A/N: I belatedly researched how long it would take to go from St. Kitts to Kingston and discovered it was around seven days! The first section of this chapter takes care of that, and I made a change in the previous chapter. Sorry this was a day late, and thank you so much to all you wonderful reviewers, especially Nytd and Dizzles the Dizzy!

Disclaimer: Well, we've been talking and trying to figure out how we could divide Disney between like 10,000 characters. Not sure how to do that yet...I don't own POTC.

Chapter 18

Hold onto your hats, I'm going to push the fast forward button. We're going to jump to seven days from now, skimming over the voyage to Kingston. You may ask, Won't we miss lots of fun Jack-Lorrie time? Will we feel nauseous after being wrenched forward a week? What if some of the rats die?

My answer is: Lorrie will visit Jack a grand total of three brief times over the seven days, mostly because she needs to be present as Lady Rowe, and not hiding in the hold with a pirate who hasn't washed in at least a month.

No, you won't feel nauseous...but only if you buy our Magic Lozenge, with its incredible stomach-calming qualities, all yours for 10.99. We'll also throw in three barf bags if you call now.

If the rats die, don't worry. They'll show up in the stew that evening and therefore still be useful to mankind.

Kingston, Jamaica at sunset was a bustling, hazy city; a city floating in a gold cloud. The Extremely Formidable hung shyly back in the harbor, sending out a single longboat with two well-dressed passengers.

Lorrie was helped from a longboat just as the lamplighters came out onto the streets. Henry accompanied her, hefting her sea chest. The chest was strapped to the back of a carriage whose driver Lorrie acknowledged by name. Henry helped Lorrie into the carriage and then climbed onto the back like a proper footman. They left the docks and traced the waterfront, threading their way past the slums and climbing toward a cliff top neighborhood of elegant, fenced-in mansions. Quiet was falling with the darkness, and the lamps on the carriage seemed as brash as the clatter of the horse.

Lorrie took a deep breath and tried to relax. This wasn't the first time she'd taken a risk and it wouldn't be the last.

She heard a faint shout, and then the driver's "Whoa..." The carriage slowed. She stuck her head out the window and saw multiple soldiers in bright red uniforms standing in a blockade across the road.

She cursed and pulled back in.

A soldier came to her window, toting a lantern. He removed his hat. She wrung her hands at him "What is the meaning of this?"

"Colonel Quaid at yer service, m'lady. I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he said in a Cockney accent, "but we've been instructed by the East India Trading Company to hold you here."

The color drained from her cheeks. "'Hold us here'? I don't understand," she sputtered. "I've done nothing wrong and the hour is late!"

"We've reason to believe you 'ave a stowaway, m'lady," Colonel Quaid said grimly.

"Whatever are you talking about?" Lorrie's incredulity turned to irritation. "Of all the ridiculous things!" She clasped the window sill and leaned forward. "You had better hope your superiors get here quickly because I will not stand for this nonsense!"

"They're only minutes away," Colonel Quaid said humbly.

Lorrie eyed him. Brown eyes, weathered face. The type of man who would be agreeable to the point of groveling, and yet never give way. "If I'm to wait here, I don't want to spend the time looking at you or any of your lackeys!" She sat back so roughly the carriage swayed. "Leave me alone!"

"We've been ordered to search the carriage," the Colonel said even more humbly.

Lorrie sat forward again like a shot. "What?"

Suddenly, Henry appeared at the opposite window, making Colonel Quaid stiffen. "Is everything all right, miss?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. Half his face was lit red by the sunset. "Yes, but I would welcome your company."

Henry opened the door. Lorrie turned back to Colonel Quaid. "Fine, search if you must. Someone will pay for this."

He nodded, touching his forehead respectfully. Henry sat down beside Lorrie and closed the door.

Lorrie hit the roof with her fists, and then huddled down out of sight. "Hyaaa!" the driver howled, cracking his whip, and the carriage lurched into flight.

Lorrie heard the surprised shouts of the soldiers and then dreaded gunshots. She waited for the carriage to tumble out of control, but it thundered out of the neighborhood into a deteriorating road that gradually plunged into a heavily overgrown valley. Inside, Henry and Lorrie held onto the carriage and each other.

Then, a gunshot. The horse whinnied and lunged sideways, bringing the carriage around on two wheels. And then the carriage slammed horizontal again and everything was still except for the horse's wild snorting.

