An opportune moment. That's what it was as the lad crossed the room to inspect the rings upon the fingers of his parents. Such a nice picture they made as a family, the Turners together, that Jack knew—and quite thanked the heavens, really—his exit was nigh. With a sidelong glance at Samson, who seemed much in agreement, he twisted the long skeleton key off of the rusty ring and twisted it onto another.

"As much as this softens me hardened heart," said Jack, clasping his hands o'er his chest with a smirk, "I'm afraid I must see to other equally important matters—whether they're of the heart is still up for debate." In Will's hand he dropped the key and turned on his heel. "All of this, Will Turner, is now yours."

On his way out the door he handed off another key to the big man. That his exit was hasty was an understatement, but haste was necessary what with the knot in his stomach. Such had plagued him, twisting and pulling his insides, since well before they even stepped foot upon the island. It had grown so taut as they neared the room that in the narrow hallway he'd been sure it gripped his heart—and much to his chagrin it had not let go, not for a second, the entire time they'd spent in William Turner's room.

"Jack!"

He was halfway down the hall when Will Turner's call turned him around. Standing in the doorway, with a look of intent upon his face and Samson looming behind, the man looked so much like his father that Jack quite wondered if perhaps the grip on his heart would squeeze too tight. Unable to voice much of anything save for most likely a sigh, he cocked his head in question.

"I should still like a moment with you. Will I be able to find you later?"

To that question, Jack couldn't help but smile.

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

"That'll do."

Anamaria eyed the boxes they'd drug across the deck and dropped into a boat. Something wasn't right, she knew. But what, she didn't know. At first she'd wondered if they were the same crates as before. Lighter they seemed, but… they were decorated same as before and had been arranged in the stow space exactly as they'd left them there. Tsking at herself for being so paranoid, she stepped in and smiled at a smirking Alice Witter as the woman reached for the winch to lower the craft into the water behind the Black Pearl.

The men on lookout had been easy enough to distract with a bottle of Witter's finest spirit, and so as they crowed together at the opposite end of the ship the women were free to do as they pleased—which at the moment meant Anamaria nodding up at the woman on deck from the safety of the longboat bobbing in the water. In the moonlight the blade of Alice Witter's dagger flashed gold as it sliced through the ropes to cut Anamaria—and their boxes of boom—free.

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

Once outside in the balmy night air, Jack breathed deep the smell of the blooming tropics. If the isle didn't look like paradise, or sound like paradise, it most certainly smelled like paradise. There was, he thought, a strong note of sweet, ripe fruit carried upon the salty sea air—and the musky spice of the aromas of Intuit life lingered to tease in the breeze. And of course, at that moment, Cook's cooking added to it a warm and comfortable tang.

Nodding at Cotton, who fell in step beside him, he took to the great stone steps. Round and round they went, up to the top of one of the towers where stood the three lookouts. Jack was dizzy when his heel struck the last step, and he frowned, cussing inwardly at himself for having succumbed to the sweet taste of fire that had done its best—although not good enough—to burn away the tightness in his chest. Swaying a bit and ignoring the dubious looks upon the face of his men because of it, he plucked from Matelot's hand the copper spyglass. Admiring the instrument he stepped up to the edge, where Marty stood quite casually on the ledge, and leaned against the parapet.

"They're not watching the ship," warned the mini man.

Jack frowned. Putting the spyglass to his eye he brought the two watchmen of the Black Pearl into focus. Drunk, they looked, and quite flush in the face, and the glass bottle upon a crate beside them empty. Witter's, he realized from the label. With a shrug he drug the focus back to the two men. In an impromptu dance their rears shook from side to side, and over the rim of the copper instrument Jack's dark brow rose. "And thank the heavens for that."

Ignoring the sharp look from Marty, he panned toward the opposite end of his ship where indeed he saw a gold flash of a blade—Alice Witter's beloved ivory springblade, he knew—cut loose a longboat from the Pearl. "Good luck, dove," he muttered, following the woman as she dashed across the ship and off. He smirked. "Though I don't think you'll need it."

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

Anamaria stilled the boat as Alice Witter jumped in from the dock. Smiling at her they roped to the boat a floating platform of wood, then rowed together past the ship. They dropped the small anchor when they were well enough behind it and stood, looking down at the boxes. The stock of dynamite they had was plenty to blow the Black Pearl to kingdom come, but that had not been the plan. No, the both of them could never and would never blow the bloody pirate's beautiful ship to pieces. But… they would let him think they did, if only for one horribly humbling moment.

"So. What first?" Alice Witter sliced through the knots tying a lid to a crate and hefted it open. "Chinese lanterns or…" She opened another. "Spanish torches?"

Anamaria's smile glinted in the moonlight as she drew a box of matches from her pocket. "Let's start with a bang."

"Soledad, you are a woman after my own heart," Alice declared, drawing a few rockets from the box inked with warnings writ in Spanish. "Torches it is!"

