A/N: At long last, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the last full-length chapter of this, my fanfiction sequel to Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, and as a special bonus, the epilogue as well!

Canon Note: For those who are curious about the real history of Port Royal, the events involving Sir William Beeston, the Governor of Jamaica who replaces Swann are mostly true. Sir William Beeston was Governor of Jamaica at the time of the earthquake, and Spanish Town, Jamaica, became the main government location after Port Royal's destruction. Reverend Heath is also a real person—he wrote the account of the earthquake which I used in writing Chapter Ten, although as you can probably guess, the writing of his that is in the epilogue is my own invention.

Chapter Eleven: Fortune

"Ahoy, Cap'n!" Anamaria bellowed from the crow's nest. "Swells a windward!"

Jack wasn't all that concerned; the wind was fair for the Antilles, but no storms were making. Bootstrap, his new first mate, peered behind them with the spy glass. "Odd, those."

"Eh?"

"Not wind-made." Bootstrap handed him the glass.

Jack frowned. Bill was right: the waves were low, too far apart to be wind-swept swells, and strangely even along the water. It reminded him of something. They were also quite large; not high enough to be any threat to the Pearl or other ships at sea, but big, like low, rolling hills on the water.

Gibbs came down the deck to remark on the extraordinary sight as well. "Whadda ya make of 'em?"

"No worries for us," said Bill. "Big, though. Can't think where they've come from."

"Westerly," said Jack.

"Might be worrisome in-harbor along the coast, waves o' that size," Gibbs observed. Bill shot Jack a worried look, but Gibbs added, "Not to fret, man; they're movin' away from Port Royal."

Jack dropped the spyglass. "Away? Or from it?"

"Bloody hell," Bill muttered.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!" Jack roared. "We're coming about!" He seized the wheel and spun it, turning them fully about towards the rolling water, and the land it was coming from.

James scrubbed at his dirty face, trying to pull his scattered wits together, but his mind and his heart were being pulled in every direction at once. He should go at once to the fort; by some miracle, it appeared to still be standing, although from where he was he could see that some of the walls and battlements had fallen. He should give orders to organize the able-bodied men to help rescue those trapped, find shelters for the wounded. He should find Governor Beeston and determine what their next course of action should be. He should call out the remaining soldiers to keep order in the town—what was left of it. He should find his wife.

The sight of some of the more unsavory denizens of Port Royal returning to the wrecked lower streets with avarice in their eyes made up his mind. "I must…get to the fort at once," he muttered. "I'll send all the men we still have to keep order."

Will nodded, gazing numbly at the destruction. "What can I do?"

James forced himself to be calm; he had to set an example at this moment. He met Will's eyes and said, "Find Elizabeth. Find my wife. Get them to shelter and send word to me at the fort."

The thought of Elizabeth, lost and possibly hurt amid the devastation snapped Will's mind back to full alertness. He steadfastly refused to consider any other possibility. She was here somewhere; he had only to find her. "I will."

"Godspeed, Turner," said James, then he hurried away.

Given at last a purpose amid the chaos, Will began searching the crowd and adding his voice to the cries of thousands now searching for those they loved. "Elizabeth! ELIZABETH!"

Among a countless throng of stunned, weeping women and children came Elizabeth, Lucy, and Mary to St. Paul's. The bell tower was a pile of rubble, and a great chunk of roof had been torn away with it, but the remainder of the church still stood, and already the church folk were rallying to assist the dazed survivors.

"Miss Elizabeth! Mrs. Norrington!" The women turned in surprise to see Reverend Heath weaving his way through the crowd toward them. Lucy and Mary both began crying again with relief at the sight of him, and the Reverend put his arms around them and led them into the church. "Thank the Lord. I'd begun to fear that neither of you had been spared. Are you hurt?"

"Nothing serious," Lucy said, dashing a hand across her face, though her arms were scratched and bleeding from the collapse of the fence, and all three of them were cut and bruised. "Have you any news of my husband?"

Heath shook his head. "Very little news has reached me yet, but there is such chaos here with the wounded and displaced that I've had no time to make inquiries. I am still organizing care for the wounded and infirm."

"Beggin' your pardon, but I can help," Mary offered at once, glancing at Elizabeth for permission. She readily gave it, and Reverend Heath dispatched Mary to assist the nuns in treating injuries.

