Since our last update, I have...a) presented the thesis, b) graduated, and c) found a job. And man, props to those folks who can still maintain a high wordcount while doing all that, because I'm sure finding it tough.

But here it is, and here we are! Things have hopefully settled down enough for me to continue this story to its finale...and maybe look beyond...we'll have to see.

Plain Bad Luck

Interlude -- County Kent

"What's in there?" Elizabeth asked as she urged Dirce across a creek.

Jack kept turning it over in his hands as though he didn't quite believe he'd managed to capture it. "Nothing of particular value to anyone," he said, sliding a finger beneath a worn seam and opening it. "And yet it's the most valuable thing we could possibly have unearthed."

"That's very good to hear," she said, noting with some concern that Dirce flattened her ears at the running water. "But what is it?"

He pulled part of the cover aside, and she caught a flash of something blue before he tucked it back together. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about," he said. "Let's just get the nightmare moving again, shall we?"

Tortuga

The Helene sailed into Tortuga as the sun at last returned to its watery bed, and Will Turner stood at the forward railing, watching the little port town as it glowed.

Maybe even its light is stolen. Such a place of vice scarcely deserved to look as cheerful as it did, its run-down buildings illuminated by strings of lanterns and flanked by the colorfully-dressed ladies of the evening. Will let his gaze linger over a few of them as Helene tied up at the pier, the crew bringing her back to hand under Dugald's sharp supervision.

Gerrarrd's spy or not, I'd never have gotten here without him. Will lacked a physically imposing presence to bully the crew with and the technical expertise to tell them what to do. That made Dugald quite literally worth his weight in gold, much as Will was loathe to admit it. All the better to get Father communicative again...he can tell me what to say.

At the moment, the odds of that happening looked very poor indeed, as Bootstrap was standing in the boat the crew was trying to rig up for lowering, orating what he seemed to think was a very important speech. Will couldn't entirely make out what his father was trying to say; he thought it might involve Davy Jones and a secret garden and perhaps flying shoes. Every third word might well have been another language...oh, father.

The crew glanced up at him now and then with tightened expressions, but for the most part they went about their business. Bootstrap's eccentricities had manifested practically the day they sailed out of Noble Bay, so they'd had plenty of time to get used to them. Maybe the ocean just brought out the worst in him.

For the most part, Will just ignored it.

And now he was here -- Tortuga. What had Jack called it? A petroliferous banquet? He'd described the place so very casually, and then led Will off in search of Joshamee Gibbs with the same self-serving confidence that had made him a legend in the Caribbean. Will had never quite felt entirely safe under the pirate's care, but realized in hindsight that Jack would not have let him come to harm.

Not while he was still of use, anyway.

"We're devils and black sheep and really bad eggs..." Bootstrap yowled from the boat.

Will pinched the bridge of his nose. I don't know what you've gotten up to, Jack, but I almost wish you were here now.

It was a mistake. Had to be.

Weeks after sending Joshamee Gibbs across the Atlantic to track down Sparrow and Elizabeth, Corwin Norrington stood in front of Weatherby Swann's personal physician and tried to keep his mouth from falling open. The man had come aboard the Relentless, having shipped out with Macey apparently not more than a fortnight before to chase Torrential down at her hidden island. "Are you certain?"

"Quite certain, Commodore. His symptoms are unmistakable; I'm just shocked that no one called me in sooner." The man coughed into a pristine white handkerchief, and Corwin eyed it suspiciously. We didn't call you in because you are probably more diseased than the doxies...but he kept that thought to himself as the physician continued: "I will do all I can for him, of course, but..."

"But? There's a but?" Corwin spotted Soledad moving toward him out of the corner of his eye, and also sensed the physician's attention focusing on her. "Doctor, if you please--"

"His condition is not something I care to see in a man of his age, sir. It makes the case more complicated. A younger, stronger person--"

"The Governor is a fit man, Doctor."

The physician gave him a skeptical look, and then transferred his attention completely to Soledad. She returned his look frankly, but then surrepitiously ignored him as she spoke to Corwin: "The Torrential is ready to sail."

