Alice Witter poked Jack Sparrow's taut, tan belly. Biting her lip, she poked him hard in the ribs. Cautious and careful she reached for his arm. Slack with sleep it was as she lifted it—and slack with sleep it fell when she let go. When he did not wake, nor mumble, nor stir at all, she drew a slow, silent breath and pinched with all her might the bump of his bare rump.
Not even did he wince.
"Oh, Jack," she whispered, fingernails tapping his cheek, "the battle you may have won…" A smile lifted her lips. "But the war has just begun."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
When Will woke it was with his head on the desk. He'd wandered into the captain's quarters and sat with a bottle of rum until sleep had descended. His dreams had been strong—the man in them much more vivid and talkative than before. It was fitting, then, that the first thing he laid eyes upon when he lifted his head was the plaque upon the wall.
He sighed.
On deck he saw that Elizabeth was up early, as well as the children, and that all were entertaining themselves with the pile of presents left from his party. Little Lucy was frowning in consternation at the cuffs she'd somehow ended up locked to the railing with, and Jack was approaching silently with the croquet mallet, a wicked gleam in his eye. Will ran forward and lifted the stick from his son's hefting hand, shooting an aggrieved look at an oblivious Elizabeth—eyes wide upon the illustrations of Eunuchs Through the Ages.
"Atrocious," she breathed, turning the page.
"Perhaps," Will said to her, shutting the book promptly, "in my absence it would be best to lock the both of them to the railing?"
His wife looked at first he and then the children—Jack dancing around his sister mocking her inability to remove herself from the ship's edge. Her eyes returned to her husband and they narrowed. "Such seems a good idea!" She frowned. "Will? Your absence?"
He pecked a kiss to her forehead. "I've something I must do."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"Ahhhhh."
Surely, somewhere there were dolphins jumping for joy over the sparkling blue waves. Whales, glad too, were spouting water high into the air. Fish were swimming circles of madcap delight 'roundst each other, and octopi clapped together the sticky ends of all eight of their tentacles. Crabs scuttled cheerfully, lobster claws clicked with glee, and a red-tressed mermaid opened her mouth wide and belted out a beautiful tune with all of her happy heart.
Bliss. Bliss, pure unadulterated bliss, that's what was zinging through every single tingling bit of Jack Sparrow's body as he woke upon the morn with a satisfied sigh. A magnificent eve it had been thanks to victory and its spoils. Absolutely, indubitably, without question—he had won. For the first time in a long time, Jack Sparrow bested the woman known to most men as the Ice Queen of the Caribbean—Winter's Hiss—Miss Alice You'll Never Best Me, Jack Sparrow Witter. Won, he had, and lost had… she. Jack frowned, his hands coming up empty as he reached for her.
Empty.
Suddenly the tingling made much more sense as Jack Sparrow sat bolt upright in bed. There were no linens—no sheets, blankets, throws, coverlets—not a stitch of… of… his eyes grew wide. "Me stitches!"
Frantic, he leapt from bed and dashed toward the door—where he promptly remembered his bare bottom and fell back, biting his knuckles to keep from shrieking aloud. Instead he whimpered. Quietly.
"Good morning Jack," sang a sickeningly sweet voice through the door. "Sleep sound?"
"Apparently," he growled.
"What's twisting your britches, Captain Victorious?" Alice clucked her tongue. "Ooh, I forgot… yours've gone missing!"
"Witch," he hissed at her. "Give them back!"
"Ah ah ah!" Alice Witter's light laugh floated through the door. "Such surly words will surely never entice me to do so. You should know better than that, sweetcheeks."
Jack opened his mouth to yell but smiled instead at the door. "What cheeks are you talking about?"
There was an abrupt silence and then the impatient tap of a heel. "Does it matter?"
"Does it—no! I'm giving you to the count of—"
"Apologize—"
"—three and—"
"Ask nicely—"
"—if you don't—"
"Beg for mercy!"