"Of course, we'll do what we can as well," Elizabeth added, and Lucy nodded confirmation.

Reverend Heath ushered them away, and the two women came to an unspoken agreement that the needs of the many hundreds of wounded should be seen to now, regardless of their fears for their own families. Lucy left the church once to assist at another house that had been commandeered for the wounded, and returned to report that her own home had collapsed, but Weatherby Swann's appeared to still be standing, although she had not seen Elizabeth's father himself.

Elizabeth found herself working in a situation strangely reminiscent of her days as a Tortuga barmaid—and in its own way, just as harrowing. She knew nothing of nursing, so the nuns and clerics often had her running back and forth for supplies of bandages and medicines and bed linens, and there was always more need than there were hands to satisfy it. Her mind spent much time racing with more worries than she could ever have imagined having at once: the still-unknown whereabouts of her father and Will, of Lucy's husband, of their other friends and acquaintances, the suffering of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of poor souls lying at her feet always in need of water, food, changed bandages, and beds.

There was a even a powerful scent of alcohol in the church buildings where she worked, although this was all alcohol that had been commandeered to ease the pain of the wounded and to treat their injuries.

She had seen men die before, during her time on the Black Pearl, but the deaths she witnessed in the quake and afterward instilled a horror she had never known or even imagined. Reverend Heath was constantly making rounds giving final blessings to the dying before they succumbed to horrific, endlessly-bleeding wounds, shattered bones, and infections and sicknesses that came upon them swiftly in their weakened state. After the first few, Elizabeth and Lucy both became too numb to shed any more tears, and went about their merciful duties in a state of perpetual shock, painfully, agonizingly aware of the misery surrounding them, but their emotional reactions had become strangely muted, almost blessedly so, for the sake of their sanity.

The injured and homeless in the quake's aftermath were so numerous that it was not surprising that even with the town reduced to less than half its previous size, the able-bodied who rushed about aiding their fellows had little time or thought to spare for each other. Not to say that Will's possible fate was ever far from the forefront of her mind.

Two days after the earthquake, Weatherby Swann found his way to the church and was led to Elizabeth. "Thank God, my darling," he whispered, as Elizabeth fell into his arms, choking on sobs. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head. "Commodore Norrington is frantic. I promised I would send him word."

"He's all right?" Elizabeth gasped as Lucy came running down the ward.

"Yes, my dear, he's safe. So many men from the fort have been wounded or killed; it is all he can do to keep order and send what ships are left for aid."

Norrington's wife looked gravely at them. "I must go to him."

"That may not be wise; the streets are not at all safe," Weatherby cautioned. "Let me send him a message that you are here."

But Lucy shook her head. "My place is with my husband, and there are wounded at the fort as well."

Sensing her determination, Weatherby yielded. "Then come with me. You cannot go unescorted."

"Father!" Elizabeth seized his arm. There was a terrible lump of dread in her throat. "Have you heard nothing of Will?"

At his dismayed look, she held her breath. "I'm sorry. I haven't. It's possible…always possible, I suppose."

"Of course, it is!" Lucy exclaimed, seizing Elizabeth's hands. "Do not give up hope, Lizzie. Many people are still searching the streets, or Will could be with James at the fort. I'll find out all I can of him."

Unable to speak, Elizabeth just nodded. Of course, Lucy could speak of hope, having heard that her husband was alive and safe at the fort. Elizabeth supposed she herself would act no differently in that position. If only I were, a callous part of her whispered enviously. Fortunately, Lucy understood, even if Weatherby did not, and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek before accepting the former governor's arm as they left the churchyard.

Returning to rolling bandages, Elizabeth could no longer push down her emotions. The wrappings shook in her hands until she dropped them back onto the pile, wrapped her arms around her knees and wept.

What will become of us all? What am I going to do?

What if Will never comes back?

How will we live if all the food and water is gone?

Where will we live now?

She had heard Reverend Heath talking worriedly with some of the others about the state of the wells and the fresh water; so much had been contaminated with filth in the quake and the waves. And most of the buildings that had housed the town's supplies of food and drink had been destroyed. Ironically, because there were no suitable supplies or ovens to bake bread, the food being rationed out to many of the able-bodied was hard-tack biscuit, like they often ate on ships.

It reminded her of the Black Pearl, and Elizabeth found that familiarity comforting. She thought of asking Commodore Norrington and her father to try to send word to Jack and the Pearl, but decided against it; what could they do? And as it was, there were only a few ships left seaworthy in the harbor, and they'd all been sent out to neighboring ports for help.

