Opposite Prospicere de Fortuna was another door. Holding Elizabeth's hand, Will allowed the two pirates and his gleeful son the lead toward it, watching as Jack Sparrow stopped to chat up the ever-silent Venus. Samson wrapped a strong arm around the statue and smiled wickedly at her glowing visage much to the delight of the two bearing the same name. Young Jack pointed toward the bird in the woman's hand. Lace fluttered against a tan wrist as the elder Jack fluttered fingertips over it, bending low to say something to the lad. Whatever it was, Will's son nodded brightly and piped up a response of his own that earned a vigorous nod and squeeze of his shoulder from the pirate.

In the time that it took his child-toting wife to cross a short space, Will glanced about the magnificent room again. He found that the tile's pattern of indigo swirl against white rather looked like ocean waves, and that the golden starburst in the center seemed a gilded compass rose. The lancet windows, circling the space high above, each had their own pattern of color. Four were of the same make, their pretty pattern of birds swirling together against an amethyst sea of glass. The other four were different.

With a narrow eye Will noted that each long pane depicted its own patron and that each round oculus presented that patron's appropriate insignia. There was at the head of the room, upon the wall opposite the entrance, a window that depicted a grand, dark ship cutting through the churning blue waves. The crest that decorated most of Captain Jack Sparrow's official parchment, the crest of the Black Pearl, shone in the oculus above. The second depicted a blue, gold-touched vessel floating in silver water under the glow of the ashen moon. It looked much like the Odessa. Will did not have to guess at the insignia above, for he knew as most in the Caribbean knew that the lilies twining around kissing doves were the Witter seal. The third was most certainly the Celamar, a dark little beauty sailing smooth upon the gentle blue sea. Above it gleamed in the round window Anamaria Soledad's phoenix rising over the setting sun. The last showed a sleek brown ship, the smallest of all—

"So nice of you to show up."

The pirate's drawl interrupted his inspection and Will jumped, startled by the close proximity of the man's voice. His gaze fell and he found that he'd nearly stepped upon Jack Sparrow's toes. The pirate glanced down as he did and raised his brows as well.

"It's a good thing you stopped. One more step further and you'd have surely done me harm as it seems you've lead in your shoes."

"Please," Elizabeth said, eyes flashing, "forgive us, Captain Sparrow. For it is not so easy to keep pace—" she grimaced, shifting Lucy's weight to her other hip, "at the moment."

"Yes, I know," Jack said, slipping through the doorway, "toting tots is a torturous task."

Will ignored the dark look his wife shot at he and the pirate. Instead he glanced up at the inscription under the statuary and read it. Caloris de Vesta it said. "Warmth of Vesta. The Goddess of the Hearth?"

"Yes," Jack said with a smile, "the homeliest goddess of all."

"But not the homiest hall of all," Elizabeth muttered.

Will arched a brow and cast a critical eye upon their surroundings. He had felt the damp, dead air as well as smelt it as soon as he'd stepped forward a foot, but as disconcerting as it was, he had not thought it strange. For all the odd smells he'd encountered on his many travels with Jack Sparrow's pirates had dulled his olfactory senses to such, and damp death was as likely upon a ship as any other. It nearly surprised him to find that the place through which they were passing was in such a dank state of decay.

The walls were unpainted. They were dark and dingy and crumbling a bit more. Debris lay along the edge of the floor. Past the second wall lantern was a branching crack, and past that, a chunk of wall high above was missing, a pile of rock on the floor below. The double doors at the end of the passage were of the same design of those in the other hall, but their luster was lost. Coated in a thick patina of soot and grime the gold was, and some of the precious metal plating was altogether gone, revealing the rotting wood beneath it.