"Finally." He'd much rather have voyaged off into the sunset without learning of this ill news. It was one more thing to weigh on him during the voyage to Noble Bay -- one more reason for Gibbs to sail for England faster, ever-faster.

He supposed it couldn't be helped; they'd stopped in a little-known cove to give Torrential a new paint job and stock up on more firepower than she'd been designed to carry. She was still nothing compared to his lovely Relentless, but he supposed Torrential in her own right was a fairly dashing little ship.

And then there was the case of hiding the Black Pearl...an activity he had no wish to repeat anytime soon.

"Hello, Miss...?" the doctor bowed deeply, and Soledad regarded him as though he were a leech.

"Captain Soledad," she said. "Let's go, Commodore."

"Yes, of course." He turned once more to the physician, and resisted the urge to grab the man by his lapels and drag him forward. "You will treat the Governor with the utmost respect and care and he will be alive when I get back."

"Sir," the doctor said, and coughed again.

Corwin ground his teeth and headed for the Torrential, Soledad at his side. They'd barely gotten out of earshot of the doctor before his companion's curiosity got the better of her. "Somethin' wrong with the gov?"

"It appears he has consumption," he said. There was not much use in hiding the fact; it'd be all over the island soon enough. Soledad did pause slightly, falling a step behind him as she took in this new information. "According to this chap, anyway."

She quickly caught up to him. "Ye did say he was sick."

"I did, didn't I? I wonder how long this has been festering in him. Weeks? Months? He was caughing after Elizabeth left. Maybe..." His hand clenched into a fist, and suddenly Soledad was grasping his arm.

"We be left to our own destinies, Commodore. Swann's no more your responsibility than I am."

"I should have insisted he see a physician earlier," he said. "He's always been very good to me, almost a second father..." Well, maybe not a father. Perhaps an eccentric uncle. Or a kindly benefactor. Or... "And if he can't control Port Royal..."

"Port Royal is controlled as ev'to me, Corwin." She guided him down the gangway to the Torrential, and he distantly admired the sleek black paint that now graced her hull. "I've a notion we'll not be gone long enough to note a difference as it is."

"I hope you're right." He spied the tip of Relentless's mainmast from the edge of his peripheral vision. Macey's apparent lack of hesitation in taking the ship after him was somewhat of a concern; at this point in time, Port Royal needed a steady hand at the helm -- not an overexcited sailor ready to jump into battle at the slightest sign of trouble.

Soledad followed his line of sight. "Th'Dauntless is still there, is she not? Besides, all of Gerrarrd's men are gathering a'Noble. They'll not have th'inclination to attack...at least, shouldn't."

Anamaria, you have a way of making the bad look potentially worse. Even so, he nodded and stepped aboard his little ship, nearly stumbling over a ragged bundle of clothing in the process. "Ragetti, what are you doing down there?"

"Sorry, Commodore," Ragetti's voice was muffled. "Dropped me eye."

"Mayhaps we ought to nail it into your head," Anamaria said. She picked up a suspicious-looking wooden ball and held it out. "This what ye seek, pirate?"

Ragetti grabbed the eye and straightened up, backing away with muted little bows. "Thank ye Captain, Commodore, thank ye muches..."

"If there's still equipment lying around, then stow it," Corwin barked. "We head for Noble Bay."

The crew -- mostly an odd mix of Black Pearl's officers and a few hand-me-downs from Relentless -- snapped into action. After watching for a moment to make sure that Pintel and Ragetti were making themselves useful -- odd, they do seem to be fairly seasoned hands -- Corwin turned to Anamaria. "I suppose I should relinquish command to you, Captain, seeing that you know how to get there."

"Don't let it hurt too bad, Commodore. 'Tis merely temporary." But even so, Anamaria grinned broadly as she addressed the rest of the crew: "C'mon, ye dribblin' animals! Move yer sorry legs!"

Much as he was loathe to admit it, the Torrential blew out of the cove far quicker than he would have expected. "You do well," he said grudgingly. "Very well."

Anamaria gave him a smug grin. "'Tis all about motivation, Corwin. All about motivation."

Dennot

The Kendricks were back in town.