Quickly they set about setting up a number of the rockets, propping them upon the floating platform by the long sticks they were fastened to. Several boxes were unpacked and set up. When the perimeter of the platform was full, Alice Witter stood wiping her hands on her blue breeches. She nodded to Anamaria, satisfied, and together they grinned. Striking matches they leant forward and lit the fuses. Sparking up the cords the fire burned and the two women stepped back away from it, anticipating the burst of rockets any moment. As the flames approached the rockets they plugged their ears with fingertips and turned smirks toward the shore where they knew the sound would reach a startled Jack Sparrow.

For a few moments they stood there, waiting.

And waiting.

But the blast, the gung pow intended, didn't sound. In its place was the soft sucking of air. Following it quickly was a tiny gasp, and then there descended quiet upon them.

Frowning at each other they unplugged their ears and looked back to the still and silent rockets on the platform. When it seemed safe, Alice Witter reached forward and took one in her hand, examining with narrow eyes the charred fuse. Finally, her brow arched as she tossed it into the water.

"Probably wet," she said.

A likely problem, Anamaria decided, and she knocked the rest into the water as the other woman hauled another crate open. Together they set up the fresh rockets, and lit them. This time they watched as the fire burned up the cords, and they did not plug their ears. Anamaria's prickled at the soft sound of a chirp and she turned around, casting an eye about.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Alice turned to frown at her as again the soft sucking of air sounded. Together they looked to the rockets, plugging their ears, and watched as the flame was sucked up toward the dynamite—where it promptly sputtered out. Grumbling to themselves they kicked them into the water and set up another batch. They lit them and for good measure the lanterns too.

When nothing happened, Alice plucked one of the last rockets from a crate and eyed it. She turned it over in her hands and shook it, bringing it close to her ear. A scowl darkened her face as she tossed it overboard, and Anamaria arched a brow.

"Blanks!" The woman kicked a box overboard and glared at those remaining. "No powder!"

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

"Shh," Gibbs warned Roth.

At opposite ends the sailor and young helmsman knelt facing each other behind the row of rockets they'd set up. Intent upon the quiet of the night they were and when they heard the woman's scream their eyes widened. Gibbs chuckled, blue eyes sparkling, and when they struck matches both grinned.

"Now," hissed Roth.

Fuse after sparking fuse they swept the row until the last rocket was lit in the middle.

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

"They can't all be blanks!"

As Alice began opening crates and checking rockets and lanterns, all of which she tossed over into the water to the tune of muttered curses, Anamaria heard the chirping sound again. It sounded like flint, she thought, and as she glared into the darkness she thought she heard another noise. A scrape… or a thump… or… suddenly her eyes flicked to the last box, the one the woman reached for. That it was shaking widened her eyes and it was then that she recognized the sound. Before she had a chance to warn the other woman, the crate was open and Alice Witter let loose a bloodcurdling scream as a swarm of crickets sprang forth.

Wary of the brown and green insects swarming her, Anamaria jumped into the water. When she resurfaced she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the screeching woman clawing at the crickets and when the shrieks were too much she reached a dark hand forward and tripped Alice, sending her tumbling into the water. After a good deal of sloshing the woman sputtered on the surface, gasping for breath and letting out a whimper of distress at the white hair that stuck in limp clumps to her shoulders.

"Look at it this way," said Anamaria, "perhaps they are good luck. Ya didn't soak expensive silk this time!"

Before Alice could fix her with what was sure to be a cutting retort, a series of whistles screeched in their ears and drew their attention over the tops of trees that separated them from the other bay. Deafening booms sounded as flowers of fire burst in the air, illuminating the sky. Green and yellow flashed high above as the women turned wary eyes upon each other. They turned toward the shore, where surely Jack Sparrow had heard every bit of his well-earned victory.

Alice sighed. "He never loses."

Shaking her head, Anamaria started swimming toward the shore. Alice bobbed in the water, her grey gaze wistful as she stared up at the bombs bursting above. But when a frantic, chirping cricket smacked against her cheek she shrieked and ducked promptly under the water, following the other woman to shore.

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

Author's Babble: A note about matches, and the use of them in the time of this story: While it's true matchbooks were not in circulation at the time, matches had been invented. In 1669 phosphorous was discovered by an alchemist in his quest to change base metals into gold, and in 1680 English physicist Robert Boyle coated a paper with phosphorous, wood with sulfur, and struck them together to create a spark. However it was not until 1827 when an English chemist called John Walker created the first noted friction matches. Matchbooks came about in 1889 and were the invention of a man named Joshua Pusey. Now this is all commerce, of course, and the truth of the matter is that in the 18th century there were matches called spunks. Spunks were sold by street criers in England and were sold single or in sheets. They were small pieces of paper or wood coated with wax and dipped in sulfur. To light they were placed in a tinderbox and struck with sparks from flint and steel. The sulfur sparked—and then they burned. And in Asia—China to be exact—in the sixth century matches were made, in the absence of tinder wood, to light fires. Being that the idea of matches existed in Europe, and that they most certainly existed in Asia, and being that Jack Sparrow et al are rather worldly folk, it is my opinion that matches would not have been out of place here whatsoever.

As for fireworks, in third century China firecrackers were made to produce a sound loud enough—gung pow—to frighten away evil spirits. There's some sort of controversy about the origin of fireworks in China… some say as early as the sixth century while others believe they came about in the tenth century. Whatever the case, they've been around for a long time and were probably lucrative cargo to acquire.