"Absolutely not!"
She laughed. "Too bad, then."
The quick tap of heels away drained the color from Jack's face. Fast red colored it, and he kicked the door. Furious, he whipped around to glare at the bed—bloody stupid thing—but the anger faded as his gaze filled with the black silk still swaying from its spiral posts. Eyeing the drapes, his brows rose.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
On the stroll through the trees, Will saw Jack Sparrow approaching. He did a double take, however, as he realized that he was not looking at Jack Sparrow at all, but at someone dressed in his clothes. All of his clothes, it seemed. Down the bulky shoulders of several coats, vests, and shirts tumbled white curls from under no less than three hats. Alice Witter tipped one at him and continued on her way. Deciding that whatever was going on was most likely not of his concern and most likely more trouble than was worth concerning himself with, Will continued on his.
Inside the courtyard with the bubbling pool of gold, Will was walking toward the double doors that led into the great dining hall when they slid a sliver's width open. There they stopped. One dark eye peered out at him, and Will blinked as it did.
"Jack?"
The doors slid open a bit more to allow the pirate's head to pop out. It did and both dark eyes flicked at him before glancing furtively left and right. Hair beads and ornaments clacked with the sudden movement and then a nervous smile lit Jack Sparrow's face. "Morning Mister Turner! How nice to see you so early!"
"Nice to see you too, Jack," said Will, reaching pointedly for the yet unopened doors. "Might I get through?"
Jack's hands shot forward to hold the doors closed around his head. "Will!" His eyes narrowed upon him and then widened ever so slightly as something seemed to dawn on him. "Is there something you're needing? Far be it from me to be an ungracious host—glass of water? Piece of fruit? Brush for your teeth—always good to brush your teeth in the morn, I'm told. Anything?"
Frustrated, Will sighed and pushed the doors open, only to feel them resist again.
"Surely there must be something!"
"My admittance into the dining hall would be appreciated." Will raised his brows at him. "Please?"
"That?" Jack smiled. "But Will, there is nothing to eat at this hour in the dining hall. Cook's not even awake!"
Finally irritated, Will grabbed the doors and wrenched them open. His brows rose. By all appearances, Jack Sparrow had not a stitch of clothing to his name. Quite dismayed was the pirate as he attempted to look as discerning as always—an attempt in vain as such was a difficult task whilst being swathed in silk. Glancing down past the black toga to his bare feet, Jack winced and turned narrow eyes on Will.
"Not a word, Mister Turner!"
"Don't worry, Jack." Will smiled sweetly at him in passing. "It's all Greek to me!"
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"Tlothes!"
Elizabeth was yet examining Eunuchs Through the Ages—a book she found morbidly fascinating—when her daughter's shout drew her attention. She looked up at her manacled children to see Little Lucy pointing with her free hand toward the sand. A veritable pile of Jack Sparrow's clothes seemed to have sprouted legs and fast learned how to tred. Plodding over the black stuff along the beach they were. Apparently shaky on their new feet, the clothes fell to the sand in a heap. They struggled to right themselves. Elizabeth arched a brow. Unperturbed she was and so returned to her text.
For several moments all Elizabeth could think about were the terrifying shears that those poor eunuchs learned to fear throughout time immemorial. Clippers of the worst kind, they were long and sharp, needle-like apparati—
"Uncle Jack!"
Indeed, Jack's startled cry turned both Elizabeth and the pile of clothes toward the figure emerging—with difficulty—from the grove of palm trees. If it had not been for the wild, embellished hair and fussingly fluttering fingers, one could have easily mistaken Jack Sparrow for a strange native of far-off Greece—the black toga he wore quite barely covering his bare skin and rippling in the breeze as he charged toward the stunned still pile of clothes. Tripping a bit, they snatched up the hat that had fallen, plopped it atop the others, and sped in the other direction. A look of pure, vitriolic fury darkened Jack Sparrow's face as he raced after them.