For almost everyone, this meant very little. For Quinton and Constance Cade, it meant the frequent sound of stomping and crashing from the room rented out by the peculiar young couple nearly every single night. At first, it had sounded like an argument -- raised voices, marching across floors. Then it escalated to near violence -- and then --

"What are they doing?" their latest guest asked. Her light eyes tracked the footsteps as they ran across the ceiling, and a muted curse drifted down.

"Quinton thinks they're fighting," Constance said. She accepted the woman's payment and provided her with a key. "I think, well, they're young and in love."

Both of them flinched as something landed on the floor with a particularly heavy thud. The woman pulled her cloak more snugly over her, and Constance did not miss the sword hilt protruding from it. "That's quite deeply in love, if you ask me."

Constance shrugged. "We were all young once." She'd gotten quite used to her odd boarders and their quirks; the man and his young wife were always polite and friendly to her, and so long as they didn't wake anyone, she hardly cared what they did. "Where do you hail from, miss?"

"Oh, I've been wandering 'round County Kent for awhile," the woman said, taking her key and moving off toward the stairs. "Nothing much beyond that..."

The blade sheared through her stick and embedded itself in the wall. Elizabeth glared dully at her broken "weapon" as the top part clunked to the floor, and then looked at her erstwhile teacher in annoyance. "Well, that's the last one. And look what you've done to the trim."

Jack tugged his sword free and eyed the chink in the paneling. "Well, that's unfortunate...we'll just say it was here already."

She pressed her lips into a thin line to keep from chuckling. Their bouts ranged from humorous to outright vicious, but they'd never gone so far as to destroy property before. Elizabeth supposed their was a first time for everything. "What the Cades must think of us."

"As long as we keep paying our dues, they'll not think of us too harshly," he said, sheathing his sword. "I suppose we'll have to find something else for you to practice with."

"Such as a real sword?" She purposely kept the hope out of her voice. It would not do to appear too eager.

Jack scoffed. "You're not ready for that yet."

"But when will I be ready?"

"When I say you are." He set the sheathed weapon against the wall it had so recently injured and crossed the floor to look out the window. "Besides, if you worry about what the Cades think of us now, what will they say if they hear the crashing of blades up above?"

He had a point. The Cades and their fellow guests were certainly quite tolerant of what must be a great racket coming from the Kendrick room between the hours of five and seven, but steel on steel might push that tolerance. Elizabeth nodded curtly and tugged off the cheaply-made bracers that Jack made her wear when they practiced. He'd never really gotten her one way or another, but she supposed her wrists had come into a few close calls as they practiced. She set them aside and surveyed the meager contents of the pantry. Bugger. Bread...not much else..."I'm going to go find us supper."

Jack reached for his coat. Elizabeth started to protest, but then realized the better of it: with all of the soldiers and Sheerness spilloff prowling about, the streets were barely safe during the day, much less by nightfall. "You'd think it would be safer," she complained, buttoning up her cloak. "If Norrington saw the state of this place--"

"Norrington runs the Caribbean fleet, not the Dennot constables," Jack said. "Do you suppose Howard still has his cheeses?"

"I don't know how good they are," she said as they descended the stairs. The sight of Constance Cade's round figure disappearing into the kitchen as they reached the ground level gave her pause; theoretically, she could request a few items to tide them over, and Constance could simply attach it to the tab.

No...we should go out tonight. She let Jack hold the door open and slipped out into the dusk, pulling the cloak closer around her shoulders. Fog had descended on Dennot as the sun went down, and it made for a strange carpet that covered her shoes and moved up to her waist. The Cade house quickly vanished behind them, swallowed by the murk and the dark.

Jack took a breath of air and promptly made a face. "Not a good evening for walking."

"Howard's likely gone home by now," she said. The pock-faced little man rarely stayed out beyond the late afternoon hours, and foul weather would only drive him away faster. But what are we going to eat? "There's a tavern not far, though."

"The Cup & Arrow?" At her nod, Jack made another face. "They water down the rum."

"Everyone waters down the rum."

