Greetings, me hearties. Trying to write Corwin again was the hardest thing I've done in awhile.

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Somewhere in the Caribbean...

"Fire!"

Better than a dozen cannon went off, the roar filling Corwin's ears and driving a good many hits into the hull of a black-painted brigantine. Chunks of wood blew outward, landing in the choppy seas or splintering upwards to skewer members of the brigantine's crew.

"Reload!"

Relentless tracked with the wind, her clean lines easily skimming across the bay. The brigantine – still without a name to curse at – finished loading her own guns, and Corwin barely had time to shout a warning before Relentless was peppered by cannonballs.

They loaded that ship down, I'll give them that, he thought from the deck as a shot sailed over his head. The men on the brigantine might not have the best aim in the Caribbean, but one didn't always need fine aim when one had twentyodd guns at his disposal. Relentless rocked to the side, and lines snapped.

"Fire!"

It never got old. Corwin knew that victory was inevitably his; the brigantine ran like she had a foul bottom, and the sloppy handling of her guns spoke of either nitwits or untrained sailors. Relentless could win this one…

…if their luck held.

Smoke burned his nostrils, the acrid scent of spent shot and the liquid tin of blood mixing together to form a nasty haze over the deck. Corwin stepped over the body of one of a sailor and cupped a hand around his mouth to shout aft: "Bring us in closer!"

"Aye sir, closer!"

"Closer?" Macey demanded. "Are you mad?"

"This needs to end swiftly, I've got an appointment to keep!" Corwin lifted his hand, and then dropped it again. "Fire! Fire at will, do not cease until the order is given!"

The shooting degenerated into the plunk-blam-plunk of many guns going off at different intervals, but it would have to do for now. Relentless eased in closer to the brigantine, and now a man at the bow shouted her name: Hunter. Corwin pursed his lips and did not respond; such a fine name did not benefit a scruffy-looking vessel such as that.

Relentless settled into an uncomfortable course, still abreast of her damned opponent. Sporadic fire spat from her side, but Hunter, with such an inviting target, could now give as well as she received.

Something cracked overhead. Corwin looked up and spotted a chunk of spar plummeting towards him. He grabbed Macey's arm and leaped backward, both of them landing in a rather unbecoming pile on the heaving deck as the spar shattered against the rail. Somewhere nearby, a sailor howled as a splinter pierced him.

Macey gaped. "Thanks."

Corwin clapped him on the shoulder and scrambled to the wheel, where a frazzled-looking sailor kept the ship on course. "Stockwin! Bring us in as close as you can!"

"Sir?"

He sighed inwardly. Must everyone question me? "Take us in close – closer – we'll rake the decks and be done with this nonsense!"

"Yes sir, closer sir!" Stockwin gulped audibly, but brought the helm over. Corwin ran back down to the main deck and leaned into the open hatch.

"The decks, men, the decks!"

He had no idea if they heard him; he'd need to hope one of the powder monkeys would at least spread the word. The sailors still on the main deck were all armed, though as he contemplated their numbers he noted that more than a few were injured. "Any man who feels he can board or repel fire, to me! The rest – look after those who cannot." It was hardly an ideal situation, but then again, nothing about the Caribbean was really ideal these days.

The Hunter loomed closer, a battlescarred remnant of a merchantman. Corwin hefted his pistol into one hand and scanned along the brigantine's decks, searching for anyone who looked like he was in a position of authority. Take the captain, take the ship, he recited inwardly.

Relentless heeled over as a trio of shots struck her hull just above the waterline, and then unleashed her own bombardment. Corwin spotted a figure swathed in red waving his hands on the aft deck of the brigantine, and squinted one eye shut. You may not be the captain, but you'll do…

He squeezed off the shot, and the figure abruptly ceased its orating and toppled forward onto the main deck. Corwin allowed himself a quiet hoot of delight before something rumbled within Relentless's hull, and the ship hauled minutely to starboard as her full battery of port guns went off in near-tandem. Corwin stumbled backwards, dropping his pistol and reaching out to stop his fall.

"Look out! Look out!" Pop-BLAM! Corwin tried to turn around—

Thunk. Something heavy crashed into his back, and he slammed into the deck. Slivers of wood and bits of rope rained down, sticking into his legs and unprotected neck. Bloody hell!

But then it stilled, and he realized he was not quite dead.

"Commodore, are you all right?" Macey fought to be heard over the smattering of gunfire that still went on. "Commodore?"

