(Author's Notes – Sorry, such a long time for an update, but before I go any further … THANK YOU to my LOVELY reviewers! 9 reviews for one chapter? You all make me wonderfully happy! A tot of virtual rum on me … 'cause this chapter gets a little piratey.

Anyways … I am very glad you liked Belle St. Croix's little swim. You have no idea how happy I was to write that! I was considering having a rather drunken Nathan and Theo try and shoot her for target practice, but I figured that would have been a bit much. So it's the depths for St. Croix! Oh, and to clarify – Jack had figured out that if Laura held the compass, it would point to James. Jack wanted to know where James was so Jack could get away – not a terribly kind use of Laura.

There are some strange beasts in this chapter – pastiches and parodies of conventions. It jumps around quite a bit, but I tried to make it longer and more sensible. Let me know what you think – Without further ado, Brokenspar presents Chapter 12: In which new characters arrive, and old ones sulk, gasp, and do otherwise dramatic things)

Captain Toby Ixbridge, ex-RN, pending privateer, occasional pirate, full-time smuggler and pain-in-the-government's-arse, sat at a corner table of the Faithful Bride tavern in Tortuga, utterly miserable.

"What's your poison, dearie?"

He shot the buxom barmaid a killing glare.

"A pint of gin."

"Fresh out. Will ya be wantin' anythin' else?"

"A pint o' rum," chipped in his first mate.

The barmaid made a mockery of a curtsey.

"Be right wi' ya."

Toby slammed his fist down on the rickety table, jarring the candles on the broken plate.

"Is there nothing but rum on these blasted islands!"

Peg-Leg Peggy, his first mate, shrugged philosophically as she took the dirty bottle from the barmaid.

"Welcome to the Caribbean, Toby."

She winked her remaining eye (the other, the blind, hid behind a black felt patch) as she drained half the bottle in a series of less-that-ladylike gulps.

"Hell on earth," Toby grumbled, playing with his dagger.

"Rum?"

Peg proffered the bottle like the finest brandy that the two of them had ever smuggled.

"No, thank you."

"Suit yerself."

"I will, dammit! There's nothing out here but sand, pirates, and rum!"

"Toby, ye're a pirate an' a smuggler."

"Of the Channel, mind you."

"So we're a ways from 'ome."

"An ocean away. And not a single tavern serves gin!"

"They serve rum."

"Peg!"

"Right, Cap'n."

Toby took a calming breath, keeping his distance from the dark bottle.

"Jack better have a damn good reason calling you, me, and the Lady Luck out here."

"Probably to smuggle rum, Toby."

Her captain twitched minutely, burying the dagger up to the hilt in the table.

"For the last time, Peg! I hate bloody rum!"

There was a small smile on Peg's face as she watched the irascible Toby Ixbridge charge with suicidal abandon into the raging bar fight, a smile which only widened as she drained to the dregs her bottle of rum.

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

Theo abruptly snatched the white bandeau from Nathan's hands.

"You've been toying with that all day!"

"Ever since Laura told us about the Commodore and Miss St. Croix, if you're going to be precise," Nathan smiled sadly.

"She's lost."

"Who? Laura, or Miss St. Croix? Or both?"

Theo shut his book.

"Miss St. Croix is lost, thankfully."

"And Laura?"

"We'll find her, Nathan. Of that you may be sure."

"What if we don't find her, Theo? What if we never catch Sparrow? What if he never releases her? What if she dies? That will make two of us cursed in love – Do you think that Gypsy woman in Nassau was right?"

Nathan found himself smacked hard across his skull as Theo rose to stand before him.

"One: We are going to get Laura back. The Commodore's ire is up, Nathan, and you, as much as I or anyone on this ship, have seen the looks on his face whenever someone mentions her. He is going to find her, and hang me if he doesn't marry her. Two: Dammit, Nathan, the Gypsy woman? If she knew the future then call me pirate! The Commodore is not cursed in love, I am not cursed in love, and you are not cursed in love!"

The look Nathan shot him was cold and bitter.

"You've never had your heart broken, Theo."

"I have not."

"Then I reserve the right to call myself cursed."

Nathan abruptly rose, shoving Theo out of his way and making his way across the wardroom. A moment later he had the decanter in hand and was pouring himself an inordinately large snifter of brandy.

"You have watch next!"

"The Commodore can go soak his head in a chamber pot for all I care."

He tossed the snifter back without a thought, then poured himself another.

"For goodness sake, Nathan, let her go!"

"You don't love a woman like Gale and forget her."

"She's dead."

"We don't know that."

"She caught another fever right after the smallpox. Not one in a thousand men could survive that!"

"She was always extraordinary."

Theo took the decanter from Nathan, replacing it in his hands with Gale's white bandeau.

"Listen to me. She's dead, and if by some miracle she survived, could you really face her? After she broke your heart? You have to move on."

"With Madeline?"

"I don't care who, you need to get on with your life."

Nathan stood up, moving to the stern windows.

"I concede the logic in your argument, but I find myself incapable of forgetting her long enough to love someone else."

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

Laura Bell was, at that moment, terrified.

