The storm came upon Black Pearl as she sailed, backhanding the ship and sending her reeling to port. Through the shrieking wind and flapping sails, Anamaria screamed orders until her voice gave, then summoned her strength and screamed more. The ship had run strongly before a favorable wind for not quite four days, but the little squall that Gibbs had sworn he smelled two days before was rapidly developing all the fixings of a first-rate hurricane. No ship could run under such a pounding - not for long. Not even Pearl.

"Joshamee!" She bellowed over the din, "get that canvas squared away, else when the mast falls you'll be beneath it!"

The call was half-warning and half-threat. Gibbs shook his fist at her from aloft before wind and rain temporarily obscured his scrambling figure. Anamaria grumbled a threat and a curse and returned to cajoling Pearl, who continued to lean disturbingly to port. Jack had been attempting to re-adjust her running ballast from the moment he'd been hauled aboard at Port Royal - of course, Jack Sparrow claimed the ship's current stability drew directly from Barbossa's treatment of her. They all knew better: Black Pearl may have sailed well enough with the old ballast under Barbossa's curse - but she was a living ship now, with a living ship's weaknesses. A fine ship no doubt, but any ship will find danger in a storm. Anamaria tried to ignore the boom swinging wildly over her head and slowly, delicately brought the helm back to her.

A half-hour later, Gibbs stood beside her in the driving rain, holding a waterlogged parasol over the both of them while Duncan ran to get real watertogs. "Iffin' this keeps, she can't hold course," he shouted into her ear.

"Aye, but if we be gettin' it then so does Wickedry," Anamaria yelled back. "And I'll reckon Pearl's got finer storm speed!"

"Storm speed does nothing if we're capsized!"

"Then we'll not be capsized, will we?" Anamaria handed the wheel over to Gibbs as she shrugged into the heavier clothing they'd stored below. He held the ship steady, coaxed her as Anamaria had. Pearl might have been the fleetest vessel in the Caribbean, but at the moment she did not make a fine storm boat. Gibbs grappled with the ship as she tipped into a trough, water sloshing over the decks. "Bloody hell, Joshamee, hold her!"

"I'm tryin'!"

"North winds sent hail, East winds we bewail!" Mr. Cotton's Parrot wailed. Gibbs pointed at the parrot.

"Someone stow that beast 'fore it's swept overboard!"

Mr. Cotton sent the bird down the hatch, but not before it had gotten in one last proclaimation: "The sharper the blast, the sooner it's passed!"

"I hate that bird," Anamaria muttered as she lent herself to the wheel. "D'ya think Cotton would notice if we opened the gunports whilst it was down there?"

"But then we'd never 'ear him say shiver me timbers again!" Gibbs stared up at the great wave before them that Pearl seemed about to plow into. "Hold to course, hold to course - hold on, Soledad!"

Black Pearl began to climb.

The storm slammed into Port Royal not an hour after Relentless had staggered into port, and Corwin Norrington found himself pleasantly amused as Weatherby Swann's wig blew right off his head and into the water, where it proceeded to drown among the wind-tossed boats. Any work that had begun on Relentless had ceased instantly as sailors ran for cover. He himself took shelter in his office, dropping hat and wig into a chair and then flopping into another one. Reaching over to his desk, he picked up a decanter and a glass, thought better of it, and left the glass where it was.

Checking to be sure his office door was closed, he took a healthy swig straight from the decanter. Bloody hell, Corwin, a lovely match you've gotten yourself into this time. Deals with pirates! With Jack Sparrow! His head had pounded during the exchange on the Black Pearl... the pirate captain's merry dark eyes had looked him over, seen through his façade. Sparrow knew. He knew! He knew it was a game, a rouse. He knew Corwin had sacrificed a bit of his pride so that Elizabeth might stand a chance of rescue.

Elizabeth. My fault. If he'd approached Wickedry differently, if he'd used the long chasers, if he'd insisted she stay inside... if only... if only...

Elizabeth captured...

"Forgive me, 'Lizbeth," he said to the decanter. He had never called her by that name, of course; it had been an endearment he hoped she would bestow upon him herself. Whenever he dreamed of her, though - at night and during the day - she was Lizbeth. Liza. Lizzie?

No, she wasn't really a Lizzie.

"Commodore, sir?" His aid tapped gently on the door, and Corwin set the decanter down.

"Enter."

"Commodore, Lieutenant Macey sends his compliments and asks if you've done away with the last two?"

Macey. It was just as well he'd put away the decanter, for surely his fist would have crushed the delicate crystal. "I have not, Basil, and if it pleases the Lieutenant, I would not have him asking again."

