Surviving a handful of battles at sea did nothing to prepare a person for watching the utter destruction that the Dutchman was capable of wreaking upon a ship…and the crew that manned said ship. Theo watched the carnage without allowing any expression to rise to her face, save for maybe mild nausea when the smell of burning pork wafted towards them on the wind. On their previous adventure, after Tortuga, during the "second movie" (a descriptor that felt more and more ridiculous the longer she lived here), they'd ran the dangerous risk of forgetting just how deadly Jones could be, kraken or no. There'd be no forgetting it now.

Still, this one she made herself watch. Waved hands and insistences over feminine sensibilities would only get her so far in this time, especially with suspicion over her sympathies still being rife, and if Hattie was capable of watching it from where she stood at her side, Theo had no excuse. So she stood beside the girl in silence and tried to disconnect from what she was seeing as the Dutchman's guns tore through the ship like it was hardly any sturdier than a sand castle, men abandoning ship only to get hit by shrapnel or even an outright cannonball on the way down, the air filled with smoke and screams.

Beckett, of course, witnessed the massacre with his usual empathy and compassion.

"Bloody hell, there's nothing left," he remarked flatly to Mercer.

"Jones is a loose cannon, sir."

A glance towards Mercer found him looking significantly less disapproving than Beckett did, his face all but pleased at the sight that lay before them.

"Fetch the chest," Beckett ordered in response, turning to Theo when Mercer departed to follow his orders "Mrs Norrington, this is where we part ways."

What a silver lining that was. She'd have to do her best not to cry when they said their goodbyes.

The journey by skiff over to the Dutchman was filled with many a mental pep talk, but Theo took comfort in the fact that she, Hattie, Beckett, and Mercer were some of the last to step aboard - after droves of men had moved seamlessly through the ship, weapon in hand, in a nice over the top display of dick measuring.

"Steady, men," she heard James' distinct voice some ways ahead, sounding completely at ease, no less.

She admired his bravery, because she was absolutely shitting it. But she couldn't show it. Not with Hattie white as a sheet beside her, and certainly not with Beckett being his usual insufferably smug self a few paces ahead.

"Go. All of you. And take that infernal thing with you. I will not have it on my ship!" came Jones' ragged shout next.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that - because I will," Beckett said, stepping out into the open area of the main deck "Because it seems to be the only way to ensure that this ship do as directed by the company."

He came to a stop before Jones, and Theo and Hattie came to a stop a few feet behind Beckett. The soldiers all around them offered some shred of comfort, but not much. What if her presence pushed Jones over the edge? What if they ended up with a full on mutiny on their hands? Slaughter? Battle? Here and now? The fear was founded in blind panic, and she knew that it wouldn't happen even as she was thinking it, but her stomach still churned beneath the confines of her corset. Once Beckett pissed off, she'd be able to wear more practical clothing, at least. Nobody stationed here long-term was James' superior, and he'd hardly demand she observe social norms at the cost of her safety. By the time the rest of the soldiers here had a chance to report it back to Beckett, she and her husband would already be treasonous pirate bastards anyway. If they were lucky.

'Yes, and she wore breeches!' would hardly be a world-rocker when added to that.

James paused, hesitating where he stood on the deck even though the men behind him waited for his command as to where it was they should store the heart. His eyes met hers and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing to Jones, and then Beckett. It was clear he didn't want to leave her here.

"Carry on, Admiral," Beckett ordered - and James complied with thinned lips, but Beckett's attention was already back on Jones, speaking venomously "We need prisoners to interrogate, which tends to work best when they're alive."

She had to admit, he had courage. Jones was glowering at him with more fury than it seemed possible to contain within one person, and he dealt with it with little more fear than a parent wrangling a petulant toddler. The Dutchman's crew were gathered a foot or two behind their captain, all regarding Beckett with almost as much fury as Jones levelled his way. Bootstrap was amongst them, Theo noted, but he didn't seem half as invested in this exchange as his brothers in arms. Judging by his indifferent gaze fixed on the empty space before him, he was barely present at all.

"The Dutchman sails as its captain commands," said Jones imperiously, rising up to his full height.

