Thank you again to all of my reviewers, old and new. I tried very hard not make you guys wait too long for this part.

………………………………………………

Bill's alive. Bill's alive. Bill's alive.

Even the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears seemed to murmur the same words, over and over, emptying his mind of anything else, and for a long time Jack could do nothing with the thought but let it whirl inside him, dizzyingly, as he sat useless on the floor. It was like trying to look at all of the horizon at once; something too immense and far-reaching to be completely taken in, and the more he strained to find an end or a beginning to it, the more it pulled him from his center and swallowed him up. There would be feeling, any minute, any second now, and he knew it was coming, but for this breath, and the next, he was numb.

There was, strangely, no need to ask how. That picture was forming itself in full, glorious, horrifying clarity.

And come to think of it, Barbossa was really beginning to come across quite dreadfully fucking incompetent. Little wonder the man had been as given to indiscriminate slaughter as he was; he sucked like a chest wound at all of his less direct methods of problem solving. Only thing the old bastard had ever done away with that stayed lost was his virginity.

Lost to the depths.

Lost. Such a simple little word. Monosyllabic and easy to spell. Jack had thought he'd understood what it meant the day Joshamee Gibbs had come bearing it, grim-faced, all those years ago. Bill was lost, and even though Jack had known it didn't, it couldn't, mean dead, it felt no different to his heart. Many a time since then Jack had imagined, visualized, feared, and conjured in nightmares that left him with damp sheets and damp cheeks exactly what "lost" involved.

But never once had he hoped.

Mulling it over now, he would have to rule that as oversights went, this one took the bloody biscuit.

Bill's alive.

It suddenly stopped whirling, stopped spinning its dervish in his mind, slamming hard into place and becoming still, taking on mass, going from incomprehensible to meaning a thousand things at once. There was a pressure in his chest rising, about to burst, and Jack couldn't have said if it would bring laughter or tears when it let loose.

Bill's alive. He's alive and he's here. Somewhere. Somewhere a hell of a lot closer than the bottom of the sea.

He isn't dead. He was never dead.

Oh, Christ in a kilt, how do I break this to Will?

He was never dead. You bloody damned idiot, of course he was never dead.

We have to find him. Unless he finds us first. Did he come knowing where to look for Will?

He's been alive all this time. All along. And I never thought…I never tried…

The realization twisted something inside of him. Jack pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and he sat still and breathed very carefully until he was reasonably certain he wasn't going to throw up. The pressure in his chest seemed to make up its mind which form it was going to take, and was consequently shoved back down at knifepoint.

Later, he determined, rising to his feet. This could wait until later. As agreeable as some sort of breakdown sounded, he would much prefer to indulge in one later, once he'd done what needed doing, all explanations and confrontations accomplished. Besides which, wallowing in guilt and self-loathing was inexcusable, undignified, and useless, and only to be done when a bloke was all by his onesies and could get well and properly drunk.

Right now he needed to function. To think. And most pressingly, to figure out what in God's name he was going to say to Will when the lad came back.

…………………………………

Bill drew his rucksack securely closed and tossed it on the bed, reaching to pull the desk chair out. He propped one foot up on the seat and slid his knife into the sheath in his boot. "You want to come in here and talk, Will, or you plannin' to stand there burnin' holes in my back all day?"

He turned and offered a small smile to his six-year-old son, who stood with one shoulder shoved sullenly into the doorjamb, glaring at him. Behind the boy, from down the hall, came the sounds of Cathleen putting the breakfast dishes away with a good deal more force than the task called for.

"Your head's about to go flat with all you've got on your mind, lad." Bill extended his hand. "Come on. Come here."

Without a word, Will stepped inside his parents' room and took his father's hand. Bill sat down on the edge of the bed, guiding the little boy over to stand in front of him. "Good God, but you're getting tall."

Will said nothing, staring at his feet. Bill reached out and brushed dark bangs out of the boy's eyes with his thumb.

"You're angry with me, aren't you, lad?" When he still failed to coax a response from his son, Bill reached out and gently caught the tip of Will's nose between two knuckles, barely giving it a squeeze. Will's eyes flickered up to his father's in annoyance, a tiny frown pinching his face, but just as quickly he looked away. "It's all right, you know. I understand."

There was the softest of sniffles. "Why do you have to go so far?"