"Told ye," grumbled a groggy Gibbs, "wouldn't last past morn."
Elizabeth shrugged and resumed her reading.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"You've nowhere to run, you terrible witch!"
Jack found it somewhat disturbing to be shouting such at a pile of his apparel. Also disturbing, he noted with a grimace, was the sand sloughing up his legs to stick to skin not meant for such grit to stick to. Although, he thought with a twisted lip, the toga was actually not all that bad—in fact, it was quite nice in that it was a rather freedom-giving garment allowing for much unhampered movement and the gentle, soothing caress of the warm, morning breeze. The Greeks, he decided, had been onto something. But the commentary in his head suddenly reminded him why he was hurtling over hot sand after a thicket of his threads and he scowled, letting loose a low growl.
"Oh yes I do you putrid pestilence!" Alice Witter's shriek was shrill. "The bubbling tar awaits your precious togs!"
"Oh no it doesn't," he hollered, gaining on her, "not if I can help it!"
"Too bad you can't," she shouted back. Within a matter of seconds her heels struck the rocks overlooking the spot where they both knew bubbled the viscous stuff and she whirled, arm emerging from within several layers of clothes to cock and point a golden pistol at him. "Ha!"
Jack held up his hands, stopping in his tracks only paces away.
"I would consider," she said, tapping her heel to a nice even rhythm, "not washing your wardrobe in molten mess if perhaps you would grace me with the words you insisted fall from my lips last night."
Jack's eyes narrowed at her.
Hers narrowed at him.
"Alright," he said, unable to resist a smarmy smile. "You shall hear them. But not," he said, glancing worriedly at his favorite tricorn—so worn and familiar, "before you give me my hat!"
"And then you will say what you made me say?"
"Aye, I will."
"Last night?"
"I will say what I made you say last night if you return my hat. To me. Now."
With a shrug, she tossed it to him.
Shoving it on his head, he crossed his arms and glared at her. "Yes."
"What?"
"Yes," he said, lifting his chin, "as I remember, love, you said such repeatedly."
In a fit of outrage she whipped off her outermost layer—his very fine, very expensive black coat—the one trimmed in gold—and hurled it to the bubbling tar below. There was an audible crackle as it went up in flames and the subsequent gurgle of the stuff as it swallowed it under. At such Alice Witter smiled.
"Alright!" Jack, though silently fuming and plotting her departure from the living world, smiled back. "As I seem to recall…" he trailed off, the delight and amusement on her face quite changing his mind, "me own blessed name was much uttered fervently as well. Could it be ye want to hear me say me own name, love?"
"You really are pushing me," she spat, tossing the matching black hat to the tar. As it made much the same sounds as its mate, her fingers hitched on the blue waistcoat—his favorite bloody waistcoat to be exact—and she glared at him as she nearly lost her balance. "I'd not push further."
"Listen," he said, beginning to get a bit nervous, "I think you should get down from there."
"Not until you say what I want to hear!"
"That isn't very—safe," he told her, voice rising with anxiety as his gaze cut to her trembling stance upon the rocks, "and I don't fancy diving into scalding hot hell after you, so please—"
"Blast," she cried, nearly falling backwards, "say it, Sparrow!"
"Fine," he yelled, throwing up his hands in both defeat and alarm, "you win, Alice Witter! You have beaten me into submission! You have outsmarted me at every turn, outwitted me in every way, and, now, you win! Happy?!"
"Mmm. No," she said, standing quite steady and straight upon the rocks, a look of pure euphoria on her face, "ecstatic." Stepping down quite daintily, she crossed the space between them and reached for his face. Her grey eyes turned doleful upon him and her lips pouted. "Was Captain Jack Sparrow himself worried about lit'l ol' me?"
Biting his lip in the haze of his fury, Jack put on a cool front and raised his brows. "No." He plucked the blue waistcoat from her grasp and eyed it lovingly. "Was worried about me vestments."
