A/N: Thank you to my lovely reviewers! You are so kind! And JaxLass, if you're still reading, I have to give you credit for Jack's talking to the rats in this chapter... thank you for the idea!

Disclaimer: Guess what I'm going to do with all the angry 2-D characters below me? I'm going to...Parlay! Amazing! Not like POTC at all, which I don't own!

Chapter 17

The next morning, rainclouds marched along the flat gray palette of the sky, mist snaked over St. Kitts' hills from the sea, and the Extremely Formidable was readied to exit with an extremely precious cargo.

Admiral Rowe saw his pale daughter off with a fond embrace, but neither shed tears. This caused the general audience to marvel at their dignity. They marveled even more when Lady Rowe deliberately stepped over a horrendous knot in the gangplank. Almost every salty sailor had tripped over it while carrying some trunk or barrel aboard, and a group of little children had assembled to enjoy the curses and the panic when a burden plummeted to the waves. Now they sighed in disappointment.

A tiny breeze and palm fronds worked in tandem to get drips of water down audience members' necks.

Captain Hemmings solemnly shook the hands of Admiral Rowe and Captain Taylor before stepping aboard. Minutes later, the untethered Formidable slumped out of the bay, towed by two rowboats. Sailors gradually let down the Formidable's sails, which hung like limp laundry, some sections soaked and others dry.

Lady Rowe stood wistfully at the stern, dark hair curling in the dampness, hands folded on the drippy rail. Her maid stood a few paces back, making eyes at the helmsman.

Onshore, the audience stood regretfully, trying to ignore the fact that the entire earthworm population had decided to try sunbathing on the dock, just when it got rainy.

Beckett and Mercer were not among them. ('Them' being the audience, not the worms.)

Beckett and Mercer were having a very bad day. Yesterday had been impolitic and inconvenient and generally icky. Today was abysmal and ineffable and generally sticky (because of the moist weather).

Jack had disappeared. Beckett's wig wanted to sproing in multiple directions for joy at the rain. Mercer had a wet rear from sitting on a chair with a puddle in the seat. And Lady Rowe had left without saying goodbye to Beckett. This made Beckett sad inside, and that put him in an appalling temper. He truly became a diminutive dragon, stalking around Brimstone dressed in a rust-red, brooding coat and breeches. He set Mercer loose and that human bloodhound was everywhere at once with threats and demands.

Since cleanup had to continue in the inclement conditions, everyone was surly.

Assigned to a new kitchen, Rachel's father was working hard to maintain the fortress's spectacular dungeon cuisine. Unwilling to attend her lessons, Rachel was left at home above the stables with Sir Furry. She had spent the morning watching the dead in the courtyard be nailed into caskets and shipped out in wagon loads. Now she flew from a side door, skirts in white knuckled fists, eyes wide with fear. Only minutes earlier, she'd spotted Mercer stalking toward the stables, eyes lifted toward her window. She had to get to her father.

She ran across the courtyard. She tried not to look as she ran past the Marines nailing up caskets, but she couldn't help herself. And that was why she reeled to a stop.

In casket at the very end of the line, waiting for a lid, lay Insane Rob. His rags and stringy hair were plastered to his blue-white skin, revealing an emaciated body. Barely breathing, rain dripping down her cheeks, Rachel jerkily knelt down next to the casket, eyes burning with tears. She could see a bloodstain on his chest. The rain had washed much of the grime off him, leaving gray puddles beneath him. His eyes, cloudy green, were open, crinkled as if caught mid-smile. He looked like he could be smiling...

Raindrops mixing with tears, Rachel pulled the green ribbon from her hair and gently, gently laid it over the bloodstain. It lay there, a vivid line crossing out his injury like a teacher's correction. The rain plastered it down drop by drop.

Shaking, Rachel stood and stumbled the rest of the way across the courtyard and, dripping wet, hurried into the west wing and headed down, down down.

"Rachel!" he father exclaimed when she arrived, pale and wet in his new kitchen. "What are you thinking, gong through the rain like that?"

"Please, I just need to be with you," Rachel said through chattering teeth. His face softened. Minutes later she was perched on a barrel with a cloth around her shoulders, warmed by the small fire under a boiling pot. Crying surreptitiously, she wondered why Sparrow had flirted with her like she was a woman, for she had never felt so child-like and vulnerable in her entire life.

She stayed in her father's kitchen the entire day, leaving only to fetch Sir Furry for company. On this errand she didn't see Beckett or Mercer. She slowly relaxed.

"The first boat I ever had was a dresser drawer. A little bouncy but strangely satisfying, 'cept for the fact it didn't have a sail. Now I'm sure you were born on this tub so y'can't understand how important that little drawer was to me. 'Course, I can't remember what I named it...ah, we've company, gentlemen."