"It's where my work is taking me." Bill silently wished for it to satisfy the boy, because any explanation that ran much deeper was going to tread close to a lie. And the thought of lying to his son clawed at his conscience more sharply than the actions requiring the dishonesty ever would.

But Will wasn't, and never had been, so easily dissuaded when there was something he was grappling to understand. "There are ships here."

"Yes. Yes there are. But they…there are none of them that need me right now, Will. And I can't just wait for a place to open on one. Not when I have to provide for you and your mother."

"But it might only be a little while before one of them needed you!" Now Will looked his father in the eye, when he was trying to be persuasive.

Bill nodded. "That's true. But what if it was a very long time? What would we do until then?"

Will worried at his lower lip. Catie always teased the lad that one day he would nibble it right off and never be able to whistle again. Bill doubted the reminder would make Will giggle today as it usually did. "Mother works," he said haltingly, as if knowing the point wasn't going to help him win the argument.

"Yes she does. But Will, you know that a lot of the people your mother helps don't have the money to pay her for what she does." He fastened a button midway down Will's shirt that had somehow managed to pop open. "That isn't why she does it. She just wants to see those little babies come into the world strong and healthy. Like you did."

Will's eyebrows leaped up almost to his hair. "I could go to work! Just until you got on one of the ships here! Thomas White takes people their firewood after his grandfather cuts it up. I could help him. I know he'd like to have help, especially on the mornings it rains."

Bill swallowed with difficulty, prouder of the boy standing before him than he could imagine ever being of anyone. "That's a fine offer, William. But it isn't the place of children to work. You belong in school." And Bill would seize every last scrap of shine and silk off every vessel between here and the Americas before a child of his would carry the burden of figuring out where his next meal would come from.

Will slumped, apparently out of ideas, and heaved a shaky sigh that sounded full of tears to Bill. He hugged the lad close, tucking Will's head under his chin, as much to conceal the sudden wetness in his own eyes from his son as to offer comfort.

"I'm no happier about this than you are, lad," he murmured. "Believe me. If I could stay here I would."

"Can't we go with you?" The plea was punctuated with a sharp intake of breath, and without even looking, Bill wiped away the moisture trailing down his son's cheek.

"Oh, lad, I don't even know what's waiting for me in the Caribbean. I can't drag you and your mother away from your life here, all the way to the other side of the world, with no promise of a home waiting for you." He raised a hand, lightning quick, to dry his own face, never relinquishing his hold on Will, and summoned up a chuckle. "What if I got you two there and you had to live on a big slimy rock in the middle of the ocean, with a bunch of smelly, noisy seagulls who messed all over everything and kept pecking your ears every time you tried to go to sleep?" He tickled Will's ear as he spoke, and the boy curled up, giggling unwillingly and batting at Bill's hand. Bill waited until he'd gone still, then he hoisted Will up onto his knee, groaning exaggeratedly. "Good Lord, what've you been eating? Rocks? You're a bloody anchor, boy."

Soundless laughter shook Will's body as he shifted to burrow against Bill's chest again, but it passed quickly, until the only movement from either of them came from their breathing.

"Papa?"

Bill laid his cheek against the top of Will's dark head. "Hmm?"

"I'll see you again, won't I? After…"

Bill closed his eyes, and tightened his arms. "Of course you will, lad. Of course you will. Your old man would never leave you for keeps."

………………………………

Bill drained his drink, slamming the glass down on the table, and unhooked the small money pouch from his belt. Without looking up, he tossed it across the table to land in front of the two men sitting opposite him: Mr. Smith, and Mr. Smith's Friend.

The two of them waited for him to say something, exchanging an uncertain glance when he didn't. Finally, Mr. Smith reached for the pouch.

Bill's hand was a vice on his wrist before he so much as touched it, and Mr. Smith found himself dragged halfway across the table, the point of Bill's knife pressed beneath his chin, and an alarmingly calm face inches from his own.

Mr. Smith's Friend swore and staggered back from the table, ready to bolt.

"Sit down, mate," Bill instructed the second man, halting his retreat. "We're just going to lay down the specifics of our arrangement here." When there was no forward movement from Mr. Smith's Friend, Bill spared him a quick glance. "I said, sit down." The knife moved, infinitesimally.

"Sit down!" Mr. Smith croaked to his accomplice.

After a brief hesitation, Mr. Smith's Friend righted his chair and sank into it.