"Ah," she said in a voice that smacked of disbelief, "well I suppose I don't blame you. Look quite silly, you do, in that little Greek number of yours."
"Yes, well," he said, yanking the rest of his garb from her person, "I imagine no less silly than you looked when it was you were coated in crickets." As outrage showed suddenly upon her face he leaned in to silence her mouth with his own and pressed a finger to her lips as he pulled away. "Enough with the chit chat, darling. Off with me britches."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Once in the room that was his father's, Will lit a few candles and tossed his coat over a chair. For only a moment did he feel as if he were an intruder, and then the moment was gone. Before he had the sense to back out of the room and forget wanting to do what it was he intended upon doing, he grabbed the thick journal, strode to the bed, plopped down on it, and untied the leather straps to flip the tome open.
A tiny cloud of dust puffed when the journal parted in the middle. Wincing and blowing it away, Will flipped to the first page of fine handwriting on yellowing parchment and forced himself to read the words. For a moment they wavered, but he blinked such difficulty away.
It is with highest hopes on this third day of January, 1660, that I, William Turner, pen this beginning of this fine volume: Today is the first day of the rest of my god-given life and tomorrow I choose my path…
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
The next time Elizabeth saw Jack Sparrow, it was surely afternoon with the sun so high, and so she raised a brow at he and the doll of a woman strolling calmly along the water's edge. It had been ages since they'd raced out of sight. Both carrying Jack's clothes they seemed to be discussing something of importance. Alice Witter's bow-shaped mouth was pursed and Jack Sparrow's brow was knit. Briefly, Elizabeth wondered if Isaac Faust had told them of his awaiting position in the Commodore's office, but she dismissed the idea quickly as she knew if such was so Jack Sparrow's reaction would have been made known throughout the entire hearing population of the Caribbean. Since she could not discern what it was the two were talking about, and since she freely admitted she was a woman of burning curiosity, Elizabeth stood tall on the Swan and waved them over.
It was a matter of minutes and then Jack Sparrow, dressed not in a ridiculous toga but in his favorite threads and on the arm of a rosy-cheeked Alice Witter, was strolling aboard the ship. At the disarray on deck, particularly several of the pirates yet to wake from their passing out the previous evening, he raised his brows. "Looks as if a merry time was had by all."
"Yes," said Elizabeth, shielding her eyes from the sun to squint at the pirate and the woman, "I suppose so. Though I must say, it's probably much more merry a time if you're the one snoring instead of the one listening to it."
"To that," said Alice Witter, lifting her chin to narrow her eyes at Jack, "I say 'amen'."
The pirate gave her the same narrow look. Defiantly, he tossed his mane. But upon noticing the woman's look of incredulity he flashed a brilliant smile at both she and Elizabeth.
"Where are my manners?" Elizabeth clapped a hand to her head. "I should have asked about your evening. More than a few of us were curious as to your whereabouts, Captain Sparrow."
"Miss me, did you?" Jack's twitch of a smile faded to a twist of confusion. Eyes wandering from the women, his gaze fell upon the two sundrowsy children still cuffed to the rail of the ship. Startled, he pressed a hand to his heart. "I've heard of advanced discipline theory, but I have to wonder… what did they do to deserve that?"
"Missus Turner, might I let you in on a little secret?" Alice Witter ignored his question and leaned forward, cupping a hand around her mouth even though her whisper was anything but quiet. "It's always best not to wonder about Jack. It's a bit dangerous once you start."
"Speaking of wondering," said Jack as he pulled the woman back and flashed yet another smile at she and Elizabeth, "where is it Will was off to so fast this morn?"
"Well," sighed Elizabeth, "I suspect he is braving the narrative penned by his father."
"Ah, yes," said Jack, if a bit sadly, "perhaps so."
"My only worry," said Elizabeth, "is that he will not leave the room until he's read every word."
