Norrington finally came back up on deck. "Everyone who is not a pirate," he called, "And that includes my men, any captive civilians, and Will Turner too, I suppose... I want all of you to come with me into that cabin. We've got things to discuss."

Once they were assembled, he paced the floor, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed. "What I am about to tell you may shock you," he began. "It goes against everything we've been taught and against the law and perhaps against everything you believe. Understand this: I won't force anybody." He had everyone's undivided attention. Even the children were silent and had stopped fidgeting.

Now or never. Norrington planted his feet, dropped his arms to his sides and raised his head. "I have decided to help the pirates," he said clearly, "And I would ask you all to do the same." Nobody began to stone him just yet, so he felt a little better. "I can tell you that while criminals, the men out there are by and large good people. They are on a mission to steal away the source of the black magic Lord Beckett has been performing recently. They intend to return it to its rightful owner."

At the mention of Beckett's black magic, a murmur started up among the soldiers and some of the women crossed themselves. Norrington did not flinch from what he had to say. "What Lord Beckett has done... with my help... is an abomination. These people are trying to stop him... and I fully support them." Norrington paused. For some reason, the last few words he had to get out were just not cooperating. His voice was shaking, choked, almost inaudible as he asked, tentative and terrified: "Who's with me?"

"I am." Heads turned as none other than Governor Swann himself stood up and crossed his arms. "And so is anyone still loyal to me. Port Royal is our city, and I won't have it turned into a pawn to make someone a pile of money."

"There, see," Norrington breathed, relieved. "It's not so outlandish as it might be. Debate amongst yourselves, then, and if you decide not to participate you can stay here. You've got Turner's word you won't be harmed. However, if you do want to help the pirates, come out on deck and ask for orders."

"Who's in charge here, sir? Who do we report to?" one of the soldiers asked.

Will opened his mouth to reply but Norrington, deeply offended at the lack of law and order on the Pearl, had an answer ready and beat him to it.

"Apparently, on this ship, whoever is swaggering most loudly at the moment, in the largest hat, is the captain. It's hard to say who's in charge," he said, making no effort to hide his disdain. Still, he couldn't bring himself to add to the chaos on board by having his men individually report to whomever took their fancy, so he decided, "I'll communicate with the pirate leaders, and you can all receive orders through me."

He thought the meeting was adjourned until he felt a tug on his coat. He looked down. It was that child again, the one he had thrown overboard. Apparently the boy had survived, and worse (better?) had not lost his taste for adventure. "Can I help? What will I do?" he asked.

"I think you've done quite enough already," Norrington said, for some reason feeling compelled to smile.

"Nonsense." Will Turner held out his hand to the boy. "You can help keep watch, young master. Come on - I'll teach you where you're supposed to climb and what you say."

They skipped off together, Albert still dripping seawater and Will still covered in blood and warpaint. "Not a care in the world, either of them," Norrington muttered to himself. Of all the pirates on this wretched vessel, he was beginning to think Captain Barbossa might be the one he hated least.

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Meanwhile, Lord Beckett sat as his desk, back straight, head high, hands flat on his thighs. He was resolutely not pacing, because people would hear him if he paced.

It didn't occur to him that the one man on the ship dangerous enough to read him properly – his ruthless minister-without-portfolio Mercer – could hear even more from his boss's unnatural stillness than he could from the sounds of an openly nervous man pacing his cabin.

Beckett was thinking about a good excuse to demand that Davy Jones give his prisoners back. He knew, of course, that it was a terrible idea. But he also knew he would be furious with himself if harm came to the pretty Elizabeth. Irreparable harm might come to her on that ship, especially if the ship was out fighting pirates.

He wanted her back. He wished he could have her with Jack Sparrow, because they obviously had history together and leverage was always a good thing, but he knew Sparrow was too dangerous to keep around. Besides, it was rather likely that Jones had killed him by now, orders or no orders.

Fine, settled, he would think of a way to get Elizabeth back in his possession. He would also think of a way to get her out of her rags and into a dress, at least for a little while. He liked her looking regal and haughty. Mmm.

He would take her out so some very formal social event. She would be dressed to the nines, sweeping about in a lovely gown, a queen, the envy of everybody who so much as caught a glimpse of her. Then afterwards in the carriage home he would look at her. Just look. But she would know what he was thinking. They would get home, he would have the driver take them around back to the stable. He would help her down from the carriage himself. Oh, completely proper, of course, on a whim the lady wishes to see to the comfort of her favorite mare herself. He would send the driver away.