"Now. The nature of our business requires that I give you payment up front. Not that I wish to imply anything but the utmost trust in you gentlemen," Bill said, and Mr. Smith swallowed very, very carefully, "I want to make it quite clear that if you leave this place with my money, and fail to follow through with your end of things, I will hunt both of you down and relieve you of your balls, and if you're lucky, I'll do it with a knife instead of a fishhook."

Mr. Smith started to nod, and quickly realized the action was ill advised. "Right, mate. We'll be there. Where…ever it is you want us."

Another glance at Mr. Smith's Friend showed him nodding vigorously in agreement while squirming on his chair in a manner that suggested he was trying not to wet himself.

And then the knife had vanished, Mr. Smith's wrist was free, and Bill was sitting in his chair as relaxed as could be.

"All right then. As I already told Mr. Smith, what I need you to do, lads, is get yourselves thrown in jail. Nothing serious; in fact the more minor the offense, the better. Drunk and disorderly should do nicely. Something they'll make you sleep off in a cell. I'm not asking you to do anything that's going to lead you to the gallows."

"So you want us to…get drunk?" Mr. Smith's Friend asked, the first complete sentence he'd offered.

"No," Bill corrected. "I want you to act drunk enough to get arrested. Being drunk usually results in vomiting and unconsciousness, and hopefully in that order, or you're looking at a nasty end. You two are no good to me puking or passed out. In fact the more sober you are, the better. Spill a bit of something down the front of yourselves to make the smell convincing, but keep your heads clear. Understood?"

There was yet another round of nodding.

"I want you in that jail around seven o'clock, or a little past. Late, but before it gets dark. You two make your scene somewhere visible. Somewhere where people with lots of money are certain to be offended."

"That ain't no problem, mate," Mr. Smith said. "There's a big to do at the gov'ner's place tonight. For 'is daughter's weddin' or somethin'. Easily offended people in bloody swarms. We show up on his lawn in our cups and they'll have us hauled away before we can piss in the fountain."

"Perfect."

"So…once we're arrested…is that it?" Mr. Smith's Friend ventured.

Bill smiled, a nearly imperceptible lifting of one corner of his mouth. "Not hardly, mates. That's only the first half of the evening." He caught the barkeep's eye and raised his empty glass. "Once you're in, I want you to sit tight and be good little prisoners. For a couple of hours, anyway."

Mr. Smith frowned. "What 'appens after those couple hours?"

They grew quiet when one of the barmaids approached and refilled Bill's glass. Bill continued once she was out of earshot.

"Well you see, mates…that's where it gets really interesting. Because what I need from you then is the raising of sufficient hell to get as many guards on duty as possible drawn to your area, and kept occupied there for as long as possible."

"A distraction," Mr. Smith's Friend said. Mr. Smith's Friend, Bill decided, was very possibly the product of cousins marrying for a few generations too many.

"That's right."

"So what d'you need the distraction for?"

Bill took a drink. "Is your money going to spend any better with that information?"

Mr. Smith's Friend apparently needed to think this over, but Mr. Smith, who had a bit of a mental running start on his acquaintance, got the point, and gave the other man a cautionary nudge. "No, mate," Mr. Smith said agreeably to Bill. "In fact we couldn't care less."

"Glad to hear it," Bill replied. "Believe me, gentlemen, when tonight's over and done with, ignorance is going to be bliss. And if either of you has second thoughts, consider this your last chance to act on them."

Mr. Smith gave him one last, long look, then picked up the money pouch slowly. This time, Bill made no move to stop him. The man studied the pouch intently, then tucked it away inside his vest.

"Bliss, eh?" Mr. Smith said, pushing back from the table and swatting his partner on the arm in an indication to do likewise.

"Fucking euphoria," Bill replied, and drained his glass in one toss.

……………………………………

When Will Turner finally returned from seeing his lady home, Jack found himself in the utterly alien position of being at a loss for words. He had tried out a quite a few approaches in his head, and dismissed them each in turn.

The problem, he'd decided, was that the sort of news requiring the most painstakingly delicate of deliveries was the kind that inevitably knocked you face-first out a window no matter how gently it was passed on. So any attempt on the part of the messenger to soften the blow was futile and maddening, but to not make that attempt and just blurt it out was tacky, and any distressed reactions would no doubt be blamed on the one who did the blurting and his lack of sensitivity to the matter, when in all truth and fairness the reaction was going to be distressed no matter what, because the news was a bloody belaying pin to the crotch, and it was hardly reasonable to expect the messenger to be the face of composure and grace when he'd scarcely had the chance to wrap his own head around the information.

