(This chapter will be a bit brief, I'm afraid. has been doing something... interesting... to my formatting as well, so I'm trying to figure a way around it.)

The New Year rang in nothing but illness to Port Royal, and as Corwin Norrington shuffled into one of the seediest taverns in the entire city, he wondered what enticing diseases he might obtain from its premises.

He had dressed down for the occasion: no wig, ragged clothes, and even a carefully-cultivated don't-look-at-me way of moving that he had observed from one of his less-confident sailors. Tucked into a pocket was the scribbled note from a certain J.G. of the Black Pearl; a note with instructions to meet a captain in a shadowy corner of the city.

An interim captain, perhaps, Macey had suggested when he learned of it.

Corwinhad a vague idea of what to expect when he met with the Black Pearl's new captain, though he still couldn't quite believe the conditions under which they met. Not only did Captain Soledad insist upon meeting him on the other side of the city, but the Dauntless was to patrol outside the harbor, well away from the only inlet large enough for Black Pearl to squeeze into. He supposed it was not an unreasonable request, given the bounty on that vessel.

"Good afternoon, Commodore," the woman's voice purred. He smoothly changed tacks, sliding into a darkened booth and trying to peer into the recess of the cloak she wore. Anamaria Soledad. While not a personal acquaintance, he remembered enough of her to identify the voice. How many pounds had he placed on her head five years ago?

"Ye're looking quite fine today," Soledad continued. "Where's the wig?"

"Where's the face?"

"I have news." Soledad settled into business very quickly, something Corwin thanked the good heavens for. "Or perhaps it may not be news."

She pushed the hood of her cloak back ever so slightly, so that she could better stare at him from across the rim of a mug. Her dark eyes calm and composed - yet she still managed to strike him as nothing more than bad news on two legs. "Captain Soledad," he said, trying to forget that he was addressing a woman. "Your choice of location is splendid."

Her smile was not entirely cold. "We figured ye needed a good tour o'the better parts of the Caribee, Commodore. Thi' place is the sticks, but the booze isn't bad."

He accepted the mug she pressed into his hand and smiled stiffly as he sat. "I would prefer to be called Corwin, as a matter of fact. The fewer people know that I'm here, the better."

"Ah. Corwin." The smile came back briefly. "Lovely name. Very well, Corwin. Sit yourself down and listen to me, for I'll not be saying this more n'once. Tell me what ye know of th' Wickedry and her exploits."

"Wickedry is very fast," he said. "Almost... abnormally fast, if you will allow. Attacks on three port cities in the last two weeks, very far apart from each other..."

"Corwin, there be a question I must ask of ye, and I'd prefer if ye answered it truthfully."

He nodded. "You may."

Soledad reached into the recesses of her cloak and withdrew a scroll. She placed it on the table in front of him, and Corwin studied the familiar-looking seal with growing unease. "Tell me o'that, then."

He did not need to look at the contents to realize what it was. "That is an official posting from Governor Swann."

"Aye. And do you know what be inside?"

"A posting, or bit of official business, I imagine."

"Then read it."

He unrolled it, settling into Weatherby Swann's elegant writing. As he went through the lines of text, his heart began to sink. "This cannot be..."

"It is."

"I told him--" Had he told him anything, though? Or had he merely assumed that Governor Swann would sit back and take a passive role in the search for his daughter? "Oh, by the God's good graces..."

"Your Guv'nuh's been paying a ransom, Commodore. Or did you not know that?"

This cannot be, this cannot be... he pictured Weatherby at his desk, dutifully filling bank notes and ordering them delivered to the man who vowed to find his daughter. "Governor Swann is an intelligent man, Captain Soledad... I can't imagine..."

"He be a father, do he not. He do what it takes to get hisgirl back."

While his commanding officer appears to do nothing. God damn it, Weatherby, I am against a wall and you know it! He set the missive aside, clenching his hands into fists. "He truly thought I would do nothing about it?"

"That question be for your man, Corwin, not me. I just came to ye with the news." She touched the edge of the paper with a roughened finger. "The name there is an alias of one of Gerrarrd's finest men, Gibbs tells me."