Eventually, her anguish wore down again, and she got back to work.

"Streets are full of battered bodies, man, to say nothing of the harbor! We may never find the majority of them. Whole families gone, everybody crushed and drowned for whole blocks of town!"

"I tell you, I'm going to find her."

"She may be dead, my boy."

"I don't know that for certain until I find her." The voice might not be so distinctive as Jack's in a crowded room, but it made Elizabeth's heart clench as nothing else could. Hope burst back to life in her chest, trying to pound its way out, but her throat tightened so that she couldn't speak a word. She wanted to call out, she had to get up and see for herself if her ears had not deceived her.

But she felt as though she were immersed in mud—cold mud. Her entire body shook as she turned, sluggish and clumsy, and pulled herself to her feet, searching…

…through the strangely-blurry faces, dirty skin, haunted, seeking eyes…

…until they met a pair of dark brown eyes that burned with a hope as fierce as that which seared her from the inside, and she couldn't look away.

Her throat was so tight that her voice was a squeak. "Will?"

If she felt paralyzed, he certainly didn't. She stood there, half-wondering if she was dreaming, watching Will Turner shoving through the crowd of dazed earthquake survivors as frantically as he had once swept across a fort green to save a friend from the gallows. No one shrieked or tried to stop him this time, but some people smiled as he flung his arms around Elizabeth and began kissing her frantically, all over her face.

Elizabeth was vaguely aware of him speaking, but the words made little sense to her—and probably little sense to him either. She herself could not speak. She simply clung to him.

More than half of Port Royal was under water, and most of what remained on land had collapsed. Nearly two-thirds of the people were dead or missing, hundreds more were hurt, here in the church, at the fort, and in the few houses left standing. There was little food, less water, and things would only get worse as the height of summer came upon them…

…and for those few moments, it was infinitely far away. She pulled back from his arms far enough to see his face, streaked with dirt, sweat, and dried blood, vaguely aware that she herself probably looked no better, but all that mattered now was that she could see a future again. Their future.

We'll be all right now.

"We'll be all right," he whispered to her, interpreting her silence as stifled grief and anxious to console her.

And then he blinked in confusion when Elizabeth started to laugh. "Of course," she gasped, dashing her fist across her face. "Of course, we will!"

The first ships from neighboring colonies arrived a few days later. Those days were no less harrowing, full of blood, sweat, exhaustion, and death among the wounded in the church, than the first two had been after the earthquake, but for Elizabeth and Will, the sun had come back, and the future had reappeared.

They weren't the only ones. Those who had been fortunate enough to escape with their lives saw little point in dwelling on lost possessions—so many were being buried every day.

However, there was still the question of the fate of Port Royal itself.

"I'll never be easy in this town again, Miss," Mary told Elizabeth when a ship arrived in the harbor bound for England. "I'm not glad of leavin' you or the Master, of course, but if you'll allow, I'd rather go find a new position in England."

"Of course, I won't try to stop you!" Elizabeth said. "Not after all this. I'll write you a letter of reference before the ship leaves."

"You're not thinking of remaining here, surely, my dear," Weatherby Swann exclaimed, coming to join them. "The town is in ruins!"

Elizabeth looked at Will and said, "We haven't made up our minds yet."

"Why not return to England with me? We've received word that a galleon is being dispatched to return the nobility to Europe," her father offered. To Mary, he added, "For myself, I would be happy to keep you on in our house in London in any case."

"Thank you kindly, sir!" Mary exclaimed.

Will admitted, "I don't think Port Royal will ever recover from this. Most of the people staying in Jamaica are moving across the harbor. Governor Beeston is moving his offices to Spanish Town."

Weatherby said, "If you don't wish to leave the Caribbean, at least consider one of the other colonies, Barbados or St. Kitts. Jamaica is no place to build a life now."

Elizabeth and Will exchanged a glance. Neither of them had any desire to leave the Caribbean, but truth be told, the thought of even leaving Jamaica gave her a pang. And yet, her father had a point—Will would need to work. There would not be many people left in Port Royal, and what were the chances that he could support them in tiny Spanish Town or the tents of Colonel Barry's Hog Crawle across the harbor?