"But he really waters it down. I didn't come to England to drink grog—" With one smooth motion, Jack shoved her aside and whirled around, a glint of silver in his hand. Elizabeth barely had time to gawk before something dark and blurry swished into view accompanied by the ring of metal cutting through air—

He caught the edge of the blade against the flat of the kitchen knife, and the utensil flew out of his hand with the impact. Elizabeth immediately reached for a stick that she quickly realized was not around, and instead stepped out of the way. Like it or not, Jack was much better at this sort of thing than she was.

Jack and the cloaked figure circled each other. "Good morrow to you," he said, dipping into an exaggerated bow. "And to what do I owe the displeasure of your company?"

The figure didn't answer, and just darted at him again. Jack quickly stepped around the first blow and caught the sleeve, yanking the cloak up and then back. Thus caught, the figure slashed at the air before twisting free and lurching toward Elizabeth.

She reached out to grab the arm and stay the blow--

A cutlass suddenly interspersed itself between her vision and the dropping blade, and she barely made out a swatch of dark hair and a familiar voice: "I'd not be doing that, if I were you. S'not nice to pick on young ladies."

Two on one was bad enough. Three on one was apparently unacceptable odds. The cloaked man? woman? thing? sprinted away, leaving Elizabeth to stare after it. "Now what do you suppose that was?"

"Trouble," Jack said darkly. He turned to their would-be rescuer, and Elizabeth got a good look at the man for the first time:

"Mr. Gibbs?"

He was almost unrecognizable beneath a veritable film of dirt, grease, and facial hair, but it was indeed Joshamee Gibbs. He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and gave her a little nod. "Miss Elizabeth," he said. "Captain."

"Gibbs." Jack returned the nod, seemingly nonplussed by his second mate's rather shocked appraisal. "I imagine you're not just dropping by for tea and crumpets?"

"No, Jack. Things've –" His hesitation only served to heighten Elizabeth's nerves. "Norrington sent me."

Norrington – willingly associated with – Elizabeth could barely process the thought. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her. "Norrington sent you here?"

"Aye. Things back there – they're not good. Could even say they're getting worse."

Jack appraised Gibbs rather unhappily. "It's a good bet Gerrarrd knows we're here, then," he said, and looked ruefully at Elizabeth. "That's the last time you choose where we get to eat."

TBC…

Yo dudes, 'sup?

Response to Arryn & co --

A very enlightening series of reviews left -- thank you. Obviously you either saw something in the story that you liked in order to keep going for so far or you were just really bored...but my response to the majority of the information is...it's a fic that takes place in a universe where zombie sailors were just recently running around. I could've made it all very technical and scientifically correct, but I didn't. Why? That's not the point of this fic. It's fantasy. Amusement. A flight of whimsy. OK? OK.

re: Gerrarrd's teeth. Having been in braces and various other orthodontia for six years of my life, I am quite aware of various maladies that teeth can suffer, thanks. However, it seems that most villains have lousy teeth (it's our signal to dislike them) and I wanted Gerrarrd to have a decent set of chompers. Again with the flight of fantasy and operating in a universe where zombie pirates prowl the high seas.

On that note! I realize in the last chapter Elizabeth should've used the hilt of the sword instead of the butt, but I was originally writing it as a gun…and then realized Jack wouldn't want her to have a gun, because, hello, mood swing. ;)

other stuff:

Lily – No, I wasn't thinking of Hermione Granger when I wrote out this little lady…I just liked the name.

pirateobsessed - I started writing this before the DVD came out and had no idea about James and Groves. Unfortunately, our host website doesn't allow us to edit the files once they've been uploaded anymore, so I have no way of going back in there and "ret-conning" the proper names in. So...hope they don't bother you too much. :) One of these days I might write a little scene where he reveals that James is his real name but he goes by Corwin because… (insert explanation here.)

To the rest –

Thank you for reading!

I'd like to get this thing wrapped up before theDead Man's Chestcomes out…we'll see how that goes. I suppose I've got to write up the obligatory slam-bangin' action sequence before it's done, right?

I do want to address everyone individually but I also am running on a deadline (ew on the real world) and do want to get this posted. So here it is.