A/N: Many thanks to Jennifer Lynn Weston, Starling Rising, kweenofmagic, Pirate Trixi, quilldragon, and Panzergal for your reviews. You are wonderful!

Disclaimer: Well. They've surrounded my tree. I need a white hanky to surrender with. Anybody got one? I don't own POTC!

Chapter 16

"I'm Lorrie-"

"And I'm Rachel-"

"And we've gotten you away from Beckett and Mercer," Lorrie said quickly. "Now we must ge-"

"Hold yer horse tails." Jack frowned up at Lorrie. "Have we met before?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "We have to get you out of here. The Extremely Formidable will be leaving within the next day and if we can get you on it, you can be saved."

Rachel and Jack considered approvingly. Then they looked at Lorrie at the same time, identical questions in their eyes.

"You're just a cook," Rachel said bluntly. "How can you know when the Formidable is leaving?"

Jack gave Rachel an appreciative glance. "Read me mind, luv."

Rachel blushed.

"Let's just say I'm on very good terms with one of the sailors," Lorrie said shortly.

"Y'have me approval for certain," Jack said slyly. "But what'll Miss Regina and Lady Chester think? Oh, and the illustrious Admiral?"

Lorrie's face went stone-hard and she pulled back a hand as if to slap him. Rachel gasped and rising, caught Lorrie's wrist. "What're you thinking?" she hissed. Lorrie glared, lips trying to form words.

"Hit a man while he's down?" A grin bloomed on Jack's face, crinkling his eyes, making dimples in his cheeks, and revealing his glorious gold teeth. "My kind 'a lass."

"What is going on?" Rachel demanded. She caught Lorrie's flustered blue eyes and was suddenly very afraid. "Tell me!"

Jack spoke up. "Can I give a hint-why thank you. Lady Rowe doesn't want you to know that she's Lorrie; Lorrie doesn't want you to know that she's Lady Rowe. An' she didn't want me to know, either. Which shows a disturbing lack of cerebral utilization..."

Rachel released Lorrie's wrist like it was aflame and sank back on her heels. "You're Lady Rowe?"

Lorrie's mouth was a harsh line. She gave Jack a searing glance. "Yes. Yes, I am. But it means nothing. I am still Lorrie, and you had better not let 'Lady Rowe' get in your mind's way. We cannot afford it."

Rachel nodded, cowed. "Why're you doing this?"

"It's quite obvious, love," Jack spoke up. He looked up at Lorrie, eyes piercing. "Isn't it?" He reached over with his good hand and took her hand, bringing it to his cracked lips.

Color appeared high on Lorrie's cheekbones and she pulled her hand away. "There's no time to discuss our philosophies. You're going into a casket, and then we need to get out of here without being seen."

"Huzzah," Jack said, with all the enthusiasm of a sun-warmed cat

"How are you going to sneak a casket into the cargo? Oh," Rachel exclaimed in surprise as Jack took her hand and kissed it, too.

"Didn't want t'leave you out, darling," Jack said graciously.

"Thank...you." She pulled her hand away and shook her head to clear it. "And how are we going to get the casket from here to the ship? This place is going to be crawling with guards soon."

"What she said," Jack agreed sleepily.

Lorrie gave a little smirk. "That won't be a problem. So Beckett goes crying to Captain Taylor and demands men to track down an escaped prisoner...do you know how many escaped prisoners are running around right now? Taylor will flick him on the hand and tell him to sort this out himself."

"With Mercer around, sorting this out won't be too difficult," Rachel muttered.

"Especially if we sit like hens and discuss every possibility under the bloody sun," Lorrie shot back. She captured Rachel in an intense gaze. "Now here's what you must do."

A minute later, the door was closing behind Rachel's resolute back. Lorrie let out a breath and looked at Jack. He looked at her groggily. "That dress is-"

She shushed him sharply. Then she cocked her head tensely. Footsteps, quite a few of them, were approaching.

"They need caskets for the dead," Jack said flatly.

"And here's a nice supply," Lorrie responded just as flatly, flipping a hand at the towers of caskets all around. Their eyes met.

Oh, no.

For Rachel and Lady Rowe's maid, it was dislike at first sight. The maid looked down her nose. Rachel, who had just walked through a resplendent part of the fort she had never visited, tried to look defiant.

"Lady Rowe has sent me to fetch her largest chest," she said unsteadily. "Empty."

"Really. Well, you won't be able to carry it yourself."

"H-Henry's supposed to help me," Rachel said.

The maid looked at her blankly. Rachel dug her nails into her palms and tried not to panic. What if Henry didn't exist?

"I'll have Henry bring it out," the maid said softly, amusement at Rachel's huge eyes making dimples in her cheeks. Rachel was irritated but too unnerved to show it. The maid closed the door in her face.

Rachel took a deep breath and scanned the luxurious hall behind her. Wide, carpeted, with paintings and tables and flowers, this was another planet. Rachel still wasn't sure she could breathe the air.