Her father saw her sudden anxiety, but said nothing. He seemed content at last to let her discuss the matter with her fiancé, and true to form, Will joined her after a shift tending the wounded in the church. "Do you want to leave?"

"For England? No," she replied honestly. "I was very young, but my memories of it aren't especially fond—and what I've heard of London society since is not terribly appealing."

"My mother and I lived in Southampton," Will remarked.

She watched him closely. "Would you like to go back?"

He frowned, considering. "I hadn't really thought of it until now. I could certainly find work there as a blacksmith…"

"But?"

"Would I ever see my father again?"

"I think the Black Pearl could get just about anywhere Jack and the crew wanted," she said dryly. But more seriously, she added, "But not to England as easily to anywhere in the Caribbean."

"On the other hand, if we stay in the Caribbean, you would be separated from your father," he pointed out, fairness itself.

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "I think it would still be easier for me to write to my father than you to yours, no matter where we are. Safer for him than for yours as well."

"That certainly is true."

A week later…

Will was helping Commodore Norrington at the fort when the cry went up. "Sail ho! Black sails, sir! Pirates!"

While half the men in the fort went running for the guns, Will and James exchanged glances, then grinned. "Identify the vessel, if you please," Norrington called.

"The Black Pearl, Commodore!" The rather green lieutenant who had arrived with the first rescue ship from England wasn't familiar with much of Port Royal's history, but some of Norrington's other men were.

"Stand down from weapons, and leave the distress flag flying," the Commodore ordered. "And send up flares for good measure."

The replacement troops looked frazzled, but they obeyed, and a moment later, the Pearl raised a white flag. "They're dropping anchor," said one of the sentries.

"I'm somewhat preoccupied here, Turner, if you would be so kind as to greet Captain Sparrow and his crew."

"Gladly, Commodore," said Will cheerfully, and started off the port wall.

"Sir? They're lowering a boat!"

"Since we no longer have a dock and swimming to shore would be inconvenient, I cannot say I'm surprised. Carry on, gentlemen. Carry on, Turner." Will stifled a laugh and went to the debris-littered beach.

To his surprise, when he arrived, no less than three boats had been lowered from the Pearl, and bales, barrels, and boxes were visible behind the crew who were rowing. (And behind Jack Sparrow, who was standing in his typical effort to be imposing at the nose of the first boat.) Will couldn't help but grin stupidly when the boats reached shore.

"Can't leave you alone for a week, lad!" Jack exclaimed, strutting off the boat onto the wet sand. He gazed at the decimated town and ruined harbor and wrinkled his nose. "Blimey, made a right mess of the place, haven't you?"

"Gillette stole the white sword," Will told him as Bootstrap joined them.

"Bloody fool. We thought someone must have had sticky fingers back there. Well! Far be it for Captain Jack Sparrow to miss a chance to be magnaminimous at times like this! Our bloody friend Norrington make it through?"

"Yes, he's up at the fort."

Jack gestured to the supplies his crew was unloading. "For him—well, for you, actually, but knowing the old Commodore, he'll want to take charge."

"How's your Elizabeth?" Bootstrap asked with concern. Gibbs and some of the others paused and looked up.

"She's safe," Will said without disguising his relief.

"Thank the Lord for that. Harbor's full of bodies," his father said.

Will nodded grimly. "I know." He sighed, but smiled then. "I'm glad to see you again."

Bootstrap put a hand on his shoulder. "And you."

Jack sniffled loudly. "So touching!"

"Jack!"

Elizabeth came running down to the water with Norrington, his wife, and the former governor lagging slightly behind. Will saw Weatherby cringe when Elizabeth threw her arms around the pirate captain's neck, but he just grinned. Mrs. Norrington was taking in the legendary ship and its all-too-scurvy-looking crew with whom her friend was currently fraternizing with undisguised awe.

"Aye, now that's reason enough to pay the old town a visit, eh?" Jack leered. Bootstrap rolled his eyes, and Anamaria snorted as Jack kissed Elizabeth smackingly on the cheek. "So you made it out in one piece, love? Doesn't surprise me one bit! 'Ello, 'Ello, there, Commodore! Captain Sparrow and the Black Pearl to the rescue, as you see!"

"Far be it for Port Royal to be ungrateful to anyone at this point," said Norrington, with more ease than Will had ever seen from him toward Jack. Then again, the Commodore had scarcely slept since the earthquake, and was so distracted by the concerns of protecting and feeding the survivors of the quake that it wasn't surprising he'd take help from all comers. He even signaled a squad of soldiers from the fort to take charge of the supplies the Pearl's crew had brought.