"And its captain is to sail it as commanded," Beckett snapped back.

Theo bowed her head, and Hattie gave a sharp gasp beside her. It was a hell of a line. It packed a punch, and it was one of those ones that always stood out to her no matter how much time had passed between her having access to the movies and now. No matter what random details faded and were lost to her memory, that one never was. It was always an 'oh shit!' moment - but here, now, it was just an 'oh, shit' moment. The response from the crew was immediate - gasps of astonishment and more than one look to their captain, like expecting a second round of butchery to begin here and now. Jones just stared in disbelief, even as Beckett drew nearer, his voice lowering as he continued. Not that it made a difference - all aboard were stunned to silence anyway.

"I would have thought you'd learned that when I ordered you to kill your pet. This is no longer your world, Jones. The immaterial has become…immaterial."

Beckett's moment of philosophical profoundness went unapplauded. Mostly because the absence of the heart, along with the lack of any further goading, left Jones entirely free to notice Theo's presence. And notice it he did. His eyes slid over her, and for a moment she thought she'd gotten away with, well, existing for now…and then they snapped back. They narrowed for a moment, and then widened murderously when the realisation washed over him.

"You?"

Either unaware or uncaring of the fact that she was running the rather large risk of being murdered by Jones bare claws - but, let's face it, probably the latter - Beckett approached the Dutchman's crew, all of whom bristled in response, sneering down at him. She had to hand it to the man, he was completely unfazed by the fact that he was at least a foot shorter than every single one of them.

Jones stormed up before her and Theo stepped just slightly to the side, ushering Hattie behind her. It was a needless move - as far as Jones was concerned, at least, because he only had eyes for her, but she hoped it would spare the girl a heart attack before their time here really got underway.

"Mrs Norrington will accompany her husband for his time stationed on the Dutchman," Beckett said.

He didn't step away from the crew as he offered his explanation, scrutinising them one by one with narrowed eyes, entirely unbothered by the steely glares and gritted teeth he received in response. When he reached Bootstrap, who barely looked at him at all, he glanced back to her.

"She will not-" Jones began, only to be cut off by Beckett calling over him.

"Is this the one? The senior of the Turners?"

He asked it like he was talking about a painting - or a statue. Throwing out an 'ah, yes, is this a Rembrandt?' - not discussing a person standing directly before him.

The eyes that had been on Beckett during his inspection sure as hell were on her now. Bootstrap's included. Even Jones stepped back from looming over her to turn an incredulous eye to him. Theo stared at Beckett. Was it possible to feel betrayed by somebody you hadn't even trusted? Probably not. But she hadn't expected him to drop her in it quite so openly - to make it that obvious that she'd all but conspired with Beckett against the crew, Bootstrap especially. That, in hindsight, had been her mistake. Stunned beyond words, she blinked at him for a moment, and then when his eyebrows rose impatiently, she finally inclined her head, yes. Utter. Fucking. Bastard.

He turned back to Bootstrap "Hm. Yes. I see the resemblance."

And now, if Bootstrap hadn't been aware she'd gone whispering to Beckett about his son, he'd sure as hell know now. But that wouldn't matter - she'd deal with the distrust, the hatred, and the resentment - she'd deal with it all if it meant it would work.

Come on, Theo thought as she watched him eye the man, have him taken aboard the Endeavour. Please. Please, have him taken aboard the Endeavour. All nice and ready to send Will off-kilter with when it comes time to negotiate. Far, far away from James. Take him to the Endeavour. Please.

Beckett sniffed and stepped back "We shall see what becomes of that."

And then he didn't give the order. He didn't give any order at all. Instead, he sauntered back towards Mercer.

"Lord Beckett," she said - her voice betraying her nerves before she'd even completely made up her mind to speak "Do you not think you should bring him with you? It…it might prove useful."

She'd almost said it would be good business, but that would be overdoing her point a bit too much.

"No," Beckett said simply "I like him quite where he is."

He eyed her with just a bit too much satisfaction after the fact. Theo's heart sank, and she felt her face pale.