Lorrie and Henry breathlessly sat up. Lorrie reached for the door, but Henry touched her hand and got out first. The instant Henry's feet touched the ground, another gunshot rang and he spun and fell. Lorrie gave a shriek and shrank back long enough to pull out a small pistol from under her skirt.

A light fell over her and she brought the pistol up with a snarl, and then froze.

Beckett lifted a lantern, a surprised look on his face. "M'lady?"

She lowered the pistol. "Beckett." She brushed past him and climbed out. She looked to the left, and there was Mercer, standing holding the horse's bridle in one hand, a pistol in the other. The driver lay dead in the ditch. Rage boiled up her throat but then Henry groaned, and she knelt next to him. In the darkness, she could barely make out his pale face. "Where?" She took his hand.

"Right sholder, m'lady," he grated. "I've had far worse."

Empty hands shaking with anger, Lorrie stood and faced Beckett and Mercer. "What's going on?"

"We came to wait here on Mercer's hunch that you would break through our blockade," Beckett said quietly, stepping close. "He was right, as always. Why?"

"Why did you shoot my footman and driver?" Lorrie shrilled back.

"Because you broke through the blockade. I thought perhaps they were holding you hostage. Perhaps they conspired to break through, because I cannot believe that you would disobey the law like that."

"You're-" Lorrie bit back denial that they would ever take her hostage and studied his face. In the light of the lantern, it was almost trusting...but it was mostly blank. She blinked innocently. "Why was there a blockade?"

"Because we have reason to believe that Jack Sparrow was smuggled out of Brimstone Fortress in the very chest behind me. Mercer?"

Mercer stashed his pistol and stepped up to the chest where it was still strapped to the carriage. The horse began to graze.

"I can't believe you're worried about a stupid chest when my footman lies bleeding on the ground!" Lorrie exploded. "You truly are as heartless as they say!"

Beckett's face hardened. "And you? I am finding it hard to believe that you're as harmless as I've been led to believe."

She started forward; he blocked her. She watched, white-faced, as Mercer undid the latches and pulled the lid up. "Oi, where's the driver?" came an unmistakable voice from inside the chest. "I'm going t'kill him. Who're you?"

Lorrie closed her eyes. Mercer reached in and pulled Jack Sparrow out of the chest. The pirate fell to the ground, held up by Mercer's grip on his arm, and looked around. "I've gotta get better friends," he mumbled.

Beckett rounded on Lorrie, mouth set and dangerous. "Tell me you had no hand in this."

For a moment, she was puzzled at the look in his eyes. The hazel orbs were almost pleading in the lamplight. But she could not be sure. She looked beyond Beckett to Mercer, who gazed at her knowingly. A warm breeze hissed through the lonely trees and a hundred insects buzzed.

Then Mercer shoved Jack to the ground and stomped a foot onto his chest. The air exploded from Jack's lungs, and as Lorrie watched, Beckett smirked.

She drew herself up, up, up, fists clenched at her sides. "Mercer is right. The only hand in this is mine. And if you think that a little EITC agent and his pet dog can stop me, you've got a sad lesson to learn!"

For a moment, Beckett's eyes were wide. Then they iced over and he turned his smirk on her. "Oh, I don't think so. Now sit next to your dear footman." She didn't move. "Now!"

"Don't raise...your voice to a lady!" Henry suddenly gasped. A pistol was cocked. And then it was Lorrie's turn to smirk as she took a step to the left, revealing Henry aiming her tiny pistol at Beckett's head. "Don't move," the wounded man said.

Beckett looked to Mercer, just as Mercer aimed his primed pistol at Lorrie's head. "I have a better idea," Beckett said. "You drop that toy before Mercer blows a hole in your beautiful mistress."

Entire body trembling, Henry looked to a very pale Lorrie. She gave a tiny nod. He relaxed, his eyes rolling back in his head as his arm dropped and he fell unconscious.

Beckett took one step and scooped up the pistol. He inspected it, leaving it cocked, and turned to Lorrie. She raised her chin defiantly.

"We're going to get back into the carriage and return to the Formidable," he said evenly, "where you will be confined to quarters until we reach London. Aiding a criminal is a serious offense. As for Jack..." his eyes glittered, "he will not be alive to accompany us, I'm afraid."

"If Jack isn't there when you accuse me of aiding him," Lorrie said, "what are the chances anyone will believe you?"

He smiled. "That will not be a concern, Miss Rowe." He came up to her and stood so close they almost touched. He held the pistol near his waist, aimed at her. "You are going to disappoint many people."

"There's one person I'm happy to have disappointed already," she hissed.

