kill him or keel-hull him, anything to enact some kind of cruel revenge. But their voices fell silent as one waltzed out from behind Jack.

The boots clanked against the wooden surface of the deck. Jack looked over his shoulder and found a well dressed gentleman approaching him. He was graceful and poised, hands folded placidly behind his back as he came towards his prisoner. Jack's eyes narrowed. It was the man who had punched him.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," the gentleman said. "I thought you were dead.:"

It was a statement, not a question. Jack shrugged "Sorry to disappoint."

The gentleman smirked coldly, eyeing Jack as a hunter would his prey. Before Jack could react, the man reached out and grabbed him by the nose. At first Jack was under the impression it was some pathetic form of torture, but due to the break in the appendage, merely touching it was agony. And it only got worse when the man flicked his wrist, jerking Jack's nose so strongly it cracked and then fell painfully back into place.

"You're lucky it was a clean break, otherwise I'd have to operate. And I've no anesthetic on board."

"You look familiar," Jack said, eyes narrowing decisively. True to his word, the noble man did look familiar. The shape of his skull, the colour of his hair…everything about him piqued Jack Sparrow's interest, thankfully taking his mind off the pain. "Have I escaped from you before?"
Cannon fire rocked the cove, sending shivers through the ship. The noble man smiled softly, lowering his face behind the wide brim of his hat.

"Mr. Conrad, Mr. Straights," he turned away from his prisoner and looked towards his crew. The men were suddenly at attention, waiting for commands, and two of them in particular approached the now obvious captain of the Wayfarer's Redemption. "Take Mr. Turner to my quarters. I'll see to him once I return Mr. Sparrow to his crew."

Jack's heart skipped a beat. "Will?" he turned quickly and found a pale body lain on the deck of the ship by two rather large brutes. The strong jaw and soft brow of Bootstrap was unmistakable: it was William Turner, wrapped loosely in a ragged looking coat. Smeared across his once pristine white shirt was inky black blobs. Jack knew that it was blood, for in the moonlight, blood was always black.

Blast.

He'd gotten the whelp in trouble again.

An explosion from the shoreline alerted the captain to their dilemma once again, and as his men rushed off to attend to William, he snapped to attention. "LOWER SAILS! RAISE ANCHOR! MAN THE LONG NINES! I want the Trailblazer at the bottom of the Ocean before she can blast a hole in my ship."

A chorus of Aye's followed.

"Mr. Ridley, take the helm for the time being, and be sure to hail the Pearl after the slaughter. I don't want this scum taking up deck space any longer than he has to."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Ridley said, marching up to the upper deck. Jack knew him to be the man keeping watch when he had arrived.

With the whole ship focused on their appropriate tasks, the Captain turned his attention back to his captive. He raised a hand to his mouth and brushed his fingers along his facial hair experimentally. Pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers, the Captain peeled them from his flesh and pulled his hair from its ribbon.

Jack stared in horror. The he was a she, and she was his sister Morgan.

Granted she was almost beyond recognition after the years of their parting. Her baby fat had all but disappeared, leaving behind tight, sunken features not unlike his own. Her dark, chestnut curls were still full and lustrous, well kept to blend in with her disguise as a noble. She was still pale, another detail she had to maintain in order to fool people into believing she was wealthy. If not for her green eyes he might not be able to pick her out from the crowd, whether she was dressed as a woman or not.

But before they could be happily reunited, Morgan slapped him hard across the face.

"I take it you didn't deserve that one either?" Will's voice echoed in his head.

No, that one I did deserve, he thought to himself, I think.

"What the hell are you doing in Port Royal, Jack?'

"I came for the party, as it were," he cast a slight glance at the port which was currently receiving the worst of the Trailblazer's wrath. Screaming bodies were thrown into the air, set aflame by the cannon balls' contents, and dropped like rocks into the water. "The Swann's certainly know how to throw one."

"Word around the Caribbean is that you're flat broke," she raised an eyebrow as if interested, "Terrible state to be in with Captain Bateman at your throat."

"Not for very long," he said, rising to his feet. "I was hoping for some assistance to remedy my less than spectacular financial status, savvy?"

"You left me to rot in Tortuga," she growled between clenched teeth.

"Don't flatter yourself, love," he swayed about on his feet drunkenly. "Father left you to rot in Tortuga."

She was seething, eyes burning with hatred. She knew as well as he did that this was not the time to discuss sibling rivalry. But her anger could not allow her to simply forgive and forget, and she pushed past him towards the upper deck.

"I'll have you returned to the Pearl," she said. "But if we ever meet again, Jack, I'll kill you where you stand."

"It's about the treasure," he relented, his eyes following her.

Morgan stopped short. She turned towards him again.

"You don't mean…"

"I do."

They stared at each other for a long while, beseeching one another with their gazes. Morgan was not in the mood to be toyed with, and Jack certainly wasn't either. He didn't have the time, not with Bateman's mercenaries sailing after him at this very moment.

She opened her mouth to reply, but never got a chance to. The door to the cabins was thrown open by one of her lackies – what was his name? Jack couldn't remember, Crates or something.

"Captain," he said breathlessly. "There's a problem."

"Turner's still alive isn't he?" she was desperate, pleading with her crewman.

'Crates' nodded. "Aye Captain. He's alive. And armed with my bloody pistol too. Says he's willing to kill every man on board if he doesn't get returned to Port Royal post-haste."