"Lord Beckett - please, I think it would…it would be prudent if-"

"I said no," he said, his voice dangerously casual "Should I have need of him, I know where he is. Are there any other explanations you believe yourself owed from me, Mrs Norrington?"

Mercer shifted off to the side. Theo knew better than to think it wasn't deliberate. James' old warnings about Beckett keeping a keen eye out for whether she would try to overplay her hand came back to the forefront of her mind, and she knew she was on perilously thin ice. The Endeavour was not yet that much-desired speck on the horizon. He could still drag her back to it.

"No, my lord. I'm sor- er, you have my apologies."

Shit.

Whether he was doing this just as one of his usual little power trips for fun - giving a great glaring statement that he wouldn't be listening to her all the time, and that he was in charge of if and when her advice was followed, Or maybe it was her. Maybe she'd fucked things up with her timing - maybe saying it in front of Jones, right when Beckett was pissing all over the Dutchman to mark his territory. But there was no other way to do it. It would've been just as obvious if she'd scurried off after him when he went to make his exit, only for him to come back and be like 'on second thought, we'll take him'. Knowing Beckett, it was probably a combination of the two, wrapped up in the neat little bow of 'have fun sharing a ship with the man I've just made incredibly distrustful of you'. Yeah, that sounded like good ol' Cutler.

Any hope that she had upon boarding the Dutchman was draining out of her the same way the blood drained from her face, leaving her feeling cold and shaken. No. It couldn't be working out this way - it couldn't. This had been a perfect chance for everything to be solved simply and neatly. It was ideal. It was the way. It was her chance. And it was gone. She felt like she was in the middle of one of her god-awful nightmares, and it took everything she had not to fall to her knees and outright beg Beckett to take Bootstrap with him.

It was hard to say what he'd enjoy more - such a display, or saying no in response to it.

James returned then, and if he wasn't so meticulous in everything that he did, she'd wonder if he'd rushed through his duty in order to get back to them swiftly. She couldn't look him in the eye at first, worried he'd see everything she was feeling written across her face. He came to a stop in the space between her and Jones, and so smoothly that it almost looked entirely incidental, his shoulders squared and his hands clasped behind him, ever the perfect soldier.

"The heart is secure, Lord Beckett," he announced.

"Good," Beckett replied.

Despite Beckett's vague dismissal, James remained rooted to the spot between Theo and Jones. She finally forced herself to look at him just in time to see the back of his hat as he turned his head, returning the deathly glare Jones levelled his way. She couldn't see his face, but she knew the expression that would be on it - dispassionate and unbothered, sending a very clear message to the Dutchman's captain. Theo's heart clenched in her chest. God, how she loved that man.

"You seem to have things under control here, Admiral," a jab at Jones, sure, but at least it was no longer aimed at her - until he continued "Perhaps you might settle your wife into your new quarters next. She appears to have taken ill. Some manner of parasite, perhaps."

Oh Christ, what was he on about now? What was that jab even about? She knew it was a jab, because if it wasn't then that only left genuine concern, and that was never going to be the case with him. Her instances of not really understanding eighteenth century speak had drastically reduced in the time she spent here, it still popped up every now and then - especially now that she was no longer in Tortuga. It meant something, of that she could be sure from how Hattie shifted uncomfortably behind her. She'd have to ask later. Or maybe it would be better not to do so - then she'd just give him the annoyance he sought so smugly.

With his newest dismissal being rather

"You do look very pale. What's wrong?" James asked once they were safely inside their new quarters.

She nearly lied and threw out a trademark I'm fine, but her face had already betrayed her, so she told a half-truth instead.

"He just dropped me in it out there."

"Dropped you…" he frowned "Dropped you into what?"

"The shit. It's- it's a turn of phrase, he…he did what he does best, the bastard. Stoked resentment between the crew n' me. Jones and me. It's sure to bring some problems, but I should've expected it from him."

"They cannot do anything to you, Theodora. They will not do anything to you."

It wasn't herself she was worried about.

"Yeah," she breathed, giving herself a shake "Hattie - what chest are my other clothes in? The ones from Tortuga? The breeches, the shirt, the- er, the other corset? The Irish one?"