"Every word?!" Jack looked simply horrified. "I knew I should have brought him here sooner. Said so myself!" At the women's confusion, he threw his hands up as if they'd missed something obvious. "It's a sizable tome! There's likely a lot of bloody words in that thing! This is Will we're talking about—such could take weeks! Even months! Perhaps a year!"
"Oh yes," Elizabeth said with a nod and a sigh, "that was what I was worried about."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
…my son. What a sight he was, that full head of hair and hands reaching for the both of us. She gave him my name. I hope that it serves him better than it has me… met a dandy of a fellow today. Claimed his name is Jack Sparrow but I don't think he's telling the truth. Truth is easy to see in a man's eyes, and deception is no more difficult to detect…
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Indeed, such as Jack and Elizabeth had thought, Will Turner did not leave that room for quite some time. Elizabeth spent it getting to know a few Intuit women as their children mingled as playmates. Apparently there were several places of interest upon the island that Jack Sparrow had not mentioned. Within reason, had Elizabeth thought upon one afternoon when it was Jack came running up with a tale of the 'blimeyest tarpit if ever there was' and clothes to match. Also discovered by the children and their mother was that there was 'the highest cliff jump if ever there was' and 'the rightest crab catch in the world' but those had been less an issue.
Anamaria introduced Will's wife to several of the most beautiful men of the Intuit sect. As it turned out they were quite good at riding waves to shore. Intrigued, Elizabeth had insisted upon learning how to do such. As that turned out, she wasn't quite as good as they or Anamaria at it. Still, she'd seemed to enjoy the surf and sand as much as any of them. Even the Ice Queen herself participated—shouting praise or criticism from where she sat on a blanket in the sand surrounded by doting Intuits bearing gifts and grooming her curls into elaborate coifs upon her head. Several times had Jack Sparrow made an appearance, either to 'make well sure none of that terrible tar made way to the house' or to 'expressly state disapproval at the gross exploitation of the loving, caring Intuits'. Several times had Alice Witter told him that he was 'expressly jealous' and several times had Gibbs, Samson, Tearlach, and Roth had to run forth to separate the Sweet Queen and Chief, respectively.
With a smile on his face, Cotton watched from a swaying hammock as he sipped the cooled juice of the aguave fruit. His parrot perched nearby and sipped its own aguave juice. Such ease went well unnoticed, much to their dual delight.
Toddul, Lemmy, and Shakes much enjoyed the company of Ladbroc, Marty and Matelot, as well as several other men. The pirates took to playing a sort of tropical badminton—using as a birdie various items Jack Sparrow did not particularly find amusing as such. The coconut he'd finally agreed was acceptable when an enthusiastic Shakes volleyed the hard fruit right into the back of his head. When he'd woke with a start with all the pirates hovering and multiplying around him he'd shouted that if there was to be more playing of tropical badminton, coconuts were out of game play. So it was that they'd given up the game in favor of palm tree limbo. With the help of strong Samson they played such till sunset.
Isaac Faust was scarce. On one afternoon he'd insisted upon lunch with both Jack and Alice. One evening he'd played a game of chess with Jack and on another he'd challenged Alice to a round of darts. Several times had Anamaria and Roth spotted him moping about the library. Gibbs had engaged him in several conversations, all of which ended him up hitting up the parlor bar or poking about in Cook's kitchen.
Much flustered and so pushing his spectacles defiantly, Cook had informed him several times that he was not to trifle with expensive ingredients. Isaac had informed him several times that experiments such as his bananas and pork sandwich—smothered with marmalade mustard spread—was not trifling but adventurous. Such ended him up chased from the place with rolling pins and skewers. So it was that upon spotting Cook playing palm tree limbo one eve he snuck off to the kitchen and bumped into an equally furtive Elizabeth Turner.
"Oh!" She jumped, startled, dropping the big spoon she held into a mixing bowl. "Oh, Isaac, it's only you."
