Sorry for the late update... I've been finishing up my thesis/presenting it/job-hunting, so finding time to write up new chapters is a little tough. But I do think we're nearing the end.

Look! A Nun!

Somewhere in County Kent…

The skies were still gray and overcast when Jack Kendrick crept into the quiet little church.

The place hadn't changed at all, and he found himself mildly disgusted by that fact. They could have at least redecorated, he thought, running a hand along the back pew. The wood even felt the same: chipped, well-used over the years. If he'd received a thunk on the head and lost some twelve years' worth of memories, he might well have thought he'd never left.

He glanced over his shoulder. The cracked-open door revealed the black flank of Elizabeth's darling nightmare not too far away; so the girl was keeping the creature under control. Well, good. He needed all the peace and quiet he could get.

I haven't had any of that since she turned up again. He noticed a priest standing at the altar, head bowed in prayer. Jack rubbed his chin, mentally counting the number of pews between himself and his quarry. Twelve years ago - thirteen, now? Maybe it was fourteen. However many years ago... there'd been only Jack and a single, unfotunate member of the British clergy.

Surely that man was dead by now. He'd looked ready for the grave even then.

Jack moved stealthily through the pews. His boots rasped softly against the uneven floorboards, and the priest glanced over his shoulder.

Jack flashed a grin, stepped into the nearest pew, and bowed his head. He looks about a hundred. He'll be done soon.

He rather hoped the man wouldn't die at the altar. With Jack's luck, someone would blame him.

The one crime I didn't commit...

Elizabeth wouldn't be able to keep her bloody pet quiet for much longer. Dirce might be perfectly companionable for short periods of time, but whatever goodwill the horse had must drain out of her hooves. Jack would be quite glad once she was out of the picture completely.

He counted the pews again, and slunk forward three rows. The priest didn't turn around.

Jack thought about it for a moment, and then folded his hands in contemplation. Dear Lord, you probably shouldn't watch this.

Checking the priest one last time, Jack slid down the pew until he was seated on the roughened floor. His fingers scrabbled against the boards, and he bit his tongue against the splinters that invariably found their way into his fingers. Come on, where is it, where is it... aha.

A thin seam opened, and he dug his fingernails into it. The entire board levied up with a slight groan, and Jack cringed. Unless the priest was deaf, he'd have heard that. Maybe the old man would think it was the door.

He reached into the dark space left behind by the board, and his fingers closed around a worn-feeling package. Oh, yes. Yes yes! And then the package was in his hand, yellowed fabric securing something that had once been more precious to him than all the jewels in the Caribbean.

"What are you doing?"

Jack looked up into the wizened features of the priest, and suddenly he was barely out of his teens. "I--uh--well--"

"Wait--" Recognition dawned, and Jack cursed his cleanliness. No one ever would have recognized him if he'd kept the beard and longer hair. As it was, the priest turned a particularly astounding shade of purple, and pointed a shaking finger at him. "You!"

"Me!" Jack, sensing he was trapped, pointed wildly in the opposite direction. "Look! A nun!"

The man actually turned around, and Jack was almost amazed that the trick still worked.

He leaped upward and made to shove past the priest, but his boot slammed down into the hole in the floor. The last thing he saw before toppling forward was the horrified look on the old man's face as Jack fell into his arms. "Holy Mother of--"

-------

Elizabeth and Dirce - it seemed she could not escape that name - sat outside a ramshackle-looking church and shared what remained of Elizabeth's lunch.

"Enjoy that," she said as the mare gobbled up a thin husk of bread. "It's all we've got left."

Dirce snorted and pawed at the dirt. Elizabeth laid a hand against her neck. "I almost hope Jack robs someone while he's in there," she said, adjusting a bit of inky mane. "Don't tell him I said that, though."

A bang echoed across from the church, and Elizabeth wheeled around as Dirce snapped her head up. The door had slammed open, and a certain black-haired pirate nearly fell over himself as he raced down the stairs. "Lizzie, let's go!"

She managed to clamber up into the wagon and snatch up the reins, muttering "my name is not Lizzie" all the while. Jack sprinted across the grass, and Elizabeth swore she saw a thin cloud of dust trailing from him. What the hell had he done?

An instant later she got her answer, as an impossibly old-looking priest ran out the door after him. The shock of white hair atop his head was belied by his strong stride, and both Elizabeth and Dirce gawked at him for a moment. "Please, please tell me he's joking..."

Jack scrambled up onto the seat beside her. "Go!"

"You have a priest chasing you?"

"He's not the man you think he is!"

"But what did you do to him?"

He clutched her wrist. "For the love of God, go!"

She shook the reins, and Dirce gladly lurched into a gallop. Somewhere in the background, a man of God howled blasphemes over the sound of hoofbeats, and Elizabeth imagined he was shaking his fist after them.

-----

Later, when Elizabeth slowed Dirce enough to uphold conversation, she asked after the package Jack now clutched. "Is that it? Is that what's going to save the Caribbean?"

"You don't believe me, love?"

"We just escaped from a priest, Jack. You'll excuse me if I don't know what to believe."

He nodded, and tucked the package under his arm. "I concede that point, Mrs. Kendrick. But it's a very long story... one best suited for another time."

"Will you at least tell me what happened with that priest?"

This time, he rewarded her with a smug grin. "Oh, believe me, Elizabeth, he had it coming..."

--------

Port Royal

Seeing Gibbs off on the Kenyon was one of the most satisfying experiences Corwin Norrington could recall in his recent memory.

It wasn't just that Gibbs stood at the stern of the ship with a mournful expression on his face as the vessel set off. It wasn't just the delicious smirk that Anamaria Soledad had worn as Corwin bullied the Kenyon's hapless captain into depositing dear Joshamee at Dennot.