The Irish corset being her sports bra. The moment she was in clothes she could actually move in, she'd feel a hell of a lot better.

"In a similar vein," James said as Hattie set about rooting through the couple of chests they'd brought with them "Here."

Although Beckett had given him back his old sword - the one forged by Will - he'd continued carrying around the one he'd been using before that little reunion, too. It wasn't entirely out of the norm. Truth be told, she'd barely noticed it at all. Now, though, he undid the belt that housed the old replacement, before holding it up before her, scabbard and all.

"I don't like the thought of you here unarmed," he added when she blinked at it in surprise.

Lifting her foot, Theo drew the dagger housed in her boot with practised ease "I'm never unarmed."

"Well, now you shall be doubly armed - and visibly so, with this. It's a mite heavy for you, I know, but it's better than nothing. Or, rather, better than only one thing."

Hattie presented her with the clothing she'd requested, and then stepped towards the door. Theo's preference for changing in private was well known now, and she never had to ask the girl to leave her be while she bathed. Even when she dressed her, the girl never saw her in anything less than a shift. That tattoo was one of the most annoying decisions she'd ever made, all in all.

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, and doing an admirable job at pretending not to notice how the wood was swollen with water and rot.

"Where-" she asked quietly and then cleared her throat, lending some strength to her voice "Where will I be sleeping?"

Theo bit down on the inside of her cheek, knowing there was only one real answer she could give to that "Here. If you'd like. We'll have a bed brought in for you and pretend I'm suffering from seasickness - or a mystery illness, something. James is much too busy to nurse me through it alone."

Any question of whether she'd made the right decision vanished at the sheer, palpable relief that swept through Hattie's entire person, her shoulders dropping and a small amount of colour returning to her cheeks. She nodded, mumbled a thank you, and stepped out into the hallway to wait.

Once the door was shut, Theo offered James an apologetic frown, but he waved a hand and shook his head, dismissing any guilt she might've felt. He was too good for that.

"You'll have me like Blackbeard soon," Theo commented to James, turning her mind back to the sword as she began to do war with her dress "Running about with all sorts of bombs and blades strapped to me."

He smirked "It does sound like you, does it not?"

Setting the sword down on the bed - which had been brought over from the Endeavour, and was therefore mercifully free of saltwater, mould, or anything living - he began to help her undress. Unlike many of the other times he'd helped such a process along, this was distinctly less exciting and more just about being naked and vulnerable for as little time as possible while she was on this sodding ship. Her impatience, paired with the fact that this wasn't one of her less complicated gowns, didn't help much.

"I like the version of me you have in your mind - she sounds like a very interesting figure," she snorted.

Theo made quick work of unpinning the outer section of the dress, spanning her back, arms, and the back half of her skirts, from her corset and stomacher, while James undid the ribbons that kept it tied to her skirts.

"Mm. Fearsome, too. A force of nature."

"A liability."

She threw the pins to the table in the room (not brought from the Endeavour, and therefore encrusted in several mystery life forms that all looked much more sharp than said pins) and shirked off the first layer. The first layer of petticoats were untied and pulled over her head almost immediately after, and then the second.

"It serves to keep my instincts sharp," he deadpanned, and then hesitated before sighing "I will refrain from asking if you're sure there's nothing you can tell me about…what it is that weighs on you."

Theo wouldn't insult him by pointing out that his saying that sounded a whole lot like asking. If she was in his shoes, she'd have staged an all out interrogation by now - the whole deal, a metal table drilled into the ground, an exposed light bulb, a good-cop-bad-cop routine. That last part would've been double impressive, considering she was only one woman. And, y'know, light bulbs had not yet been invented.

"However, might I ask if all is going well?"

She considered his question, neither of them ceasing their movements, she unpinning the stomacher from her corset and he untying her hip pads behind her. They were discarded into the quickly growing pile on the floor, which was absorbing grotty sea water that saturated everything on the Dutchman. It was a good thing she never wanted to wear it again.

"Nothing's gone horribly wrong yet," she said finally - and then paused to breathe deeply when he'd unlaced her corsets enough to make that possible, swivelling her hips from side to side and getting re-accustomed to a nice full range of motion "I could've done without Beckett's games out there-"

"On that we will forever be in agreement."