As for Jack, after making a perfunctory greeting to Elizabeth's father, his gaze fell upon the well-dressed-if-obviously-exhausted young woman behind Norrington. "'Ello, 'ello, I'm beholdin' the Mrs. Commodore if I'm not much mistaken?"

Lucy blinked, Elizabeth stifled a laugh, and the crew looked on curiously as Norrington handed his wife forward. "Quite. My dear, this is Captain Jack Sparrow. My wife, Lucinda Norrington."

"Milady," said Jack, sweeping off his hat with a most-effusive bow. "'tis an honor indeed!"

Lucy was too dazzled to even answer him, and Norrington and Weatherby Swann hastened to distract Jack with offers of reward for more assistance, but Will heard her whisper to Elizabeth, "They're really pirates? Real pirates!"

"No better example of them too, in my opinion," Elizabeth whispered back.

"Don't know what much good we can do on land here, son," Bootstrap told Will quietly, moving aside with him. "It's bad business. We're glad to find you safe."

"I thought the Aztec curse and the dead ships were the greatest horror I'd ever seen until now," Will admitted, closing his eyes.

His father put a hand on his shoulder. "There's people shipping out already, we've heard. What're you going to do?"

"We haven't decided. Elizabeth's father is going back to England with most of the wealthy families, but she and I…"

"Bound to the Caribbean, if I don't know one when I see one," Bill said slyly. Will had to smile. "Why not ship out with the Pearl?"

"As pirates, you mean?"

"Aye, lad, we've no plans to go legitimate, other than for the sake of friends. Your Elizabeth can hold her own aboard ship, even Anamaria can't deny that. Pirate's in your blood, you know. I'd be glad of you," Bill told him.

Will looked past him at the Pearl, its baggy sails hanging empty, almost beckoning…the thought had its appeal, he had to admit. Jack had once said the same thing about his blood. "I'll have to think about it."

"I think it would be exciting to be a pirate," Lucy told Elizabeth later that night at the fort, watching the Black Pearl's crew at work on the deck. She'd been transfixed by the ship all day.

"Haven't you had enough excitement already?" Elizabeth demanded.

Lucy grimaced, conceding the point. "Perhaps if we've no real choice about hardship in our lives, we'd do better to seek out excitement of our own rather than letting it come to us."

"That's an interesting way to put it," said James as a steward brought them dinner, although from his expression, Elizabeth suspected he'd be glad when the Pearl got out of the harbor and stopped fascinating his wife.

Will had told her about Bootstrap and Jack's offer to leave with the Black Pearl, but had not ventured a final opinion over whether he desired such a life. Elizabeth found the idea appealing, for much the same reasons Lucy did, but she didn't want to unduly influence Will on it. She would go anywhere, so long as it was with him. If there was one thing the wretched days since the earthquake had taught her, it was what mattered most.

"Sir William tells me there will be a house ready for you in Spanish Town by the end of the year," Norrington was telling Lucy. "I shall be quartered here in the fort from day to day, but I will visit you whenever I can."

Lucy stared at him. "You mean I'll have to live alone?"

Will and Elizabeth exchanged glances, wondering if they should leave, but Weatherby Swann put in, "The Commodore is needed here to oversee Port Royal and the harbor security, my dear. And I fear there are few accommodations left in Port Royal suitable for you."

"And where are these 'few?'" Lucy asked, with a sharpness in her voice that startled Elizabeth.

"Growing less by the day," James told her. "And not at all safe, with the ranks of the guard so diminished. We can barely keep order in the town during the day. The houses are looted every night." His wife looked away, frowning. "I know this is difficult, but we must accept that circumstances have changed. I will see you at least once each week."

Elizabeth winced in sympathy and looked at Will. He dropped his eyes. The two of the were lucky in more ways than one. I will let nothing separate us again. Ever.

"Other men at the fort have their wives here with them."

Weatherby actually laughed, which made Elizabeth want to scold him and obviously offended Lucy. "My dear Mrs. Norrington, you are the wife of the Commodore, not of some sergeant or midshipman. There's no society left in Port Royal. It would hardly be proper for you to be quartered here; the barracks living arrangements are quite too mean."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, thinking of the devastation and people living in the wrecks of their homes just outside, and from the way Lucy gazed out the window, it was clear that she was thinking the same thing. "You're right that circumstances have changed, James—but my definition of 'mean' has done as well. I would choose the barracks of the fort WITH my husband than the finest society house in Spanish Town without him."