Why did he suddenly feel dizzy? "Perhaps Gibbs is mistaken."

She regarded him. "Do you really think that t'be true?"

He sipped at his ale and found it to be disturbingly good. "The other is not something I have wished to contemplate as of late. You understand."

"Then you're a fool."

Corwin said nothing to the contrary, only swallowed another gulp of the ale while Anamaria Soledad threw down her hand. "The good Captain Gerrarrd has put out word to every captain sailing the Caribee, Commodore. If he gets his way, he'll have a fleet partially-funded by the well-intentioned Weatherby Swann o'Port Royal." She smiled at him across the table. "'Tis a tempting offer."

Corwin pushed his drink aside and leaned forward. "So why not join him?"

"You're not as dumb as you look," she said approvingly. "I don't join him because Black Pearl is not mine to devote, much as I wish it to be so. She waits for Captain Sparrow and his word, and should I try to take her a place she dislikes - it won't be so."

"It's a ship," he said.

"Nay, Mr. Corwin. She is not just a ship."

"Sparrow may be dead, you realize."

"We thought of that. But if someone's nigh come forward - that means he's gone and gotten himself killed in some damn-fool quest, aye? Jack's a slobberin' fool at times but he's not so stupid when his life be concerned. That be why we do not acknowledge him dead, Mr. Corwin. Until we find his bones and put them to sea, he isn't."

I wish I inspired that kind of loyalty. Sparrow was a pirate, damnall. A pirate!

Maybe that loyalty could work for them all.

"Weatherby will cease paying the ransoms, but I fear the damage has already been done, as you say. You say you will not join his fleet. Do you stand with us, then?"

"Black Pearl stands for herself, as Captain Sparrow so stated before he left," she said.

"Anamaria--" He caught himself. "--Captain Soledad--you must surely know that the Dauntless and Relentless are not enough to stave off an entire fleet, should things come to pass. If you received a letter of marque--"

"And tip him off to my doings? Don't press me to be a fool, Mr. Corwin. What works in the world of your fleet is not the way of the pirates, such as it be so. Don't bother pulling your money with me. I've said me part."

Corwin's shoulders slumped. "Then why bother pulling me here and telling me all this? Not that I'm not thankful for this bad news."

Soledad folded her hands and some of the venom left her voice. "I tell ye this because once you let a good man go free, 'spite of yer dislike for him. I tell ye this because likely Jack would wish it to be so. And I tell ye this because what better way to let the two o'ya, Gerrarrd and Commodore, destroy each other while the rest o'us wait for the riches?"

For some reason, he smiled. "Once a pirate, always a pirate."

He extended his hand. Soledad considered it, then clasped it. "I hope your luck runs better than mine has, Captain."

"So do I, for your sake." She pulled the hood back up over her head, though he caught a wink. "I daresay Black Pearl is the only thing standing b'twixt yourself and the mighty fleet of Ephraim Gerrarrd."

---

Noble Bay

Will twisted a rag around the latest of his wounds and hoped he wouldn't die of gangrene before he reached his mid-twenties. Keeping in Gerrarrd's employ - and therefore his good graces - had him attempting tasks he had never even conceived of. I'm no sailor, he thought as he examined his tired and battered hands. The labors of a blacksmith might well be considered rigorous and painful on land, but at sea... oh, the workings of a ship were an entirely new kind of pain.

He had settled into a kind of existence now, one that offered at least the small comfort of day-to-day continuity. Captain Ephraim Gerrarrd could rest comfortably in the knowledge that his young prisoner could not escape; even if he did manage to commandeer a tiny boat and row away by cover of darkness, his navigational skills were poor at best. And as Bootstrap Bill returned to his senses, the possibility of leaving him behind dimmed.

No, Will Turner had no way off the island. Thus Gerrarrd let him roam about as he pleased, often delegating small tasks to keep him busy. Today he sat in the captain's dining room, polishing a pair of unloaded pistols. He held one up to the sunlight streaming through the aft windows, admitting to himself that the fiend did have excellent taste. Both pistols had mother-of-pearl inlay on the handle, and gold etching on the barrel.