"But nothing's gone completely tits up yet. We're good."

Shimmying out of the corset once it'd been loosened enough, she whipped the shift up over her head, looking absolutely absurd in nothing but stockings and Doc Martens, and then turned to where her fresh set of clothes was waiting on the bed. James was silent as she dressed.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Me?"

"You."

"I am trying to conceive of a way of convening one on one with this Queen Achtland of yours."

As he spoke, he took up the sword and reached around her, wrapping the belt about her hips and threading the strip of leather through the buckle.

"Oh?"

"Mm. Then I might demand that she uses her powers of time and universe to take me back to a point not long after we first met, so that I might not drag my feet in realising just how in love with you I was. We could have been married with my requesting a new posting in, say England, before any of this madness occurred, and been safely out of the way of all of it."

"There are a few problems with that plan."

The buckle was secured with practised ease, leaving him to step back as he asked his question.

"Are there?"

"If you'd have tried to marry me within a couple of weeks of meeting me, I'd absolutely have considered you a madman."

"I'm not sure I'd have been that swift. A fortnight is too quick even by my reimagined, idealised timeline."

"Is it?"

"We'd need time for the sunburn to fade. I'd have never gotten through my vows with your looking like a lobster."

She smiled fondly.

"Cheeky bastard."

"What are the other problems?"

"Another time issue - you needed time for the sunburn to fade, I needed time to adjust to the dreaded wig."

"Will you ever tire of the wig jokes?"

"Probably not."

"As I thought. Well, you'll only have to tolerate it for a while longer, and you'll have to find something else about my person to mock thereafter."

Theo frowned at that, not sure whether she was reading too much into that comment or not.

"There is a final problem with your plan," she said.

"Do go on."

"If you think I'd ever settle down in England, you've lost your mind."

"Bold words from a woman who married an Englishman," he said drily.

"Are you calling me a hypocrite?"

"You just referred to me as a cheeky bastard."

"How quickly the bliss fades, eh?"

"I wouldn't say that. There's just not much room for bliss in a place like this. Nor with our new guest."

"I couldn't leave her to sleep alone here - I should've talked to you about it first, though."

"It's fine," he shook his head "I agree. If you hadn't suggested it, I would have. It's our fault she's here. And…we shan't be here for long, regardless. Shall we?"

"No," she confirmed "We won't."

"Soon it'll all be over - and we'll have much more pleasant matters to turn our minds to. Such as what to do with our life."

Life. Not lives. She liked that. Although she liked what came before it a bit less - both in terms of his sentence, and in reality. Hearing that it would all soon be over only reminded her of how much it all now breathed down her neck. But after. After would be worth it.

"Is it that much up for debate?" she asked.

"Is it not?" he countered "Some aspects are unquestionable, that much is true…"

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand to illustrate what aspects those were, and then he continued.

"But others? I find myself considering those at length as of late."

"What are you talking about? You live to be a soldier, James, It's who you are. Surely you'll want to go back to that. Business as usual."

"It was - I did. But things are different now."

"I hope you're not talking about me. Am I to blame?"

"There is no blame - it's not an entirely bad thing. And while part of it is to do with you, I think I would have come to this conclusion with or without you."

Okay, she had to admit he wasn't wrong there. In the movies he just didn't live particularly long enough for anything other than one noble deed to come from that decision. Through choice, arguably. He could have jumped overboard, but doing so would mean going back to living as a pirate.

Admittedly, Theo had tried to avoid putting real thought into after. While she was fairly confident that he would defect a bit more happily with things as they were now - they'd all but openly discussed as much - she hadn't stopped to think about what would come after the pirates won. Elizabeth had gone on to live a life free of piracy from what she could tell, so it seemed that those who joined the winning side weren't doomed to live as fugitives. The assumption on her end had always more or less been that the English would admit in some way or another that Beckett had indeed been out of control, and acting against him would not count as acting against the Crown.

Was making concrete plans tempting fate, though?