To begin with, she was in an airless, pitch-black, and dank area of the Black Pearl Mr. Gibbs had referred to as the bilges. She was seated on what she hoped was a coil of rope, appendages held high out of the rancid, sloshing waters and away from any denizens of a rodent nature should have chosen to haunt this place. And she had her hands clenched on her ears, because the noise of conflicting cannons was deafening.

A scant hour before, she had been peacefully minding the galley, feeding some of the ship's cats. Then Mr. Gibbs had stormed in, doused the stove, and put her in the care of some rather impatient sailors who had simply thrown her in the bilges.

Now she feared for her life, the thunder of a battle above shaking the timbers throughout the Pearl. Laura could have screamed and it would have gone unnoticed, for all the noise – all the cannon and small arms, the shouts and cries.

For the first time since … since … since Heaven knew when, she was held in the clutches of a bottomless and engulfing fear.

She told herself again and again that a woman of her age should not experience these driving frights, ones that shook her to her core. She told herself she was safe. She told herself she had weathered worse.

But she could not convince herself of anything more than the overwhelming desire to have James comfort her.

Was that a rat she heard? Or worse?

Would the Pearl sink?

Was this the end?

Though I walk in the valley of the shadows, I shall fear no evil …

I shall fear nothing …

She did have too much to fear. Eventually Laura passed into that state of experiencing all but registering nothing, brought on by her terror.

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

James woke in the middle of the night, jolting upright so quickly he nearly threw himself from his cot.

Struck, he felt his breathing return to normal and his heart ease to a calm, but still fought under a frightening swath of claustrophobia.

Rising from his cot, he pulled a dressing gown on and made his way to the stern balcony, rubbing the nightmare from his eyes.

A month at sea, almost, and still no sign of the Black Pearl. No word in Tortuga. No ships missing in Sparrow's stomping grounds.

No sign of Laura.

Save that nightmare.

In it he had been standing up to his knees in filthy bilge, rats and other vermin brushing his calves, submerged in complete darkness. Above he heard the thunder of a raging battle, mere inches overhead. Through the storm of noise and wretched surroundings, he heard a soft whimpering, and knew immediately it was Laura.

He could think of nothing but finding her, of comforting her, telling her it was all right, he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. But try as he might, her sobbing only grew fainter, leaving an echoing silence when it stopped.

That's when he woke up.

What could he do that he hadn't already done? How much harder could he search?

By God, if Sparrow let anything happen to her …

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

Something pricked Laura's neck, sending her into a series of bone-rattling shudders as she strove to shake some unseen irritant off her.

As soon as she had stopped, she spotted a light.

"Miss Laura?"

It was the ever-present Mr. Gibbs, barely audible over the ringing silence.

"I am here."

"Good. It's clear. Figured ye didn't want ta spend any more time in the bilges."

With unsure feet, she swayed to a stand and sloshed through the water, trying to get to that light.

"What is the news?"

"We took a small schooner outta Newport, the Colonies."

Gibbs didn't quite hear what was said next, but could have sworn Laura muttered something to the extent of, "Bloody pirates."

"Is it all right by the Captain that I take some air?"

"No reason why not," he shrugged.

She tripped up a steep ladder, nearly falling on the older sailor when she reached the top. Not waiting for Gibbs, Laura took off on the closest to a sprint she could manage, bumping clumsily into odd corners she still forgot were there, almost a month after she boarded the Pearl. Bursting through the hatchway, into the air, she came upon a sight.

Lined up along the gunwales midships were the people of the captured schooner, the ship herself sinking in the Pearl's wake. The skipper stood at the head of the line, head hung, and so on down the prisoners, ending with sole passenger.

She was a feeble, achingly frail girl, the very embodiment of the word sickly, aged beyond her years, whose countenance was truly frightening.

Framed by dull red hair, flat and lifeless, her face mirrored the rest of her body – worn, peaky, and sickly. Bright scars from the pox marred her deathly pale skin, which stretched hideously over the angular bones of her face. A sharp nose protruded over chapped lips; her cheekbones over grotesque hollows, but the true horror of her face was her blind. A thick black band covered her eyes, tied neatly behind her head.

She was sightless.

"'Ey! Laura!"

"What, Captain Sparrow?"

Laura turned to find the Captain barely a step behind her.

"Ye mind the missy bunkin' with ye? Course not."

That was how she found herself half-carrying the blind girl to the galley, the poor thing (though indeed, she looked like Death incarnate) shaking, either with chill, illness, or fright. Setting the girl up on a crate near the stove, Laura began to bustle about, preparing to cook the breakfast.

"I never caught your name, Miss," Laura started, after a long silence.

"Abigail Wetherhill, exile from Newport," she whispered.

"Why did you leave?"

"I had to."

"Do you have any family in the Caribbean?"

"None. I was hoping to find -"

At that moment, Captain Sparrow hollered down the galley stove pipe.

"Laura! Laura Bell! When the 'ell are ye going to finish boilin' that mush!"

Quick as lightning, Miss Wetherhill latched on to Laura's wrists and – if she had her sight – stared straight into her eyes.

"Laura Bell? Laura Bell? Thank Heaven I found you!"