Jack reached toward the broken doorhandle and sighed, shaking his head. He slipped a golden skeleton key into its hole and twisted until a click echoed around them. Pieces of gold crumbled off the doors as he pushed them open. He tsked and stepped aside to let those behind follow through. When they had, he shut the doors with gentle hands and cautiously turned the key in the lock. After a moment of terse silence, he withdrew the key. Seemingly satisfied that there had been no more lost gold, he put the key in his pocket. The proud pirate turned on his heel just as a shower of gold shimmer rained down behind him. Face falling, he frowned over his shoulder at the settling dust. With a shrug he sashayed forward, ignoring the curious gaze of the waiting party.

They stood in another dilapidated hall, this one lined with lancet windows. Stained glass they were. At the very least, their beautiful colors sparkled pretty upon the ugly walls and diffused translucent tones in the yellow glow of candlelight. Opposite them came Cook, lugging a jug in his arms, and behind him several pirates lugging crates. They disappeared into the wall before them, and Will frowned.

"The kitchen," Jack said, motioning toward the arched hole in the wall.

Through it, Will looked and raised his brows. The pirates were counting crates and jugs. Cook took a list from his pocket and laid it upon the long tiled buffet table, pushing at his spectacles as he marked something off. The man's kitchen was stocked with hanging racks of pots and pans, stacks of fine china, and big metal ovens. Already glowing red was the fire pit, a pig roasting over it on a wooden spit.

"No!"

Little Lucy's scream made everybody jump, including a glowering Cook who Will imagined might have stormed to the door and shut it in their very faces had there been a door to shut. Smiling nervously at the man, Will looked sharply to his daughter and, finding her face drained of color, frowned at her. She did not notice, for her wide eyes were fixed upon the dead animal with the apple stuffed in its mouth.

"Not a piggie," she whimpered.

"No little love, that's not a piggie, it's a swine, big difference really, and actually they're not very nice—"

"It is a piggie," Jack cut Jack off, folding his arms over his chest.

The pirate looked down at the lad, dismayed. "It is a swine."

"It's a piggie," the lad declared, turning a defiant nose up at his sister, "and we're going to eat it!"

Little Lucy's wail was worse than her scream. The pirates winced. Jack Sparrow's hands flew to his ears, and he shot an aggrieved look at Will, who frowned down at his son. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elizabeth bend to soothe their sobbing daughter. With a sigh, he smacked the lad across the back of the head.

"Ow," Jack complained, glaring up at him, "what was that for?"

"For making your sister cry!" Seeing that the answer only resulted in the boy rolling his eyes, Will scowled and smacked him again. "And lack of courtesy shown towards our host!"

Rubbing the back of his head, Jack scowled up at him. Seeing in his father's face that he would get no reprieve, he turned and stalked down the hall towards Samson who had retreated to the safety of a cushioned window seat. The big man smirked at him as he sat sullenly beside him and patted the lad comfortingly on the shoulder.

Elizabeth, finally quieting the girl to whimpers, shot a dark look at the pig and at Jack Sparrow, whose eyes widened innocently as he uncovered his ears. Will decided to ignore the consequent aggrieved look, and folded his arms, waiting for the pirate to take the lead once more. When he did, Will followed, casting one last glance into the kitchen where Cook was shaking a wooden spoon in their general direction. Samson and Jack fell into step alongside them, the big man lumbering behind and the lad sulking, despite his obvious excitement, whenever Will glanced his way.

"We're still ridding the place of these," Jack Sparrow said, stopping to pick up a rotten apple core. By its brown stem he held it and motioned toward the space surrounding them. "As well as restoring the splendor to what was once a splendid retreat. All damage done, it's a rather meticulous task." He eyed the thing that was once an apple, wrinkled his nose, chucked it, and watched as it skittered down the hall. A piece of tile fell from the ceiling and he sighed, toeing it away. "Ten years they spent letting the place go to ruins—and ruining it."

"Captain Barbossa was here?"

Jack arched a brow at Jack. "Let's not call him that, lad. You've my full permission to call him Hector—or," the pirate said, flicking his fingers out to frame his words, "'that bloody bastard'."

"But you've not my permission," Elizabeth reminded her son. "'That bloody blighter' will do."

"Fine. So—that bloody blighter was here?"