"I'm fine," he said, sitting up. The back of his neck burned, but the cheers of his men told him that Relentless had won the day. "The other?"

"Running for it, sir. Should we pursue?"

Part of him longed to chase after the pirates and demand information, but he also knew that Anamaria Soledad would not wait much longer. Sighing, Corwin rubbed the back of his neck and drew back his bloodied hand. "No. Drop anchor and ready a boat. Keep on your guard, though."

"Aye, sir."

Corwin stood up and started aft, only to stare in astonishment at the smoking piece of metal and ash in front of him. "What… what happened here?"

"The gun blew, sir."

Macey looked so matter-of-fact about the entire thing that Corwin wondered if he were making it up; the smoldering pile was little more than a foot away from where he'd been standing. "Just now?"

"Aye."

So Macey had pushed him out of the way. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Macey cracked a smile. "Just returning the favor, Commodore."

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Anamaria met him in the burnt-out remains of a tavern, and the thin set of her lips suggested she'd been standing there for quite awhile. "Captain Soledad," Corwin said, refusing to quicken his step for a pirate, "my apologies. We ran into some… trouble."

"That trouble had best be the brigantine that just sailed past," she said. "'Else I've little use for you."

"Her name is Hunter," he said, irritated by both her assumption that she was using him and that he was puffing slightly from the long walk up the pier. "Relentless is making repairs as we speak."

"And a good thing for you, Commodore—"

"Corwin," he said.

"Corwin," she repeated. "For there will be more on the way. Gerrarrd has a good many ships prowling the seas, and this Hunter o'yours will run to find them."

He gave her a dark look, and then transferred the bulk of his attention to the ruined tavern. "What happened here?"

"Thieves," she said. "Or pirates. Or some fools with matches. You said you had news, Commodore Corwin."

"So I do." He quietly enjoyed the clipped edge to her words; now he had the upper hand in the conversation. Anamaria Soledad certainly would not leave until Corwin played his hand, so he had no trouble engaging in a little small talk. "I'm surprised you haven't joined up with Gerrarrd," he said. "Word all over the Caribbean has him everywhere and nowhere. Two islands were attacked on the same day, within hours of each other – Wickedry can't be that fast."

She didn't answer. Corwin hid a grin. "Come now, Captain, have you nothing to say?"

"Would ye be toyin' with Jack Sparrow were he here now, Commodore? Or is it just me who gains that particular blessing?"

He looked at her. "To be perfectly honest, Captain, if Jack Sparrow were here, I'd just as soon hang him."

She pursed her lips and nodded, but there was still a hint of defiance in her stance. Corwin looked back at the tavern and realized that now was hardly the time to bait her. Pirate or not, Anamaria Soledad and the Black Pearl were the closest thing he had to allies left in the Caribbean, and in these unhappy times…

He played his hand. "Your captain lives."

Soledad sucked in her breath, but otherwise gave no hint of surprise. "Ye've spoken to him, then?"

He pulled the water-stained letter from inside his overcoat and handed it to her. She held the paper with nimble-looking fingers, her lips moving as she silently read it to herself. Corwin tore his gaze away from her and contented himself with looking out to sea, trying to get a read on the weather. Relentless would need to make a swift run for home if she wanted to beat the incoming storm.

"England," she said at last, baffled. "Why England?"

"I was hoping you could answer that, Captain Soledad."

She shook her dark head, handing the paper back to him. "I know Jack, but I don't know Jack. What 'e does is more mystery than method, but… England?"

He took distinct pleasure in the baffled look on her face. "Then we have an accord? We've no idea what he's doing in England."

"No…" Soledad turned around and started walking down a narrow path. "But we can find out."

"Wait!" Corwin caught up with her and stumbled over a narrow trench in the ground. "How do you plan to go about this? Take the Black Pearl to England?"

"Ha! Ye think large, Commodore Corwin, but nay. I've nothing in those waters, and half the crew'd just as soon dive o'erboard than make that journey."

He caught her arm and jerked her to a halt. "Than what, Anamaria?"

She glared at him with furious dark eyes. "Unhand me, Corwin!"

He spoke very quietly: "Then tell me what you propose to do."

Soledad contemplated him, and then her hand snaked out and caught his collar. She jerked him down close to her face, close enough to feel her breath against his cheek as she dropped her voice to a whisper. "We can't be sittin' on our hands any longer, Corwin Norrington. Gerrarrd's strength stretches the length o'the Caribbee, and I happen t'know where it is he calls home."