"Well I'm happy to see you too," he said, eyeing her bowl with trepidation. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled. "Cooking."
Having heard about the woman's culinary quirks, Isaac raised his brows in disbelief.
"Well that is what one does in a kitchen."
"Usually." Swallowing hard, he attempted to see what it was—or perhaps to guess what it was—she was mixing.
Not being one to miss much, she scowled, turning the bowl away from his questing gaze. "And what is it that you're doing here, hmm?"
"Felt it was time for a snack."
And snack he set to making. The cupboards he sacked and the crates he looted. Fine syrups, sugars, several tins of cocoa powder, a bottle of cinnamon, a bottle of flavor, a stick of lard, and an assortment of fruit later, he started confectioning. Every once in awhile when he looked up from his swirling kettle of chocolate sauce to grab another ingredient, he caught Elizabeth watching. Which was fine and dandy as when she was busily chopping, slicing, stirring, or mixing he was watching her. Both their mouths were watering. The difference, however, was as to why. Isaac's chocolate sauce smelled most delectable. Elizabeth's… concoction… smelled just awful. At one point Isaac stuck his head over his own pot and inhaled deeply just to rid himself of the rancid stink that was Elizabeth's making.
Running a stirring spoon through the mixture and satisfied with its consistency, Isaac set to chopping the fruit. In a matter of minutes he'd diced mangos, pineapples, coconut, and papaya. With one more solid stir, he chucked the chunks of fruit into the sauce and hauled the kettle off the fire, stirring all the while. When at last the stuff was mixed well enough to his liking, he poured it out onto wax paper he'd laid upon one counter and spread it even with a wooden wedge. From the other counter he grabbed a box of chopped nuts and sprinkled them heavily to coat the candy.
"Wherever," asked Elizabeth breathlessly, "did you learn to do that?"
"Where else," he said, spritzing over the nuts a sprinkling of white powdered sugar, "but in London? Have to fend for your stomach somehow when spending so much time there."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
There is nothing greater in the world than love, and if there is, it is friendship. If there's anything greater than friendship, it's the bond of family. I'm a hypocrite to say it, but it is a truth I cannot change nor deny much as I try…love Sparrow like a brother, but these arguments he calls discussions about the nature of my family life are beginning to weigh upon me. I worry we will soon be at odds if the subject is broached again…a terrible night. Never have I struck a friend before tonight, and I feel worse that it was the friend whom is not only a friend but a brother. Samson tells me I did the right thing but I disagree. Jack was right, and I was wrong. I've been wrong, and the worst part is I've been self-righteous all the while…
It's possible we part ways soon… old salt called Faust. Bugger of a man old Faust is, but that ship's plenty pretty and Jack's already christened her The Black Pearl…Jack and I left our chess game unfinished last night. I am not sure if it's truly because he had something to ask me or if it is because he knows I was set to capture his king…torn. Jack offered me a spot on the Pearl. Samson's offer still stands as well. So it is that I find myself at yet another crossroads without a clue as to however I will choose which journey to go on…
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"It looks delicious," Elizabeth said, reaching forward eagerly only to have her fingers smacked away.
Isaac raised his brows reproachfully. "Ah ah. That's to cool. This," he said, twirling the chocolate-coated wedge toward her lips and smiling as she unabashedly licked it clean, "is for tasting."
"What's for tasting?"
That the both of them jumped guiltily did not faze Jack Sparrow. No, the pirate captain—dressed in cotton sleeping clothes complete with tasseled cap—only shrugged and sauntered in, his slippers slapping tile as he did so. To the cupboard he went, and through the many tins and containers he searched until at long last he procured a tin from the very back. With a flourish he pulled it out, uncapped it, and popped one very red, very plump cherry into his mouth. Murmuring his approval, he plucked another from the tin and raised a brow at the lad and the woman watching him.