"I understand, sir." No, of course you don't, if you did you'd not be asking. "He has captured two new men, and had hoped they might have separate cells--"

"No. They will go where they may fit. Order a roast sent to the cells below, I believe I'll take a meal there."

"Aye, Commodore. Welcome back, sir." Basil closed the door softly behind him, and Corwin massaged his forehead. His position now... what was his position now? Since he had taken hold of the fleet, the Governor's daughter had been kidnapped not once, but twice by pirates; the infamous Jack Sparrow had slid under his nose more times than he cared to mention, and the mighty Interceptor had been lost. Only by luck did her near-sister Relentless escape the same fate.

And here he was, making deals and bargains with pirates.

Bloody hell.

He stood up and followed the curving tunnels of Fort Charles to the cells beneath the fort - the cells that Macey wanted to clear out. The air down here smelled dank and vaguely rotten, and he could hear the surf pounding against the thick rock walls. It made for a gloomy little prison, one typically used more for storage than actual restraint. Since the Black Pearl incident, however, he had found a new set of occupants for it.

The two pirates sat in cells directly opposite each other, crouching in relative darkness until Corwin came strolling in with a lantern. The shorter one stared at him with bared teeth while the one-eyed man cowered in the back. They were only known by their last names, but that was all Corwin needed.

"Pintel and Ragetti." He had not called upon them for quite some time now, and both were far dirtier and worn-looking than they had been. "You're looking well."

"'Allo, Commodore," the short one, Pintel, said. "Wot brings you to our... humble abode?"

"I thought I'd pay a visit to my favorite pirates, of course." Corwin sat down in the chair reserved for a guard and tilted it back so he could look at them both. "Quite a storm rolling out there."

"I told ye it was stormin'," Ragetti mumbled. "Big stormin'."

"No one asked ye to be openin' yer mouth, one-eye."

"Boys, boys." The alcohol and bickering pirates soothed his mind, and Corwin felt a smile curling up over his face. "What do you know of a man named Gerrarrd?"

"'E's Wickedry's captain," Ragetti said.

"Shut yer mouth! Why's the Commodore want t'know bout a silly lil' pirate named Gerrarrd?"

Corwin shrugged as both pirates suddenly began sniffing the air. "I've got a meal to share, and I'd hate for it to go to waste..." Basil carried the roast in and set it before him, placing the knife into his hand before departing. Pintel and Ragetti stared at the roast before staring at Corwin. "After all, we are reasonable men, are we not?"

"Thought you didn't deal with pirates."

"I try not to. I'd rather see you all dangling, to be certain, but even I know when something is necessary." He cut off a piece of the roast and placed it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chewed. "Ah... bliss."

Ragetti whimpered.

"Ragetti, son..." The one-eyed pirate had proven infinitely easier to work with time and again, and Corwin cut a thin slice of roast. "Tell me about Gerrarrd."

"'E's usin' ye, Rags!"

"But I'm so hungry..."

"You're not allied with him; what should it matter?" Corwin waved the roast in front of Ragetti's cell, and one thin hand snaked out of the bars to grab at it. He held it just out of reach, eyebrows arched. Waiting.

Ragetti caved in shamelessly. "He sails out of the Western islands. Doesn't think much for no one 'cept himself. We took 'im on once."

Sails out of the Western islands. Good. Corwin allowed Ragetti to snatch the meat and turned to Pintel as he wolfed it down. "You fought him? What happened?"

Pintel gave him a stony look. Corwin cut a slightly-thicker bit of meat and called over his shoulder, "Ragetti, how is it?"

"Oh, 'tis the best I've had! Mmm!" Ragetti licked his fingers and looked for more. Pintel wavered.

"Stale... stalwart... studious..."

"Stalemate!"

"I'm talkin'! Stalemate... storm blew us apart. Barb--" Pintel stopped. Corwin dangled the meat.

"Barbossa... what did Barbossa say?"

"He called 'em... worthy adver-serries."

Barbossa might have meant it jokingly - how worthy an adversary is any ship to a cursed vessel? Even so... Corwin handed Pintel the meat and watched him scarf it down. "We met Gerrarrd not a week ago."

Both pirates looked at him.

"The new ship Relentless is badly-damaged due to a rudder shot."

Pintel chuckled coarsely. "Ain't that a bleedin' shame?"

"Those that aid us in marking Gerrarrd might find themselves... oh, relieved of certain burdens." He cut three more slices of roast - these ones thick and juicy. Pintel and Ragetti's attention immediately shifted to the meat, and Corwin chose his next words carefully. "I dislike dealing with pirates, as you've noted before. But as I've noted before... a man must do what he must do."