The only decision Jack had come to after about fifteen minutes of this sort of thinking was that he definitely shouldn't start out with, "So, Will, odd thing happened while you were gone. Remember your father?"

Will was beaming amusedly when he entered. "Well, Elizabeth's maid all but tore her off of my arm when we got there, she was in such a hurry to haul her off to dress her. I must say though, for all Elizabeth's grumbled about this event, she's finally getting a bit excited about it. I don't know if it's because we're smuggling you in, or if she decided being queen of the town for a night has its appeal after all." There was absolute adoration in the remark; as far as Will was concerned, Elizabeth was his queen.

The young man did a bit of a double take as he looked at Jack, and the pirate wasn't sure what he saw, but whatever it was made Will's smile shrink a little. "Are you all right, Jack?"

It came to him as if a floodgate had opened, spilling the proper words into his head. Will, I think you should sit down. While you were out, I found something. Something you need to know about. Something I can guarantee you're going to have some difficulty believing, because I'm having a spot of trouble with it, m'self.

He wouldn't compose anything more suitable if he tried for a month, and Jack almost had it out when something ignited like a warning flare in his mind and held his tongue for him.

Why Yorrick?

It caught him broadside, obliterating his intended response to Will, his silence intensifying the concern in the younger man's eyes.

"Jack?" Will said, more sharply.

"I'm fine," Jack said, snapping back to awareness. "Think maybe the heat's getting to me, a little." Looking slightly sheepish, he gestured at the shop around him. "Air's a bit closer in here than being out in the sun on the Pearl."

The tinge of worry didn't leave Will's expression, but it changed somehow, became placated. "You have been shut away in here an awful lot. You should go upstairs; my room gets more fresh air. It's not nearly so smothering as down here. Elizabeth left the rest of your things up there, anyway."

Jack nodded, the bit of folded parchment pressed flat between the side of his leg and his palm. "Right then. Might as well head up and finish making myself socially acceptable, as it promises to be a singularly challenging task."

"Between the bath and the mask, you have as good a shot as we could ever hope for," Will cracked.

"Flatterer," Jack threw back as he headed up the stairs. He slid the logbook page into a pocket as he went.

The red coat, with a few strategic alterations, was lying on Will's bed as Elizabeth had indicated, a simple mask cut from a black silk sash and a ribbon-bound invitation with it. Jack sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the garment absently into his lap.

Yorrick, of course, he understood, because it had been Jack who gave Bill his taste for Shakespeare in the first place, so Jack could appreciate the joke, gruesome and twisted as it was. Hardly his place to criticize, though; if he'd been the one tethered to the bottom of the sea for Mary and Joseph knew how long, his sense of humor would probably bend a little left-ways, too.

But why that, and not Turner? What did a man the world believed to be gone have to hide from?

And is it enough to justify me not going downstairs right now and telling your son the truth, Bill?

Could there really be more harm in the telling than the not?

There was one very obvious possibility: Bill was hesitant to approach his son, and wanted no word of his presence to reach Will from anyone else before he chose his hour and manner. Which was certainly understandable, and called for Jack to respect Bill's discretion.

Even at Will's expense?

Though it wasn't like the whelp wouldn't find out eventually. When Bill was ready.

And you think he'll thank you for that later? When he finds out you didn't tell him as soon as you knew? When that may not even be Bill's reason?

Could be something else, of course. Something worse. It could always be something worse. What if Bill wasn't concealing anything from Will, but was concealing Will from something…or someone?

So Will finds out a little more than he should. How bad could that be?

Jack's internal battle called a momentary cease-fire, during which both sides scratched their heads thoughtfully.

All right, that could be bad. But the whelp still deserves to know.

Groaning, Jack flopped over backwards on the bed, one arm flung across his eyes. He was going to step in it no matter which way he went, he could tell already, so he might as well just spin the bottle and pucker the fuck up to whatever it pointed at.

He would give it until the end of the masque. It was a likely enough setting for Bill to approach his son in, considering the timing of his arrival in Port Royal; a guaranteed time and place to locate Will, particularly for someone who didn't know where Will lived or worked.

Whatever reasons Bill had for keeping his presence in Port Royal a secret, Jack would honor them for one night. Should the festivities come and go with no sign of Bootstrap, he would go to Will with his discovery. If he was flying in the face of Bill's wishes, so be it.