"What did you imagine would happen after all of this?" he asked, sensing her confusion.

"We'd find the Governor, use his backing to spread the word on exactly what Beckett was like," she waved a hand "Secure pardons, if necessary. I suppose it would all shake out much like it did in the aftermath of getting involved with Jack. Although hopefully the pardons would come from a less slimy character this time. You'd get your job back, we'd…I don't know. Start somewhere new. If you were allowed to take a new posting, I suppose."

"And you? What would you do while I was gone more often than I was at home?"

Pop a valium or ten and sleep for a decade.

"I'd get by, James. You can't give up something that brings you such a sense of purpose for me - you wouldn't do it if you'd married a woman from- any other woman," she caught herself "So you're not going to do it for me."

"Oh, aren't I?"

"No. If I need to join the Royal Navy and get to a rank above you just to make that an order, I will."

He smirked "I don't doubt that. Nor, my darling, do I doubt your ability to get by. You managed it when you first came to Port Royal, you managed it in Tortuga, and you've managed it before on this very ship. You'd get by pottering around a house in Port Royal. You've done that before, too. However, I'm not sure I've a stomach for many more lengthy separations. It may be argued that it's only the current danger weighing upon us that has me saying so, but that cannot also be said for the fact that…"

He hesitated and Theo frowned, threading her fingers through his and waiting patiently for him to voice the thought that was clearly causing him so much grief.

"To be entirely frank with you, I'm uncertain as to how much purpose I might find in this role in the future. If any at all."

Theo watched him sadly "James..."

Her life back home had been completely surrounded by military folk. She'd seen what happened to the people who left for the wrong reasons - the ones who didn't absolutely pine to leave. Hell, even some of the ones who had, but just wrongly envisaged what it might be like to be out. They…drifted. They regretted. They grew angry and lost. She didn't want to see him return to how he'd been when they'd first reunited in Tortuga.

"I mean it. It's weighed on me more or less since we returned, and the more I think on the matter, the more heavy that weight becomes. I cannot see it lifting."

"It might."

"And it mightn't. Consider it, Theodora, how long would we be able to grasp at some sense of normality before another like Beckett comes along and we find ourselves carrying out not the greater good, but whatever is of greater benefit to him? Only this time without the benefit of your insights. Beckett is not the only one of his like, and logically speaking, more are sure to follow in our lifetime. No doubt he's inspiring droves more of his like at this very moment. I've no desire to linger so that we'll see it. Not when there must be some other manner of doing good, truly doing good - and one that wouldn't have us be pawns, at that."

Eyebrows rising when he watched as she pressed her lips together, he asked "Do you disagree?"

"No," she admitted freely "Not at all. And if you really decide you never want to walk into another battle again when this is all done, I'll spend every bloody day making it as worth your while as humanly possible."

Hell, she'd do that anyway. She was generous like that. Plus, the joy of having them both get out of this alive was sure to never bloody well fade. Not if she was anything close to sane. If there was one upside to be found in all of this, it was that - nothing could ever stress her out like this would, and she'd never take anything for granted again.

"I would just hate, in a few years, when everything is settled and we've had our long overdue honeymoon, for you to resent me for your quitting."

"Yes, it might all be simpler if you'd give up some small thing for my sake, then everything would be nice and equal," he said - with an incredible dryness, even by his standards.

Theo floundered - because he had her there. And she couldn't even grudge him his victory. In part because it was justly earned, and also because it was just nice to talk about such normal domestic matters. God, she couldn't wait to argue over living room colours or what they should have for dinner. That would be the real bliss.

Tia Dalma stomped more than paced back and forth on the deck of the Pearl, her head shaking in aggravation as arguments raged forth all around her. Those arguments, varied as they were, all had one very important thing in common. Jack Sparrow. Or rather, his absence. Barbossa hadn't much bothered to try and hide the fact that he'd known as much now that his knowledge didn't affect their recovery of the Pearl either which way and he'd gotten what he wanted. His lack of surprise at Jack's absence had not gone down well.

Attention had then turned to the woman who'd brought him back - the woman who apparently had unearthly means of gaining knowledge, to see if she'd known, too. She'd been even less bothered than Barbossa had been in response to the discontent. No, her annoyance was saved for another target entirely.