"An' what is it yer suggestin', Commodore?" Pintel asked the meat.

Corwin smiled. "I'm suggesting we have a pleasant meal down here, and discuss this interesting fellow called Gerrarrd. After all, there's far too much roast here for just me."

Wickedry tipped drunkenly to starboard, and Elizabeth felt her stomach turn over. "Tell me we didn't bloody hit something."

Jack shoved the pisspot toward her with his boot. "You aren't going to vomit, are you?"

"If I choose to vomit, Captain Sparrow, I will be certain to aim for your hat."

"You keep your dirty retching off my hat, missy."

The ship lurched, and all three of the occupants in the tiny brig were sent rather gracelessly to the front of the brig - except for Jack, who was already there, and looking quite smug. "'Tis only a storm."

"A storm?"

Jack nodded. "Aye. Atmospheric disturbance. Many clouds in the sky, plenty of waves, ships tossed about, quite hazardous from time to time, a fair deal of dampness involved."

"I remember my last storm at sea," Will said. The fondness in his voice rapidly gave way to gritted teeth. "While we were chasing your bloody Black Pearl... whom, I might add, has not shown up yet."

"Give her time, mate, give her time. You must never rush a lady."

Elizabeth reached for the pot. "Actually, I feel I might be getting a bit ill--" Her grasping hand was stayed as the ocean seemed to simply drop from the ship, and Wickedry gave a great shudder as she slammed back into it. "Dear God, was that--"

"Just plowing into a trough, love, nothing to it." Jack stood up and grasped the bars of the cage. Above them, the sound of running footsteps and howling sailors - and over that, the shrieking wind. The ship jerked again, and he smiled at nothing in particular. "Not a very good storm boat, then. That's good."

"Good?" Will sputtered. "Don't you want a ship to be a good storm-boat?"

"Not if a better storm-boat is chasing after you."

"What if said poor storm-boat sinks before other storm-boat can catch up, thereby drowning all occupants?"

Jack shrugged. "Then I expect you'll be floatin' somewhere with wings and a halo, lad, and not a care in the world. As for the rest o'us..."

Elizabeth put her head in her hands and tried to ignore the ship's heaving and the straining timbers of the hull. She had quite nearly dozed off when stomping footsteps signaled the arrival of the mate and the cook. "Leak's somewhere fo'ard," the cook said. Elizabeth opened one eye and saw the keys dangling from the mate's belt. The keys! Kicking Jack with her foot, she lurched up to her feet, grabbing the bars. "Mate! Something terrible has happened to Captain Sparrow!" Lowering her voice to a whisper, she jabbed her foot against his boot. "Quickly, do something, quiver with sickness, go insane with anger, lose your mind!" It was not necessary to point out that his mind was arguably quite lost.

Jack barely managed to gawk at her before the mate turned around to stare. Jack swayed for a moment before dropping to the deck, curling into a fetal position. "Oh, the LIGHT! The LIGHT! DAMN MY EYES!" Will quickly scampered to the other side of the cell to avoid the now-thrashing limbs, eyes wide. Jack continued his show, pounding his fist against the deck like some great drunken, feral... pirate. "I am quivering with sickness, dammit! I've gone insane with anger!"

The mate and the cook just stared.

Captain, that was not quite what I had in mind. Elizabeth turned away from the writhing captain and hoped she looked properly distressed. "Please! You must do something!"

"Oh, the spirits have awakened! THE SPIRITS!" Jack all but convulsed.

"'E's got cabin fever!" The cook squawked.

"Will you not help him?" Elizabeth wailed.

The mate reached through the bars and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hush now, let's watch..."

Oh, for the love of all that is... Elizabeth gripped the shoulder of her dress and pushed it down as far as it would go. The eyes of the mate went to the bare flesh while the cook continued to stare at the rather peculiar Captain Sparrow.

Will slunk up next to her, stretching his hand toward the bars. "Please, please make him stop..."

"A pox!" Jack squawked. "A pox on this ship and all who sail her!"

"Aye- soundin' the ship! Scuse us, pretties." The mate and cook abruptly realized they had other business to be doing and hurried away. Jack stopped his thrashing instantly, propped his head up with his hand, and gave Elizabeth and Will his best I'm Captain and Smarter Than You look.

"Well, I hope you two are pleased."

"Very," Will said with a grin as he held up the purloined keys.

The mate and the cook never knew what hit them, but other later saw a rather large - and somewhat dented - pisspot lying nearby.