When the door opened, Rachel jumped. A head of curly black hair topped a dark-skinned, muscular man in his mid-twenties. Clad in simple blue breeches, a white shirt, and a blue waistcoat, he had a sea chest big enough for two dogs perched effortlessly on one shoulder. The smile he shot her was polite, and once he was out the door, he kept walking. Rachel scurried to catch up.

"Where are we going?" Henry asked as they turned a corner. He had a deep voice.

"Out of the fortress, around the bend in the road, and up a small lane to an abandoned guard house. It's half-burnt down. They'll meet us behind it. If anyone asks, we're taking some of Lady Rowe's things to the Formidable."

They turned a corner and went down a flight of stairs to ground level. Henry glanced at her and said with a wink, "If you're to accompany me, you'd better find something to carry."

"Oh." Panicky, Rachel glanced around, and then snatched a runner from a decorative table, sliding it out from under a vase. On the wall in front of her, an obscure naval officer glared from a piece of canvas. She spared one nervous glance for the severe painting, and then ran to catch up with Henry, who was opening a door. Sunlight poured in, and smoke-smell.

Rachel stuck close to Henry all the way across the courtyard. She kept a constant watch all around, afraid that her father was looking for her. But then they approached the gate. Rachel stopped dead in her tracks, staring at a tall, familiar figure: Lawrence. He was in the gateway, talking to a woman and her young son. Other Marines stood around, rigid and alert.

Henry walked a few steps before he noticed he was alone. He turned. "Coming?"

Rachel tried to weigh everything properly. She might be able to bluff through...Lawrence might tell her father...

Henry shrugged and kept walking. With a muffled groan, Rachel scurried up beside him. They reached the gate together, where a blond Marine asked them to stop. "Where are you headed?"

"The Formidable," Henry said. "Lady Rowe's having her things moved out."

"Rachel?" Lawrence came up, puzzled. "What's this?"

Henry repeated himself.

Lawrence's puzzlement didn't diminish. In fact, he started to wear his flat-eyed look. "Rachel isn't a servant of Lady Rowe's."

"No, but they need all the help they can get," Rachel bravely spoke up. "Father thought it would be safer for me to spend time outside of the fortress, especially because of the explosion. I want to be busy."

Lawrence cocked his head ever so slightly, his eyes boring into hers. "Fine, then. We just need to see into the chest."

"Lieutenant, unless you want Lady Rowe's lingerie blowing all over the hillside, this chest had better stay closed."

Lawrence's eyes widened at Rachel's frank words, as nearby Marines grinned and murmured among themselves. Lawrence looked to the blond Marine, who was blushing up to his eyebrows. They conferred quietly.

"We can let this one go," Lawrence finally said. "I know Rachel. She's trustworthy."

Rachel's conscience angrily handed her a one-way ticket that said, This is Your Guilt Trip. Have a fidgety time.

Numbly, she took the ticket and followed Henry down the dirt road.

Lorrie was a special lady. You could tell by the fact that she carried enough money for formidable bribes at all times. Now, most of that money clinked in the pockets of five Marines who had loosely nailed a casket lid over Jack's face and were were rushing said casket up a last flight of stairs. They came to the top and burst through a door into the tiny tack room. The stables.

"Take a breather, lads," a lieutenant gasped. They half-caught their breath and then, sweating, they silently maneuvered through the small room and emerged in the wide corridor of stall doors. Lorrie stood at the far end, beckoning. She led them to the shaded entrance to the stables, where a farmer and his wagon sat waiting. The farmer slouched at the head of the wagon gave them one bored glance as they came up. The two stable hands who were mucking stalls didn't even lift their heads. Clearly, everyone and Lorrie's purse had had a conversation as well.

The Marines grunted as they shoved the casket into the low bed of the wagon. With the farmer's help, Lorrie pulled the casket to the front of the bed and arranged half-empty crates, sacks, and barrels to hide it.

"We must leave before we're seen," the lieutenant pleaded. Lorrie flicked a hand at him and they hastened back into the stables, headed for the lower levels and empty caskets.

Lorrie climbed up beside the farmer, who clucked to his sturdy horse. As the the wagon rattled into the sunlight, Lorrie's eyes scanned the courtyard. Then her eyes flicked up to the battlements and fixed on the rigid figure of her father. He was looking over the courtyard. If he noticed the farm girl who stared at him for an instant, he didn't show it.

They were stopped at the gate. The farmer complained to the Marines that he'd hardly sold half his produce before the blasted blast went off, and now no one cared about butternut squash and tough green beans. Lorrie sat next to the farmer and made eyes at every male in sight. She focused on a blond-haired Marine that seemed to be in charge. He warmed under her attention, hardly listening to the farmer at all.