"Rum's not the only thing I crave, you know," said Jack. Then, suddenly, he seemed to remember his garb. Eyes unlined found the tassel of the cap resting on his chest and he winced, flicking it away as if such vastly improved upon his appearance. "It's quite the comfort, cotton. Profitable too. Very popular in the colonies I hear."
"Yes," agreed Elizabeth, "indeed."
"Great usability," explained the pirate further, enunciating with his hands, "cotton has. Can make anything out of it." He paused, popping another cherry into his mouth and then spoke around it. "The touch of it. The feel… truly, cotton is sure to be the fabric of our lives."
Isaac smiled. "You look silly."
"Yes I know," agreed Jack Sparrow. "But I believe I was asking what it was you said was for tasting."
"Oooh, it's delicious," said Elizabeth, fingers itching toward the spread of chocolate only to be smacked away once more. She sighed and turned back to her own mixing bowl. "Fine…"
Jack, upon seeing the woman with her hand upon a spoon, shared a horrified look with Isaac and paled. "Elizabeth! What are you doing?!"
"What?" The woman's eyes widened innocently at the pirate and then turned toward the lumpy mixture. "Oh. Well… I'm cooking."
"And what," asked Jack, voice rising with anxiety as he noted the orange color of the contents, "Missus Turner, are you cooking exactly?"
"To start," said Elizabeth, stirring the stuff violently, "raspberries, walnuts, and mustard. Then," she said, mixing and sifting it a bit, "honey, cream, curry spice, and flour. And…"
Seeing her lips curl up in a small smile, Jack's eyes widened. "And?!"
She tilted her head, mashing the mixture violently. "Yams."
"Yams?!"
"Yams," she confirmed.
"Does this recipe have a name?"
"Yes it does. This," she answered Isaac, smiling at him and showing the bowl, "is Yam Pudding."
"Yam Pudding?!" The pirate slapped the lid on the cherries and stalked over to her, inspecting with suspicion the lumpy orange yuck. As his nose caught its scent he backed away warily. "What in heaven—or should I say hell—inspired this… this…" he trailed off, apparently unable to give a name to what it was he thought she'd made, "this aberrant abomination?!"
"Well," said Elizabeth, "it came to me awhile ago, actually. Quite a shock, I know, but you see, Captain Sparrow… it just so happens that I get verily inspired when I am waked early in the morn."
Jack, quite realizing the error of his ways, bit hard into his fist.
Isaac shook his head. "You told Will to wake her, didn't you?"
Jack nodded, watching with wider eyes as Elizabeth dumped a number of red beets and onions into the mix.
Suddenly fearing for the woman's safety, Isaac chopped off a piece of the cooling candy and presented it to his captain. Sniffing it out, the pirate's eyes crossed to see it under his nose. With a frown he took it and nibbled on its edge. Eyeing it near as suspiciously as he'd eyed the yam pudding, he took another bigger bite and cocked his head in contemplation. When finally he swallowed, he clapped Isaac on the back and nodded at him.
"Good snack."
"Aye," agreed Isaac, sampling a piece himself, "a right tasty morsel."
As Elizabeth finally got her hands on a piece of the stuff, Jack Sparrow picked up his tin of cherries. With a rueful look at Isaac, as well as the lad's candy, he thrummed the tin with his fingertips and shrugged. "A lady's request is best served with haste," he said. With a glare at an oblivious Elizabeth, he whirled to make exit.
"Jack," she called, licking her fingertips clean as she turned. When the pirate's long fingers wrapped around the doorway and his head—and pointed glare—popped into view, she fixed him with a look of worry. "Will's locked himself in there for days now, and has refused several times to come out."
At the mention of his friend's name, Jack's angry gaze softened. For a moment he looked almost saddened, those unlined dark eyes growing rounder as his mouth pulled down, but then with a decisive tap of his fingertips he smiled. "He'll come out when he's ready."