"That he was, lad, and for that time I could not return here." Jack Sparrow brightened considerably as they rounded the corner. "But after I got the Pearl back…"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

The Black Pearl was quiet. Alice hadn't found Gibbs anywhere on land, and so she'd ventured back toward Jack's pride and joy. She'd boarded the ship under the eyes of the five men on lookout and nodded at each of them. They'd nodded back and then she'd had a look around. The sailor she sought had been nowhere to be found and so she'd decided upon checking on the cats and perhaps fetching her things from Jack's cabin.

Instead she found Isaac sitting at the captain's roundtable. He had a bottle of what looked suspiciously like rum in hand. A trunk sat before him, as well as a basket of wrapped gifts, and he stared glumly at both. She crossed the space and lifted the bottle, taking a sip of the hot stuff from it. Realizing he'd not budged nor flinched, she frowned and set the thing back in his hand the way it had been.

"You drank my rum," he accused.

"Only a sip." She pulled Jack's fancy chair out and sat in it, relishing the idea of the pirate walking in and finding her enjoying the comfort of the silk cushions Jack allowed no one's rear but his own. "And only to get your attention."

"Worked."

"Why the long face, nip?"

At the pet name, Isaac smiled.

So did she. "Stop mooning over Turner's wife."

He turned big blue eyes up at her. "How'd you know?"

"Please," she scoffed, folding her arms o'er her chest, "you don't think Jack and I share information we believe to be pertinent to the general well-being of your person?" At his skeptical look she smiled and patted his hand. "Besides, we've known as well as she that you fancied her since the first time your voice cracked."

"'As well as she'?!" His face flushed. "She knows?"

"Isaac, my dear nip," she said, taking his face into her hands, "if there is any one thing you must learn about the world from me, it is that women always know everything."

He blanched. "And Will? Does he know?"

"Of course not!" She shook her head. "If there is any second thing you must learn about the world from me, it is that men rarely know anything."

He sighed.

"Speaking of men knowing next to nothing," she said, "have you seen Mister Gibbs?"

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

"And this," Jack said, proudly sweeping an arm t'ward the door, "is our little library. A homage to man's pursuit of knowledge."

Such had been the tour thus far, a proud Jack presenting to the rest of them the many rooms and spaces within the fortress. A good number of them were still under the process of aesthetic and structural restoration, the safety concerns of which inhibited their exploration past the doors. Will was quite certain he would not have wanted much to explore them anyway, as the dust, crumbling walls, and wavering white drop cloths were most unsettling. Coupled with the smell of decay he'd previously ignored, they shook him in his shoes. He was much happier to spend time exploring the refurbished rooms as they were another story altogether. Certainly Jack Sparrow had every right to be proud of them. They were as gloriously appointed as any space in any palace one might dream of and twice as breathtaking. As the pirate had presented them, his guests had oohed and aahed accordingly.

There had been a pristine white great room, its gilded moldings and tall pillar candles reminding Will much of a wedding cake. The decadence might have been intimidating if the room did not offer the comfort of soft, velvet-cushioned furniture and a glowing fireplace. Through it they'd passed quickly into the next room. It hadn't been unlike the Governor's game parlor. Dartboards took their place on the walls. Many boards were set upon small wooden tables. A few chess sets there were, including one whose game was still in progress even though its players had long since abandoned it. Samson had reached to move a piece, but Jack had slapped his big hand away and led them on.

Into a small and cozy room they went, all admiring the two gilded chairs affront a roaring hearth. Encased in glass were many smoking pipes—small shiny ones, rich wooden ones, and gold-topped ivory tusks—and three ornate hookahs, one of which Will remembered Jack to have acquired upon one of their recent romps. After they'd admired the collection, Jack had led them into a great room that was decidedly a dining place. Long it had been. Stretching the length of it were many wooden tables lined together as one. At the head of it sat a monstrous chair which the pirate loudly pointed out as his own. There were a few round tables to the side, through which they walked, and at the head of the room another long line of them, which they passed on their way toward the wide double doors. Wooden they were, and carved into them a sprawling seascape. To the right was carved a smiling Neptune and to the left his serene wife. Instead of swinging open, they parted in the center and slid aside to reveal a courtyard lagoon.