"Where?" When Soledad didn't answer, Corwin had to restrain himself from grabbing her shoulders and giving her a good shake. "Where?"

"A place called Noble Bay. It's not on the maps. I can take ye there…"

He waited.

"…if you'll get another boat."

Corwin blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Black Pearl's too recognizable. So are both of your little ladies. So we'll take another one. Unmarked. Sloop, if you have one."

He managed a smile. "What makes you think I have such a ship at my disposal?"

She sent him a frank look. "Ye be the Commodore, Corwin. Any ship ye like is at your disposal. Commandeer one if you must… and come along. We've little time."

He followed her down the path to a waiting boat lodged in a narrow inlet, where one Joshamee Gibbs stood guard with a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other. Gibbs nearly withered with relief once Soledad was back in sight, though he looked at Corwin warily. "What's this, Captain?"

"Jack's in England," Soledad said briskly.

Gibbs's jaw dropped. "England?"

"Aye. You'll be fetchin' him on the next trader."

"What?" Gibbs and Corwin both demanded.

"You expect to entrust it to him?"

"I've not been in English waters since we came across, Captain—"

"I don't care what misgivings ye have, Joshamee, you'll go across and you'll find him! He's – where are they, Norrington?"

The sudden switch to his last name startled him, but Corwin merely looked at the paper again. "The Cade residence. Dennot."

Gibbs's face crinkled up. "S'near Sheerness, isn't it?"

"Bring him back," Anamaria said. "We've got to get to – where will they sail from?"

Corwin hesitated. "I'm probably going to regret this, but the Kenyon made it to Port Royal. She's scheduled to sail in a week's time…"

Gibbs paled. Soledad wheeled on Corwin, grabbing the lapels of his coat. "Can ye bugger 'em into sailing for Dennot? Or Sheerness?"

He smiled thinly. "Perhaps."

"Do it. Run along. Gibbs, make ready to sail for Port Royal – oh, Commodore, you'll make sure no one gives us trouble, won't ye?"

Who am I to deny the great Captain Soledad anything? "If Relentless can beat you to port, then yes." He looked over at Gibbs, wondering if they were really planning out some whirlwind race to England to find yet another pirate to cause him trouble. "Tell them what's happening, Gibbs. Tell her…"

"Her?"

"The Swann girl," Soledad said.

"She's with Jack?" Gibbs paled even further. Corwin didn't have time to ponder that; if he wanted to beat the swift Black Pearl home to Port Royal, Relentless needed to get underway immediately.

Corwin and Soledad each grabbed one of Gibbs's arms and settled him into the boat, each delivering their own sets of instructions. "Tell them everything," he said over Soledad's sharp warnings. "Tell them what's happening. What you know. Tell them…" He looked at the sky again. "Hell, I'll write you a letter to give them."

Gibbs just nodded.

Corwin and Soledad looked at each other over the dumbstruck sailor's head. "Until Port Royal, Captain Soledad?"

Her smile, though fleeting, was real. "Until Port Royal, Commodore."

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Somewhere in England…

Jack struck the last highwayman sharply between the shoulder blades, and as the man pitched forward, Elizabeth brought the butt of the sword down atop his head.

Once the man hit the ground, he moved no more. Jack nodded approvingly. "Well-done, Miss Lizzie."

"When are you going to teach me how to fight properly?" she asked.

"When we've got the time," he said evasively, trudging toward the black mare and their wagon. For once, the flighty creature hadn't spooked at the fighting, and Elizabeth thanked whatever deity was still listening to her for that.

She cursed quietly and followed him. They'd been running all over what she certainly hoped was County Kent for the better part of two days, taking refuge in the woods when the outlaws grew too thick to simply outfight them. Jack might have his pistol and sword, but even the fabled Captain Sparrow didn't have an everlasting supply of ammunition.

"Dirce, you wretched female, how are you doing?" Jack clapped the mare's neck and narrowly-avoided a nip. "Oh, still feeling perky? That's lovely. Up you go now, 'Lizbeth."

"Will you please stop calling me those insipid nicknames?" She took his hand and hopped up into the seat, and smoothed the front of her dress down as he climbed up beside her. "It's so undignified."

"Certainly, Liz," he replied. He flicked the reins at the mare and Dirce started off again, inching her way down a slope. "Won't be far now."

"How can you tell?" Inwardly, she hoped he was telling the truth and not just spitting out more of his ever-reliable stories. Still, some part of her was rather enjoying the adventure.

He shrugged. "Just can. Old sailor's trick. The land's changed, you know. I can smell it in the air, I can taste it in the water…"

Elizabeth sighed.