Bemused, Lorrie lifted her lantern higher as she slipped around a twelve-foot tower of crates and found Jack Sparrow perched at his leisure on her sea chest. He smiled his smile at her, taking in her simple dress and apron. She looked around the tiny space in this maze of cargo that was the Formidable's deepest hold. No one. "Who're you talking to? And how did you get out of the chest by yourself?"

"I climbed out," Jack said. "And I was talking to the rats."

"I'm sure it's lovely to converse with your relatives once again," Lorrie said dryly as she set the lantern beside him on the chest.

The corners of Jack's mouth went down. "You think you're a wit, don't you?"

"I think it's time to wash your wrist, for a start."

'''For a start'? Sounds promising."

She set down two pails. One was empty. The other had water and rags in it. "How does the wrist feel?" She sat down beside him and took his hand. It was limp, heavy, and warm. She lay on her leg and delicately began to undo the wrappings on his wrist.

"Right now, it feels apprehensive," Jack said, "but it likes you better'n me so it's happy, too. Thanks for asking, it says."

"That fever really has effected you." Lorrie pulled the bandage off and inspected the scabs. "This is doing quite well indeed." She looked at Jack, who was looking in the opposite direction. She smiled. "Can't bear to look, you big bloke you?"

"Don't mock me, love," he said to a crate. "You're not the one with the brand."

"I'll try not to gloat," Lorrie said graciously. Jack's lips twitched disgustedly, but he still did not turn. He hissed when she swabbed his healing skin, but made no more sound as she wrapped his wrist in fresh bandaging from her apron pocket. He wouldn't lift his hand from her leg and she had to put it back in his floury lap for him.

"Now. The water in this pail is for drinking," she stood briskly, "and you should drink as much as you can. The empty pail is your chamber pot. I'll bring some blankets for you later."

"Where are you taking me?" Jack slouched back, fingering the knot she'd made in his bandaging.

"Well, that depends. I know we will stop at Kingston before heading across the Atlantic. You can sneak off at Kingston or stay on, in which case you will end up in London."

"Too many people know me in London," Jack said. "I was just recently there, you know."

"Yes I know," she said softly, half turned away.

"The explosion came off rather well, didn't it?" Jack said.

She faced him now with a smile. "Oh yes. It was worth wearing that dreadful guard uniform."

"Y'have me agreement. Breeches never suited anyone so...delightfully."

Lorrie narrowed her eyes at him briefly. "When I came into your room on fake duty, you were already babbling about how combustible flour is. And the flour worked extremely well - you should have seen the size of the hole it blew. How did you know it would work?"

"Me Da told me in a dream. An' he's never been wrong."

"Right." Lorrie used every inch of her high London accent to mock the word. "Ah, well."

Jack's eyes were piercing and black in the lantern light. "I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you freed those slaves, though it's caused you such pain. I despise the trade of the century as Father's snobby friends called it. Though Father will never know."

"I notice you ruined dear Beckie's day, too."

"All the better," Lorrie muttered.

Jack smirked slowly. "How long till Kingston?"

"We'll weigh anchor at nightfall...seven days from now. If you wish to leave, I'll take you ashore in the chest, saying it's a gift for a friend. I know I have a friend in Kingston..."

"Seven days. That doesn't give us much time. Com'ere, Lady Lorrie."

The quiet allure in his invitation made her swallow. But she drew herself up. "Not now, Jack."

"You had time in London, an' circumstances were far worse."

"This isn't London, Jack. And you're too dangerous."

"Why, thank you."

"And in London, you'd just feasted on sweets. You probably taste like a pig sty right now."

His soft expression soured. She smiled coyly and waved as she left him alone with the lantern and the rats. "Until tonight, Jack."

When evening fell, Rachel was walking toward the stables and saw Lawrence watching her from his post nearby. She scampered to him.

He looked cold. His nose was red, and water was dripping off his hat. He gave her a confused, worried look. "Miss Hanley. You'll catch your death."

She laughed incredulously. "What about you? How long have you been out here?"

He sighed. "Nearly the whole day. But we have hot cider in the barracks. And everyone's in a better mood now that Agent Beckett and his monster are gone."

"Gone?" Rachel repeated, eyes widening.

"Aye. They left midday. In quite a hurry, too...all the better. Rachel? Where are you going?"

She shouted over her shoulder, "I have to pray!"

Thank you so much for reading!

"The early adventures of a young Hector Barbossa. About the 13 yr old boy who leaves home for the open sea, and the people and the events that shape his future as he becomes a ruthless and notorious pirate." This sound intriguing? You bet it does! Read Nytd's Naught But a Humble Pirate. She also has some wonderful Harry Potter fics for all you Harry Potter fans out there.

With the new movie out, how can you not read pokerfacejones's Indiana Jones and the Lost City..."Indiana Jones. Explorer, teacher, genious. Can he pull through another amazing adventure and rescue his previous love, along side his son?"