"Fool girl," Tia Dalma grumbled to herself "Changing things that ought not be changed."

"Theodora," Will came up behind her, catching up easily with long strides "You're speaking of Theodora Byrne. This is her doing, then."

His thoughts showed on his face practically step by step as he went through the process of working out each revelation, a furrow in his brow. It had been a running, rampant suspicion since they'd discovered that he was not here, but there was something to be said for knowing it as a certainty. That Jack should have been here despite the fact that they had long since gathered that he was not. That Theodora had a hand in it, followed by the realisation that she'd tricked them in order to save him…and that she was not meant to have done so. Then, finally, that her doing so might've left them all stuck here for good, as living but as lifeless as Barbossa had once been.

"This is what happens. Mortals get a touch of power and like that," she snapped her fingers to illustrate her point "They ta- things are taken too far. She may be here for a purpose, but this was not it. And where does that leave us? With a chart and no sorry fool to read it."

"You're not suggesting Jack would have been the one to work it out?"

"And surely you aren't suggesting that Jack is as daft as he pretends to be?" Tia Dalma countered with an annoyed look.

The corners of Will's lips turned downwards as he was left with little choice other than to concede that she had a point.

"If we wish to escape this place, we'll have to think like Jack," he said decisively.

Tia Dalma gave him a rueful smirk that betrayed just how aware she was of how that fact was easier said than done, even for a resourceful man like Will. Her point was proven some twenty minutes later when he stood and strode away from the charts with a scowl. They'd already been abandoned by Barbossa, and Elizabeth tried her hand next, scouring them for some sort of literary or mythic reference that she might recognise - a clue, a riddle, something. She found nothing, raking her hand through her hair and storming away from the charts much in the same way her fiancé had…albeit in the opposite direction. Their disagreements over whether they'd been right to trust Theodora had only intensified now that her ruse had been brought to the light.

The charts had been left unattended for a good while when an unlikely contender stepped forth - Ragetti, flanked by Pintel.

"What do you think you'll find 'ere that no other has?" Pintel demanded, scoffing at the taller man.

"Maybe nothing, maybe something," Ragetti said, bristling as he did so "Alls I'm sayin' is maybe a fresh pair of eyes is what's needed here."

"We're in trouble if you're trying to provide that, then, aren't we?" Pintel shot back, gesturing to the wooden eye that rolled about in Ragetti's head.

His brother-in-arms, waved him off, frowning stubbornly down at the charts as he turned the rotating panels this way and that. The attempt drew a few strange looks, more than one eye rolls, and a whole lot of despair from anybody who shot a glance their way. It appeared most aboard shared in Pintel's assertion that there was no hope. Not from Ragetti, anyway. Most aboard. Not all. Tia Dalma watched the display with mild interest, her fingers coming to smooth over the necklace about her throat.

That curiosity turned into a smile when he paused in his turning, squinted down at the charts with his one good eye, and then sat up straight.

"I've found something!" he announced - pronouncing the final word as though it had a 'k' at the end of it "Look! Up is down!"

"Up is down?" Pintel scoffed derisively, shaking his head "Up is down - what's that mean when it's at home? What use is that?"

"Well it has to mean something, else it wouldn't be here!" Pintel snapped in return.

Either his opinion was shared by Barbossa and Will, or they'd turned the blind hope, both striding over from opposite sides of the deck to peer down at the charts. And it paid off when their eyes widened in near perfect unison, backs straightening as their heads snapped to look at each other, realisation dawning.

"Men!" Barbossa roared "All hands to starboard-side! Now!"

A/N: Originally I was going to have Will work out the chart's clue - his whole "think like Jack" thing is his shtick in the latter half of the trilogy, after all, but then I got the idea of Pintel and Ragetti working it out and honestly that felt weirdly more true to the chaotic nature of the trilogy than the original idea, and I had to go with it. Pretty long chapter here! They're probably all going to be pretty hefty going forward, which may at time means a bit more of a wait between chapters but…I'm not in a rush for it to be over B)