It would just be one more thing he'd have to hope Bill forgave him for.

………………………………

Bill didn't slam the door to Jack's cabin. He thought something vital in his head was going to explode with the restraint he was employing, but he didn't slam the door.

"You did what?"

Jack's eyebrow arched, and a hollow imitation of his usual mischievous leer flickered across his face. "Hearing givin' out in your old age, Bill?"

"I sure as hell hope so," Bill replied, his voice a tone of quiet that bordered on a growl, "because I thought I just heard you say you were taking up with Hector Barbossa."

"Ah, there, see? Still sharp as a tack." It was utterly flippant, but it hit with the force of chain shot.

Bill stared at the dark head bowed over the desk and struggled for words like a drowning man struggled for air.

"You cannot seriously be considering an association with that creature."

"Not considering, William. Decided. Finalized. Spent the better part of the evening getting all the i's dotted and t's crossed. Granted, some of his people had a bit of difficulty with that part of it, but we managed to work past--"

"His people? What people?"

Jack blinked infuriatingly wide eyes at Bill. "Rude lately, Bill? You interrupted me. If you were still part of my crew that would prob'ly count as insubordination."

Bill ignored the jab. "What people, Jack?"

"Barbossa already has a crew put together. They were planning to sail for Madagascar, but he found my offer a bit more appealing."

Bill pressed a hand to his forehead, and the laughter that broke from his throat sounded razor-edged even to his own ears. "Oh, that's wonderful. That's just God damned wonderful, Jack. So instead of one piece of murdering garbage, you get a whole ship full."

"I need a crew for this, William. This saves me the time of having to build one from the ground up."

"Kicking over a fucking rock would save me the time of having to cook dinner, too, if I wanted to eat whatever crawled out from under it!" Bill exploded.

Jack's eyes darkened. "I don't need your help with this, Bill. Not anymore."

"You bloody well need something, lad. This…this is insanity, Jack. What in God's name would possess you to take on someone like Barbossa?"

"I told you, I have to have a crew."

"Not this crew! There are better men to be found, Jack, if you'd just--"

"And should I expect them all to be as eager to participate as you were?" The voice came from within the curtain of Jack's long hair, spilling down to obscure most of the younger man's face as he made notes on his charts.

Bill's tirade was cut off as swiftly and surely as if severed with a blade. "Jack…lad…"

Annoyed, Jack tossed his hair back and met Bill's gaze. "Never mind. For God's sake, Bill, a pirate's a pirate. Only difference between me taking this lot or waiting for the next is how long it'll take me to get m' bleedin' gold!"

Bill shook his head. "No, Jack. You're better than this. You're better than them."

"It's not really relevant what you think of 'em, Bill. This is the crew I've chosen."

"Or the one you're settling for." Bill stepped closer. "Is that what this is?"

Jack slammed his hands down on the chart, head snapping up, his eyes closing as he sought composure. "What this is, Bill, is none of your bloody affair," the younger pirate said, quietly. "As per your wishes."

"I'm making it my affair."

Jack stilled, his head tilting to the side. He looked up at Bill through eyes that burned black. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means I'm in."

Jack made an incredulous noise. "What the bloody hell are you playing at, William?"

Personal space wasn't a concept Jack had ever placed much value in, but Bill did his best to make the young captain aware of its invasion, nonetheless, leaning down to get eye-to-eye with Jack. "No playing, lad. I'm going with you."

Something that was almost victory, almost delight, flashed through Jack's eyes, but he chased it quickly away. "Why the change of heart?" he asked coolly, making no move to increase the space between them.

"Because you're either out to prove something, or you're suffering from an uncharacteristic bout of stupidity. But you mark me, little sir, you'll regret bringing Barbossa aboard this ship." Bill knew, even as it came out, that it was going to make Jack see red instead of reason, but that knowledge wasn't enough to stop him.

"Fuck this," Jack spit scathingly, waving a hand sharply in Bill's direction and striding angrily past the man.

"Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you," Bill snapped, snagging Jack by the arm as he passed.

Jack went very, very still. He looked down at the hand encircling his arm, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible, like the first growl of thunder heralding a storm. "Let. Go."

Forcing himself to breathe slowly, Bill did so, but he didn't back away. "He's a monster, Jack. And if you think I'm letting you go traipsing off to the edge of the world with that venomous, murdering son of a bitch at your back, you truly are daft."