He would start with her hair, all the bows and pins and other nonsense pulled out and trod underfoot. Her hair would tumble down, soon to become a wild mess when he pushed her up against the stable wall and-

Ahem. He smiled. Focus, Cutler. Now: how best to ask Jones for the prisoner back? Did it show a weakness to say he had changed his mind? Or did it show a powerful kind of capriciousness, the kind that had an emperor building and destroying new palaces with a wave of his hand? Perhaps he could invent some reason...

But Beckett soon found himself daydreaming again.

Elizabeth, her beautiful dress now all torn to rags, flushed, lips swollen up from all the kissing. She would reach up to brush hair off her forehead, and her hand would leave a smudge of dirt. She was positively glowing with perspiration, a droplet cutting a clean path down her dusty throat to disappear into the disarray of her unfastened bodice. His mouth curved into a little smile that was contemptuous but also affectionate. "You're a mess."

Beckett jumped. He had said it out loud. My, that was embarrassing. If anybody had heard him muttering to himself like a madman... heavy breathing and all...

He marched at once to his door and flung it open. No one there. Thank Heaven for that.

He went back to his desk and sat back down and forced himself to focus on a plan to retrieve his little piratess.

("But I can't go back up to the house like this!" "Oh, you'll manage." Paternal, encouraging, firm. Seizing a handful of her hair. "I know: why don't you borrow some of the stable lad's clothes - there's a set right over there on the ground, it looks a bit filthy but I'm sure you don't mind - and sneak in the servants' entrance." Her look was priceless. Shocked, offended beyond measure, humiliated even. They both knew she would do it even before he reached for the laces of her ruined dress. "Go on. Put them on. Now.")

Focus, Cutler.

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The Flying Dutchman surfaced next to the Pearl and scared everyone half to death. "Go away!" Jack shouted. "We've got everything under control."

Barbossa rolled his eyes and flicked his spyglass open. "Well?"

"Well," Jones said from right beside him, "It seems our friend Lord Beckett requires the presence of one Elizabeth Swann, as well as her mysterious friend the captain of whatever ship I allegedly am sinking at this very moment. Meaning you," he added to Barbossa.

"No," Jack complained, "We need them."

"For what?"

Jack hesitated. "Well, suffice it to say that my plan is still in its formative stages, one might say its infancy, mate, and I therefore need all my-"

"Just as I thought, Sparrow, you're as poor as strategist as everything else." Jones clicked his claw impatiently. "I've no intention of dying because you think you might like to keep your friends with you. Elizabeth, Barbossa, you're coming with me. Jack will have to steal the heart on Isla Cruces without your help."

Lightbulb.

"As it so happens," Jack said haughtily, "I do have a plan, and my friends will not stay with me, and the heart will not be stolen on Isla Cruces, and in fact it will not even be me who steals it." He threw his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and explained: "You, love, willhead over to Davy's ship. He willtake you to Lord Beckett... in a manner of speaking. He will in fact tell Lord Beckett that you've been killed in the fight with this mysterious pirate vessel. You will sneak aboard Beckett's ship when he's not looking. You will then proceed to steal the heart out from under his very nose."

"How the blazes is that even remotely possible?" Barbossa burst in. "First of all, you've said it's under guard. Second, it's on a ship for God's sake - even if we could steal it, what exactly should we do with it then?"

The plan took shape. It was as perfectly absurd as any plan Jack had ever concocted, and he was thrilled with it. "You'll steal a longboat. You'll leave Beckett's ship-."

"Beckett will see-"

"Not," Jack interrupted, "If he's too busy defending his ship from a savage attack by the bloody Black Pearl, mate."

Barbossa made a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed, and not gape like an idiot. That could actually work. Once the heart was out of Beckett's possession, he couldn't call the fury of the Dutchman down on them and it would be just a fair fight between the two ships (fair, hah!). Of course the Pearl would win.

So that was one thing out of a hundred that wouldn't go wrong. A plan with approximately ninety-nine holes in it? That was better than what Jack usually came up with. Barbossa just hoped that the idiot's supernatural luck didn't desert them all now.

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TBC.

Don't worry - Beckett's not going to get her back. But I just couldn't resist taking a break from the plot to have a quick peek into his twisted little mind. Lord Beckett is so creepy I'm in love with him. Anyhow, next chapter it'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming, I promise.

If you've got this story on your favorites list and you haven't written a review yet, that's not fair! To those who have written: thanks! Saishlyimna: I can see Davy Jones as a pretty lonely guy. I keep wanting him to make friends with Elizabeth, but every time I put them alone together all they'll do is argue. I keep finding that he kind of hits it off with Barbossa, which is odd since I would have thought the two of them are old and crusty and similar enough to detest each other.

The giant final battle scene is taking shape in my head. I can't wait, it's going to be pretty funny. There's no word to describe it except chaotic. Total mass craziness of a scale even Jack could hardly imagine.