Elizabeth had to quash a smile, but then was a bit bemused to notice Will regarding Lucy Norrington with an expression that could only be called admiring, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of jealousy. Well. She supposed it was her turn, after all. Then he looked at her and motioned to the door with his head (rather like Jack sometimes did, she thought, stifling a giggle) and they excused themselves.

"What are you thinking?" she demanded as soon as they were out of earshot, on the fort wall looking down at the Black Pearl.

His dark hair moving lightly in the wind, Will regarded the ship with a faint look of longing, then shook his head. "I don't think I could do it, Elizabeth." He smiled sadly. "Be a pirate."

"No?" she asked, carefully neutral.

Will sighed. "Jack and my father—they say the pirate's in my blood, but…I'm not like them. Not really, no matter how much I…wish I was, sometimes. I couldn't enjoy it as they do." He smiled ruefully. "I'm too set as a law-abiding citizen."

"You became a pirate once," she reminded him.

Will looked at her unguardedly. "That was for you."

It wasn't as if she hadn't known before now that Will truly loved her, and rejoiced in that knowledge, but it suddenly seemed to reach her, like a splash of warm spray from the sea, just how long and how deeply he had loved her. How far he had been willing to go, against pirates, against the law, even against himself.

She touched his face. "I'd never see you sacrifice yourself," she whispered. "Nor your principles, Will."

"Some parts of it—the adventure, the sailing, even the…plundering," Will blushed. "I did enjoy it. But there are harms that come from piracy, that I'd never be easy with, even with Jack and my father." He sighed, then looked quickly at her. His dark eyes were anxious. "I was afraid you'd be disappointed. I know you like the Pearl."

"Only when you've been there," she said. And she grinned, "And as Lucy remarks, it's not as if excitement doesn't have a way of finding us onshore or off!" Will laughed sheepishly, and she kissed him, mindless of the stares of the sentries. "I told my father before, I don't care if you're a pirate or a blacksmith. I'll gladly marry either." She pulled back and added dryly, "Soon, I hope!"

"And I," Will sighed dramatically. "There's always something, it seems. I'd suggest we go to Reverend Heath tomorrow, but it seems cruel to…" he broke off, but she nodded. It would be the height of rudeness to ask the Reverend to perform a wedding while so many people still needed to be buried. "All the same…I find I also don't want to leave Jamaica."

"We could stay in Port Royal, as I suspect Lucy's planning to do," Elizabeth pointed out. "And take our chances."

Will looked at her thoughtfully. "Or I've been told Mrs. Tapling is going across the harbor to the new town they're going to build, hoping it will be safer than Port Royal."

"Is that the camp Colonel Barry and his men have built?"

"Yes, but they hope to make it more permanent."

Elizabeth leaned against the wall, enjoying the wind off the Caribbean as if it were gifting them with a peaceful night after so much trouble. "A new town. They'll need a blacksmith. Someone to help with the building."

Will nodded. "And there will be land. New farms and plantations to begin from the beginning." He put a hand boldly on her arm, sending gooseflesh down her skin with one touch.

"That does seem the sort of place to make our own new beginning, doesn't it?" she murmured.

"It isn't much at the moment," her fiancé warned.

She closed her eyes and smiled. "There isn't much that we really need." Then she sighed. "There's still the problem of when or if Reverend Heath will be free to marry us. Father's ship for England will be here in a month—he won't like to go and leave me unwed."

Will pulled a face. "Every churchman in the Caribbean is occupied, I think. It could be a year before a qualified man is able to perform a wedding ceremony." He looked out at the harbor in frustration, then froze.

Elizabeth followed his gaze to the Black Pearl, its sails and deck lit by lanterns.

Then they both began to laugh.

As Jack would say, it was a funny old world.

To be continued…

Next Chapter: Only the epilogue remains! A wedding takes place on the beach, Captain Jack Sparrow and Commodore Norrington get philosophical over celebratory rum, and Dr. Alexander Cade returns in modern times to give us Reverend Heath's report on the final fates of our heroes in Epilogue: That Rarest of Treasures!

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