He carefully cleaned them, mindful of the bruises on his hands. "He likes them fancy, doesn't he?" He asked Bootstrap, who lingered in a corner. "Has he always had such expensive taste?"

Bootstrap stared at him and gnawed on his knuckles. Will sighed and put the guns down, going to his father and removing the offending hand from his mouth. "Now, you don't want to do that. Remember what happened last time?"

Bootstrap gave him a bloody smile. "Infec-infec-infec-infec-infec--"

"Infection."

"Infection! Turned green."

"And oozed for three weeks. Keep your hands where you can see them. Like this."

Bootstrap held his hands in his lap for about five seconds, but as soon as Will turned his back, the sucking noises began again. Fortunately, Ephraim Gerrarrd sauntered into the cabin at that precise moment. "Turner, get your bloody hand out of your mouth and make yourself presentable. We've got guests."

"Guests?" Will gestured to the pistols on the table before retreating a safe distance from him. "Official visitors? A chat with the local dignitaries, perhaps... or is this more along the lines of a familial discussion?"

"I'm entertaining," Gerrarrd said, holstering the pistols.

He said it so nonchalantly that Will blinked. Why, he might as well be having a kindly old lady over for tea. "I didn't know pirates... entertained."

"Special company. Take these." A pistol was shoved into his hand, along with a cutlass. "You'll need them."

Will held onto the weapons for a moment before following the captain to the door. "What kind of entertaining are you planning on doing, sir?"

Gerrarrd sent him an odd look. "You don't understand, do you lad?"

Will shook his head.

"Here."

He flung open the door and stepped out on deck. Will made to follow, only to stop in mid-stride.

Close to two dozen ships lay at anchor in the clear bay, none of them flying an ensign.

Will swallowed. "Now that's entertainment."

Gerrarrd looked upon them with the satisfaction of a mother hen, hands resting on his hips as he nodded approvingly. "Take a good long look at them, Turner. Sloops, brigs, even an ex-warship or two... all of them here to listen to what I have to say." He nodded at the specks in the water: boats, making their way over to Wickedry. "Twenty-two have answered the call."

Will's jaw dropped. "You're inviting the captains of twenty-two pirate vessels onto your ship? Do you have a death wish?"

"They're not all pirates, Mr. Turner. There's more than a few disgruntled traders in their midst, and those of them that are will keep to the Code or face the consequences. Reputation is everything, as your friend Sparrow knew." He guided Will to where Bootstrap stood uncertainly near a lifeboat, pointed at another ship that lay beyond Wickedry. "You see her?"

Will nodded.

"No, mate, you see her?"

Three masts... two gun decks... wide belly... actually... "She's the same design as your ship," he said.

"Aye. And do you know what she's been doing, with my man Erroll?"

Will was fairly certain that not only did he not want to know, he was also about to find out whether he wanted to or not.

"Seems there's tell of a ghost ship running around," Gerrarrd said respectfully. "Looks a lot like Wickedry, matter-of-fact. We strike here, and another one... strikes there. Far away. Seems no one can really explain it. Can you, lad?"

"I can try," he muttered as Gerrarrd sauntered off. He looked at Bootstrap, who was gazing at the ocean with that far-away look he had been cultivating recently. "What say you to this, Bootstrap Bill?"

Bootstrap wavered slightly. "Captain..."

"Yes, that was the captain."

"Smart man."

"He does seem to plan."

Bootstrap snorted. "Schemes is more like it."

The rare glimpse of lucidity from his father was enough to make Will turn his head. "Papa," he said, "just how far do you and Gerrarrd go back?"

Bootstrap Bill only smiled.

(Next time, on Silence: Elizabeth and Jack make the most of their situation... Liz finds help from a most surprising source.)

(Right on schedule for once! So glad to see you guys again. I'm kind of amazed people are still reading this... but thank you for your reviews!)

(PS: Is it horribly wrong that I have an idea for a Pirates/Phantom of the Opera movie crossover? Is it?)