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They found a tiny inn by the roadside, and Jack decreed they would stay there until the next morning. Elizabeth slipped the innkeeper an extra coin to look after the black mare, and trudged up to their rented room glumly. After living in the Cade residence for so long, she'd thought not much could phase her, but the Crowing Rooster possessed even fewer amenities.

She touched the place on her neck where she'd once worn her little gold necklace, and thought of her warm bed at home.

An arm draped around her shoulders. "It's almost done, lass," Jack said. "I know the area. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" If she could elicit a promise, it might make all the difference.

"Aye, tomorrow." He let her lean on him for a few minutes, and she felt his fingers absently toying with a lock of her hair. "The braggart downstairs has promised us a decent meal, though likely nothing our stomachs will thank us for."

Elizabeth pulled away and moved to their meager packs of belongings on the bed. Carefully sliding the sword out of its scabbard, she offered it to him.

Jack took it and spun the blade around with easy grace. "What's on your mind, lass?"

"We've been beset by highwaymen too often to not give me a chance," she said. "I can chop at things, and I've watched Father and Will and the Commodore, but I want to learn."

Jack just regarded her silently.

She tried not to sigh. "Can you please teach me?"

Jack scraped thoughtfully at his chin with the sword. "Can I, certainly. The question you wish to ask me is will I?"

The look she sent him was at best predatory, at worst murderous. He grinned jauntily at her, something of his old bravado seeping back into his stride. "All right, Miss Swann, I'll teach you how to fight."

He marched right out of the room then, leaving Elizabeth to wonder if he'd run off for good. But he was back in a few minutes, holding a fairly sturdy-looking stick in his hands. He twirled the stick around once, nodded, and handed it to her.

She looked at it. "It's a stick."

Jack shrugged. "We've all got to start somewhere, dearie."

"It's still a stick."

"And you're not holding it right. Do you want this lesson or not, Miss Swann? There's people who would pay a king's ransom to learn from Jack Sparrow!"

And you'd just as soon steal it before teaching them, she thought, but moved to grasp the stick in the manner he suggested. He showed her a handful of things to keep in mind: the position of her arms, where she put her feet – and then looked her dead in the eye. "Now, Liz, I think the best way to learn something is to simply do it, don't you agree?"

There was no hint of suggestion in his voice, but Elizabeth narrowed her eyes anyway. "I suppose."

He rushed her.

Elizabeth warded off the first blow, but then had to pull the stick back in order to parry his second strike. Jack moved like wind over water, feigning and twirling and generally putting on quite a good show. Elizabeth tried to watch the flashing gray of his blade, bringing her stick up to meet it when she could and then simply running away if that failed.

He cornered her by the bed. "I said teach me, not kill me!"

Jack smiled. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

It was a lesson, she realized – an extreme lesson, but a lesson nonetheless. She lifted the stick overhead and whacked solidly at the blade, and succeeded in pushing him away from the corner slightly.

They made it to the other side of the room when Jack abruptly grinned. "One must wonder what our landlords think we're doing. Ah... wait, we're married, aren't we? Nothing improper. Perhaps just different."

Now he did leer slightly, and Elizabeth brought the stick against the sword hard. Jack moved away slowly, and she jammed the chopped-up piece of wood at his throat. "I believe I win, Mr. Kendrick."

"You have anger. Good." He sized her up. "You can use that. You can make it a weapon of your own. But never... never... let it dictate what you do." The blade came up under her chin and she suddenly found their positions reversed, and her throat on the verge of being skewered. "When anger sweeps you away, you do things that are... stupid. Use it for your strength, not your mind."

Elizabeth just stared at him. "You're either brilliant, or just a terrible teacher."

"Depends on who you ask, doesn't it? That's enough for today." Jack lowered his blade, studying her panting form. "You'll be tired and sore. You need to work up to it."

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Oh, now you are. But dear Elizabeth, look at your weapon."

She looked at the stick then, and blinked. It was worn down to nearly the bark in some places – courtesy of Jack's sword, no doubt. "I hit rather hard, don't I?"

"Just a bit."

She looked at him, and saw that he was smiling.

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End J/E Fluff. :D

Next, on Silence: Anamaria and the Commodore plan to crash Gerrarrd's party, and Jack finds his purpose… so to speak.

p.s. Does anyone know what "wo" means? I got it in a review and I'm not sure if it means wipeout or whoa or write on or is an insult that I'm just not getting… ;)