In the pebbled patio was a round fire pit. Beyond the smooth stones was a grove of silver palms and beyond them was a wide arc of black sand. High black cliffs rose above and between them poured a quiet cascade into a pool of bubbling gold. Upon noticing the lad's bright eyes, the pirate had taken his guests back inside, sliding the doors shut—and latching them for good measure—behind them. Back through the previously admired rooms they'd went, following the pirate into another decrepit hallway.

It was there that they stood looking through an open door into the room the pirate now presented. Inside, tall shelves brimming with books were the surrounding walls. From the ceiling hung in the center of the room a crystal chandelier, and under it a mass of candles set upon a tray in the center of a round table of many seats.

Will froze.

Even from the distance he stood in the hall, and with the spots of tarnish and layer of dust upon the silver, he recognized the delicate etching upon the edging of the tray. Pushing quietly past the pirate he went to the table. Staring down at the platter, at its etched vines and flowers, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He reached a tentative finger forward as if the thing might burn him as one of the flickering candles would should he touch it. Dully, he realized that it didn't as he brushed a fingertip o'er it. Tracing over the edge, he watched as the pirate walked slowly around to the other side of the table. Jack's dark gaze caught upon his veneration of the object. When the pirate turned curious eyes upon him, Will looked back down at the candles, and at the tray he was touching still.

"Twas my mother's," he said softly. A surge of anger inexplicably coursed through him, and he threw his hair back, glaring at the pirate in front of him. "Why is it here?"

Jack glanced down at it and when he raised his gaze to Will it was steady and without its usual glint. A quick twitch of his lip preceded a long sigh, and then he rolled his hands gently toward the table. "Your father brought it. Never said why." Seeing the press of Will's lips, he rushed on. "But by all estimates, including the amount of time the man spent in here, I'd assume it was to serve a fond reminder of 'the comforts of home'."

"Bootstrap spent a bloody lot of time here," Samson put in, "with Jacky."

"We spent days looking for it," Will said, remembering the day his mother had discovered it missing. His gaze darkened. "He didn't ask her if he could take it."

"Pirate," Jack reminded him gently.

Will nodded.

"If you want it," Jack said, nodding at the thing, "it's yours."

"And what good would it do now?" Will tried to scowl, but he found he could not be angry. Instead he stared at the candles and their flickering flames. "What good would it be?"

"We could put it in our library."

Having not noticed his wife's approach, Will turned to look at her. Sitting Little Lucy on the table, she smiled and laid a gentle hand upon his arm. The gesture was small, but it soothed him, and looking into her eyes, he found the comfort he always did and nodded.

"Would like rather nice upon that little round table you've set up with a…" Jack trailed off, his eyes growing wide with a bright sadness as he put a hand over his heart. "Tea service."

"We agreed, Jack," Elizabeth said, "after much deliberation and negotiation, that in a house both tea and rum have a place." She lifted her chin. "A library, as opposed to a parlor, is much more acclimed to tea."

"Not my library," Jack said, bending to pluck a round bottle from under the table. He swirled it between his fingertips and arched his brows at the woman. "Acclimed or not, darling, it's a delicate balance of books and spirits that's kept me acumen so astutely astonishing all these years."

"Of that," Elizabeth said to him, "there was not a doubt in my mind. Unfortunately Jack, I do think perhaps you've tipped the scales a few times too many." Ignoring the pirate's grin turned frown, she turned to her husband. "Your mother's silver would look lovely upon my mother's table, Will."

"Yes," he agreed, smiling at her as he drew her close. "It will."

"A splendid idea," Jack said, lifting the bottle of rum with a hopeful smile. "Shall we drink to it?"