When the pirate disappeared from view, Isaac Faust handed Elizabeth Turner another piece of chocolate. He popped one into his own mouth. Together they chewed, and then enjoyed yet another piece.
"You must make this for the Commodore," said Elizabeth, closing her eyes to savor a nibble. "He adores exotic chocolates, you know."
"Thank you for the tip," Isaac said, munching loudly on the stuff. He licked his fingers. "I must remember that. Always good to be on the good side of the Commodore. Particularly when your Da's a pirate captain, I'd say."
"Oh yes," agreed Elizabeth. "Definitely."
They were so delighted with their chewing of the stuff that they did not notice Cook's approach. Midswallow, Isaac turned and saw the spectacled man with the reddened face. He poked Elizabeth in the side. When she didn't take the hint, he poked her harder. Indignant, she poked him back. Irritated, he spun her around. Before Cook opened his mouth to gripe, the both of them scurried toward the other door—Isaac bounding back to grab up his confection from the table only to be chased by a very angry, wedge-wielding Cook.
Upon his return to the kitchen after having thrown the wooden wedge at the lad's head in vain, the spectacled man huffed to the counter where sat Elizabeth's forgotten yam pudding. With a disdainful eye he studied it, and curiously he poked it. Glancing to and fro he dipped a finger in and popped it in his mouth. Much to his surprise it tasted not at all as bad as he'd imagined, and so he pulled up a stool to the counter and dipped a spoon in the bowl.
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…difficult saying goodbye. Never much liked the idea of goodbye. Such implies one might never cross another's path again, and I do not believe that such is so in the case of those who have been part of my life… there's not enough words to express how amusing it is hearing Jack refer to himself as Captain constantly. I only hope it's a passing fancy as it's already wearing thin my nerves…story tonight. Some nonsense about an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. Poppycock if I ever heard some. But Jack, he's convinced it's true. He was off about some sort of discrepancies between maps…
Picking up a crew in Tortuga is terrible. Not only is the place a trap, it smells terrible, looks worse, and its offering of sailors isn't much the better…already has a crew he's offering to Jack on the condition that he'll be named First Mate. I told Jack to take him up on the offer. These men seem at least somewhat competent…Barbossa is to be First Mate and we sail on the morrow… beginning to think that my pushing Jack to take this Barbossa character up on his offer was a mistake. A big, bad mistake. …three days now. When Jack gave Barbossa the coordinates, I nearly pulled my pistol to shoot him myself. It's my fear that he is as good as dead and I do not know what to do. Most likely I will be as dead as he is, and these terrible men will sail off on our ship with treasure enough to build an entire fleet.
They marooned Jack. I didn't stop them. I have never felt so low in all of my low life as I feel right now. I've betrayed my brother… found it. We took it. We're on our victory sail… Jack may be the luckiest of all of us. He didn't believe the supernatural attraction of the Aztec Gold story. But it seems the story was true. I feel nothing, for I am cursed. I feel as if I deserve to be cursed…and so do they…their plan is to return the coins, but little do they know that I have already sent mine off to England.
December 21 1687. This is likely the last I will write as I've already chosen my path. For once it was an easy decision, and I refuse to look back in anger or anything likened to it. I've made ready my preparations. I've tidied my room just for Jack. Wherever he is, I hope he appreciates it. Behind I'm leaving everything I value. It will be locked in this room for which Barbossa does not have a key. I am locking mine in with my pipe, my boots, my dagger, and my wedding ring, when we depart once more for the island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. I keep looking at the button I pulled from Jack's coat on the night before the first time I stepped foot on that island. I keep thinking that Jack Sparrow might be waiting for me on the other side if they do what it is I think they'll do. Maybe, just maybe, there will be new horizons to look forward to afterall.
Will Turner closed the book. On the table there sat the pipe, the same pipe he'd already seen in his dreams. His gaze fell on it, and his hand went to the portrait in his pocket, and he looked up at the drawing above the desk.