"I see. You won't follow me on this as your captain, but you'll tag along to be my bloody nursemaid?" Jack shook his head. "Generous as the offer is, mate, I think I'll pass."

He turned on his heel then, yanking open a cupboard and tearing the cork out of the half-full bottle of rum he retrieved from it.

"This isn't up for debate, Jack."

"Damn right it isn't, William!" Jack fumed. "This is my bloody ship. I'm captain here. And I've got no use for any man on board who doubts I'm up to the task." He tipped the bottle back, drinking too fast, making himself cough. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" he choked out.

"Just now I'm thinking I'm the only one of us with his head screwed on right!" Bill paced, raking a hand through his hair. "Jack, please. Reconsider this."

"I already settled up with Barbossa, Bill. I'm not goin' back on my word. It's done." One final drink, and Jack corked the bottle, slamming it down on the desk. "And I know right well what kind of man he is. I can handle him. Barbossa's got his price, same as anyone else. Lay it before him and he'll do what it takes to get there. Even if it means playin' by somebody else's rules. I laid out nice and clear what does and doesn't happen on this ship, savvy? Seein' how this ship is the only one that'll be takin' anybody to this particular prize, he was quite open to compromise. And this, William, is not going to be the first time I've sailed without you there mollycoddling me every bleedin' step of the way, and it appears I've lived to tell the tale, so any time you'd like to stop wettin' your britches over the whole business, it'd be lovely by me."

Every muscle in his body coiling with frustration, Bill stared down his friend, uncomprehending. "Why are you so bloody damned determined not to listen to me on this?" he demanded.

"Because before now you never tried to tell me I couldn't do something." Jack lifted his chin defiantly. "I won't abide that from anybody, William. Not even you." He headed for the cabin door, pausing with his hand on the latch to regard Bill over his shoulder. "But I'll tell you what, mate. If you're set on this course, feel free to come along. That way if I get strangled in my sleep, you'll get to say 'I told you so' right away instead of having to wait 'til after my body washes up."

…………………………………

Jack secured the black silk mask behind his head with a tidy knot, turning his face this way and that to critique the result. His untamable crown of hair and baubles had been contained, against all odds, at the nape of his neck with the help of Will, some leather cord and no small amount of swearing, after which Jack informed the younger man that if word of this was ever breathed beyond the walls of the forge, Will would end up in an unmarked grave, and he may or may not be dead when Jack put him there.

The scarlet coat had been given a thorough brushing down to clean it up, and its regulation buttons had been removed and replaced with imperfectly shaped ones of mother-of-pearl. Lastly, Elizabeth had added abundant cuffs of soft, snowy lace that cascaded over Jack's ever-moving hands.

The final touch was yet another of Will's damnable hats, this one black. If the lad pulls out any more of these, I'm declaring it a fetish. There were feathers, to Jack's outspoken dismay. Yet the overall effect once the blasted thing was actually on his head met with Jack's grudging approval. Everything above his mouth, nose, and jaw was nearly unrelieved shadow.

As the pirate captain stood before the looking glass admiring his pirate captain's costume, a lean specter of black and bone-white appeared behind him.

Jack turned around, and arched an eyebrow. Maybe Bill's twisted sense of humor couldn't be blamed entirely on traumatic circumstances, because Will had apparently inherited it. "That's a touch demented, whelp."

The skull visage of Baron Samedi, vodou god of the dead, gave a bright, cocky grin. Will had painted his face -- God only knew with what, but it was ghastly – instead of wearing a mask. "I thought it was ironic."

"That too."

The walking skeleton cocked its head inquisitively at Jack. "What are you going to do about your beard?"

The brown eyes peering out of those black depths narrowed considerably. "Other than gut-shoot anyone who even thinks the word 'shave' too loudly, y'mean?"

Will nodded. "Fair enough. Just duck your head a bit if the governor or the commodore pass close by."

"Could be problematic when I ask one of 'em to dance." Had he been worried about those two at some point? He had a vague recollection of mild concern, but it seemed distant and absurd now.

"All right, Jack," Will said. "I'm going now, if there's nothing we haven't covered."

Oh, no. Nothing at all. "We're as ready as we're likely to get, lad."

And exactly how ready that was, Jack would only know when he was face-to-face with Bill Turner once again.

TBC