"What if he's not there?" Gibbs had asked, his eyes large. "I haven't been in England since--since--"

"If he's not there, then find him," Corwin replied with just the barest edge of a threat. He supposed there was a logical concern behind the pirate's words; if Sparrow had gone on the run again, it might well be another year - or more - before another clue turned up. All the more reason to frighten Gibbs into not coming back without the good captain.

Now, as the Kenyon headed for the open Atlantic, Corwin and Anamaria stood next to each other in his office, studying a series of maps and charts that were, as far as Anamaria was concerned, woefully inadequate.

"This - y'see, Corwin - this isn't right," she said. "I've sailed that place, and the way the islands are formed--"

Corwin tried not to sigh in exasperation. "These maps were made by the finest cartographer on the island!"

"Well, clearly your carto needs to take a tour," she snapped. "It's wrong."

"Fine." He clasped his hands in front of him to keep from tearing the maps to pieces. "Then show me where this mystery island of yours is."

That, at least, she could do without comment. Anamaria jabbed a finger down as though she'd been expecting the question. "There. Gerrarrd's paradise. Noble Bay." She watched his reaction carefully, but Corwin remained composed as he stared at the empty patch of blue.

"Interesting."

He betrayed no further emotion. Anamaria's dark eyes regarded him, and she kept her finger atop her purported island. "You've an idea, Commodore?"

Corwin went over to the window and stared glumly, resting his hands on the sill. If he squinted, he thought he could make out the Kenyon still moving in slowly through the offshore currents. "Do you know what I wrote in the letter I gave to Gibbs, Soledad?"

"Tweren't none of my business," she said. She didn't even sound curious.

He smiled at the port. "Governor Swann has taken ill."

There was a clanking of weaponry as Anamaria shifted. "Terrible shame, I'm sure." Everything about her voice asked why are you telling me this?

He rested his fingertips against the glass, and thought about pushing the window open and letting the breeze waft into the stuffy room. "He is prone to panic these days. You can understand why." He turned around, meeting Anamaria's mildly-confused gaze and giving her a thin smile. "He is... concerned... that he might miss his opportunity to see Elizabeth again."

Anamaria raised an eyebrow. "He's dying?"

"He thinks he's dying," Corwin said, pleased that Anamaria's expression didn't change. "I expect he'll pull through - but he wants to see his daughter. He's given me the authority to make certain that happens."

Anamaria rested her hands on her hips, and raised one smooth dark brow. "And how do you plan to do that, Commodore Corwin?"

He leaned against the side of his desk. "How do you feel about cursed pirates?"

----------------------

Corwin Norrington had taken over a few merchant vessels in his career -- for the King's purposes, of course -- but he still felt rather guilty as he divested Mr. Thomas Howard of his brilliant sloop Torrential. The crushed look on the man's face suggested he never expected to see his beloved ship again, and considering the mission Corwin intended to use her for - well, there was a stronger possibility of that very fear than he cared to admit.

Still, no other vessel would do. Torrential had speed and maneuverability, and could be manned by a handful of people - a crucial combination for this strange new mission he was set to undertake.

Corwin observed his new crew with some trepidation. Anamaria and two of her men stood off to the side, eyeing the other additions with as much distrust as he did.

On the other side of the sloop, Pintel and Ragetti squinted back, unused to sunlight after so many months shut away.

"This is not a good idea," Macey warned under his breath. Corwin inclined his head slightly and granted the younger officer that point. Not that it mattered; he needed a crew that could blend in seamlessly with pirates, and most of Anamaria's bunch aboard the Black Pearl were far too recognizable.

That had left him with an unusual set of options...

"What do you think of the offer, lads?" Corwin asked as genially as he could. He and Anamaria had both agreed to set off as quickly as they could, and if Pintel and Ragetti intended to hold them up, well - all the better to chuck them overboard and pull a few sailors from the Dauntless. Certainly a few of them were scruffy enough to fit in at Noble Bay.

Ragetti chewed on his fingernails, and Pintel gave Corwin a fairly solid stare. "You sayin' we help you here... do what ye want... and we don't have to go back in that cell?"

"If you're good boys," he said mildly. "That means following orders."

"We can do that," Ragetti said around his fingernails.

"'Tis a disgusting habit ye'ave there," Anamaria said. Ragetti immediately ceased the chewing.

"And ye won't be killing us," Pintel continued.

Corwin nodded. "Nor will you go dashing off to join Gerrarrd and his crew... you are indebted to me, lads. Your life will be forfeit if you turn against me."

Of course, he had no idea whether or not the threats would actually work; Pintel and Ragetti were pirates, no more and no less - and pirates typically held loyalty to themselves only. Still, he liked to think he had them cowed.

Both men paled considerably when he mentioned Gerrarrd. "We wouldn't want to be doing that," Pintel said. "Gerrarrd's not... pleasant."

Maybe it was Gerrarrd who had them cowed. Oh, well. As long as they followed orders. "We're in agreement, then?"

"Aye," they said, and by the looks on their faces, they were questioning whether it was a good idea as much as he was.

Nonetheless, Corwin had a mission. He turned to Macey. "You'll look after things?"

Macey saluted smartly. "Good luck, Commodore." His tone said you'll need it.

He disembarked from the ship, and Corwin set about conferring with Anamaria and overseeing the loading of stores. With any luck, they'd sail before the sun set.

"Do you suppose we're sailing into a trap?" he asked Anamaria as she oversaw Pintel and Ragetti as they loaded supplies.

She gave him a little shrug, but he didn't miss the tense set of her shoulders as she turned around. "It wouldn't surprise me, Commodore. It wouldn't surprise me."