However, the Marine beside the blond one, a bloke with dark hair and gray eyes, was less pliant. He said something sympathetic to the farmer, and then circled toward the back of the wagon. Lorrie quickly climbed over the seat and into the bed of the wagon. "Did you know that if you stick green beans under your lip like this," she slid one bean in place, "and this, you look like a vampire?" She grinned at the Marine, giggling wildly. He jerked back a little at the sight.

When the blond Marine put a hand on the side of the wagon, Lorrie lunged as if to bite, barking hoarsely. The blond Marine flinched back and exchanged a perturbed glance with his mate.

"Watch when I push this tomato onto my nose!" Lorrie squealed.

"Have a safe journey home," the Marines told the unfortunate farmer and his crazy daughter, and watched them go.

"I have a splinter."

That was the first thing Jack said when Henry finally pried the lid off his casket. Jack held up a finger.

"Come on you dewberry," Lorrie muttered tensely.

In the shadow of the burnt-out guard house, she, Rachel, and Henry helped Jack out of the casket and into the trunk. On Henry's shoulder, the trunk had looked big. When Jack got into it however, it became quite small. Jack confirmed this verbally and vehemently as he curled up inside. Lorrie just patted his head unsympathetically and said she hoped he didn't have to use a privy any time soon.

"Haven't used one fer days; why start now?" was Jack's unreassuring response.

The lid slammed and the latches clicked. Henry, with strength that made Rachel's mouth drop open, heaved the trunk onto his back and started off toward the main road. Rachel moved to follow, but Lorrie grabbed her arm.

"You can't. You have to go back," Lorrie said. "It's bad you came this far, with Henry."

"You didn't tell me not to," Rachel said defensively.

"Rachel. I know. I'm sorry." Lorrie put her hands on Rachel's shoulders. "Cutler and Mercer aren't stupid. In a few hours, they'll be scouring the fortress and the docks, and they may find out that you left the fortress in the company of a servant with a man-sized trunk."

Rachel's eyes widened.

"They'll come after you," Lorrie said. "Now. If you come with me and are seen at the docks, it will make it even worse. You need to get back into the fortress and hope that those monsters don't suspect you."

"Hope they don't suspect me?" Rachel's voice was squeaky.

"If they do, is there someone who can help you?"

"My father, maybe...Lawrence..."

"Lawrence?"

"He's a lieutenant. He was at the gate."

"Brown hair? Gray eyes?"

Rachel nodded. Lorrie smiled. "He wouldn't flirt. I knew he was taken. My congratulations."

"He's not mine!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Do amend that," Lorrie winked. "Stay with your father, and know where Lawrence is if you can. If there's trouble, they can protect you. I will also put in a word with Captain Taylor. You'll be fine."

Rachel nodded, and kept nodding. Lorrie squeezed her shoulders. "Couldn't've done it without you, missy." Then she turned and, lifting up her skirts, ran after Henry.

Rachel leaned against a blackened post and put her face in her hands.

Beckett took a wrong turn somewhere. The air became smokier and smokier and he knew that he was headed straight for the explosion site. But the escaped prisoner was still coming, whirling his hot pokers like scythes, so fast that Mercer was forced to run on Beckett's heels.

Rubble spotted the floor. Pained cries could be heard between their pursuer's howls. Suddenly, they came around a corner and there it was: a hole in Brimstone's gut. Two levels of prison cells formed the walls of the hole. A massive mountain of rubble was crawling with Marines who splashed water on the last little flames. Sun flooded the opening, and blue sky was above.

Beckett and Mercer ran straight to the now-staring Marines. "Shoot him, shoot him!" Beckett cried.

Mercer grabbed a sidearm right off the belt of a surprised Marine. He whirled, cocking the weapon, and then stopped.

The insane prisoner's glowing brands fell to the ground with clangs. He stood utterly still, head thrown back to greet the sun that washed over him. He began to lift his palms toward the sky, joyful tears streaming from his eyes.

Mercer pulled the trigger.

Ignoring what he was sure had been a gunshot, Admiral Rowe strode to meet his daughter as she climbed out of the carriage donated for her use. Henry helped her. Dressed in white muslin sprinkled with yellow and blue flowers, her hair loose, she looked fresh and happy. And confused.

"How was your picnic?" the Admiral asked.

"Delightful...what has happened?" she demanded tremulously.

He took her delicate, gloved hands. "A huge explosion in the underlevels. I've decided that it's not safe for you to be here. You leave on the Formidable tomorrow morning."

She pouted. "But this is so thrilling! And why must I go when you stay?"

"Because if you're blown up by a second explosion, many people will be sad."

"More than if you were hurt? Don't say things like that."

"People will be sad including me." Rowe noticed and dismissed a bit of flour on her arm. "I need you safe. Once this is resolved, I'll follow you back to London. You're not afraid of traveling alone?"

"Was I ever?" she smiled at him, then looked worriedly at the explosion site. "This is so distressing. So tiring. I must get inside and rest."

Admiral Rowe watched her go, followed solicitously by Henry. He nodded to himself. Good decision.

Yes, indeed.

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