But the two were already involved in a toast of their own, a soft, pleasant kiss that puckered their children's faces with sour distaste. The pirate shrugged, uncorking the thing and taking a swig of the stuff inside. He offered the bottle to Samson who grinned, took a giant gulp, and handed it back. Jack eyed the empty bottle in dismay and tossed it over his shoulder. The shattering of the glass interrupted the Turners' moment, both of them parting reluctantly from the other and glaring at Jack, who shrugged and sashayed around the table, slapping Samson's hands from the back of a chair and picking up a delighted Little Lucy whose little hands immediately disappeared into his hair.

"Believe it's time to resume our roundabout," Jack said, stopping at the door and frowning at the long locks that were being pulled and twisted in a variety of curious ways. He arched a brow as Elizabeth passed him. "I'm quite sure a library is not acclimed to such behavior."

Will held steady his wife's arm—which twitched with what he was sure was an unerring slap—as he herded his son out the door. Samson followed, but Will was only vaguely aware of such as the forlorn look in Jack's eyes drew his attention back toward the chair that the big man had touched. It was difficult tearing his gaze away, but when he did he met Jack's and followed the solemn pirate wordlessly down the hall.

--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---

By all measures, Gibbs had had a rough day. The docking of the Pearl at her isle was always a good deal of work, and to such he was by then accustomed, but his efforts went beyond routine. Carting crates to land was usual but carting them back to the ship was not. To cart and cart back there had been many and so the sailor was tired but flush with the excitement of what was to come. With a sparkle in his eye and a grin on his face, he took a hearty slug of rum from his flask and shut the door behind him.

He was walking across the deck toward the gangplank, intent upon making his way at long last t'ward rest on land, when he saw Alice Witter emerge from the captain's quarters, her eyes instantly narrowing upon him. Cussing, he took a hurried drink 'fore she reached him. When she did, he smiled brightly at her.

"Good to see ye, Miss Witter."

She nodded.

"Beaut of a day, ain't it?"

"Oh yes," she agreed, glancing about before settling her unsettling gaze upon him, "quite lovely."

Gibbs nodded and pretended to admire the weather for a few moments. At long last he tipped his flask at her and made to disembark. Relief he figured he was feeling as he stepped up to step off of the Pearl.

"Jack knows, doesn't he?"

Biting back a curse, he stopped. Turning around, he fixed a look of confusion upon his face. Narrowing his eyes at hers, he cocked his head. "Bout the weather, lass?"

She lifted her chin, her hard gaze raking him head to toe. For a few tense moments Gibbs wondered if she would find him out as well as Jack. When he saw a flash of satisfaction cross her face, he had to force himself not to show the same. Instead he raised his brows at her, prompting her for the answer she never gave.

"Aye the weather—but that's not what I meant really. What I meant, Gibbs, is more along the lines of wondering if perhaps Jack knew that in this weather—I—I'm rather romantically inclined!"

Gibbs, having heard almost everything and anything else in between during his many years of sailing, could not help choking upon a swig of rum at the words that, after much struggle, fell from her lips. He wheezed, pounding a fist upon his chest and gaped at her. Seeing the crimson stain her cheeks, he leaned forward and grinned, winking at her. "Want me to be tellin 'im, lass?"

"No! I mean, yes—but later, tonight, sometime perhaps?"

With a nod and a grin, Gibbs turned. He walked away from the Pearl with a bounce in his step, pleased with the success, as well as the spoils, of a hard day's work. "Wait till Jack hears this," he muttered to himself, unable to resist the chuckle that rumbled from his belly.

Author's Babble: Vesta is the Roman goddess of the hearth. She played an important part in family worship—many had her likeness standing guard o'er their home altars. She was also worshipped publicly, usually in a round building. The round building, representing a public hearth, contained a perpetual fire kept burning by the Vestal Virgins—the priestesses of Vesta. Save for the first of March, the only day the flame was to be extinguished and reignited, if the fire went out it was considered a very bad omen for Rome. Caloris de Vesta, Vesta's Warmth, is over the door that leads to the actual living space in the place. Warmth is a reminder of home and comfort.