Beckett narrowed his eyes, moved closer. She stiffened, narrowing her eyes right back. He lifted the lantern and looked over her face quickly, intensely, as if trying to memorize it.

"Get in the carriage," he said in a raw voice, and shoved the pistol against her middle to encourage her.

At that moment, he was between Lorrie and Mercer's pistol. And at that moment, Jack Sparrow grabbed Mercer's foot and yanked on it. Mercer staggered. He twisted his foot free. And he pulled the trigger before he knew what he was doing. The bullet whizzed past Beckett's head and made the horse shy with a neigh. Shocked, Mercer dropped the discharged pistol and pulled a fresh one from his belt. Seeing that his master was unhurt, he turned the new firearm on the pirate and-

He froze, staring down the barrel of the pistol Jack had produced out of thin air and was now aiming up at his nose.

"Drop it," Jack growled. Mercer's pistol hit the ground, and Jack snatched it up. He seemed delighted to now have two.

Lorrie's small pistol had also changed hands in the uproar. She now aimed it at Beckett's head.

The foursome stared at each other for a minute, and then Jack climbed to his feet and faced Mercer, who watched him like a cornered wolf. Jack moistened his lips and grimaced at the taste. Then with one drunken motion, he knocked Mercer in the temple- thunk. Mercer folded to the ground, unconscious. Jack then turned to Beckett, who was still under Lorrie's guard.

"Giving me this pistol before leaving the Formidable's prob'ly the best thing y'ever did, darlin'," he said to Lorrie as he minced up beside her. They both looked at Beckett, who glared defiantly. Then Jack aimed both his pistols at Beckett, too, with an absurdly pleased expression. Beckett wrinkled his nose - Jack smelled like a compost pile.

They stood there, Jack and Lorrie with their pistols, and Beckett with his lantern. Bugs were beginning to swarm around the lantern's light.

"I assume you're pointing those at me for a purpose," Beckett said face stony. "Do get on with it."

"Y'mean shoot you?" Jack said. "Well, that's not really what we want t'do. We're just waiting till you break down an' cry."

Beckett shot him a black look.

"Or...you tell us what your favorite flower is!" Jack said brightly, swaying a little.

"Jack," Lorrie muttered.

"So we can put th'flower on his grave," Jack said indignantly. "Just trying t'be polite."

Beckett's eyes flicked between them with growing desperation. "Damn you, Sparrow, and your games." He swallowed and looked down, trying to compose himself.

"Don't leave Lorrie out," Jack said. "Far as I'm concerned, she's the Mistress of All Games."

"Oh, thank you Jack," Lorrie said with a smile.

"I think you're stalling because you don't know what to do," Beckett rallied, lifting his chin.

"I think Beckie likes lilies of the valley," Jack said. "So small'n white and always smelling perfect."

Lorrie snorted. "Enough fooling around. He's your nemesis. Do we tie him up or kill him?"

Jack stuck one pistol in his belt and considered. Night had fallen completely and the lantern brought out the dark circles under his eyes. Then he looked at Beckett with a wicked grin.

Ten minutes later, Lorrie was tying an unconscious Mercer's hands to his ankles with a leather rein. She had to reach up to do so because Mercer was draped over the gnarled arm of a kwihi tree, perhaps eight feet off the ground. The carriage sat right next to her, tilted in the rough underbrush. It had been difficult to bring it deep into the forest, but the horse had a patient disposition and hadn't given much trouble. Lorrie had climbed atop the carriage, dragging Mercer, before draping him over the branch. Her hair was coming down, but she was smiling.

Jack, far too weak to help, held the lantern and made sure Beckett stood with his back to the kwihi's trunk. The rope that had bound the sea chest to the carriage lay at his feet. "Start thinkin' of strategies, mate," Jack said. "Yer crony's going to need all the help he can get."

Beckett had lost his wig. Pale, he didn't reply. He stared at Mercer, tied in a loop around a branch with huge foliage at its end. Strategies? There was no way for Mercer to slide off. He was good and trapped, and Beckett's own fate...a bug landed on his neck and he slapped it.

Lorrie finished knotting the rein with a flourish and then walked up to Jack, wiping her forehead.

"Beautiful, Lady Lorrie," Jack said. "This's a story everyone'll love to hear."

"'Everyone?'" Beckett scrutinized Lorrie. "How many are you? What are you?"

She looked at him. "I'm a woman far too fond of getting her own way."

"Take the carriage back to the road, Lorrie," Jack said quietly. "I'll join you."

Her mouth twitched grimly as she turned away. Jack waited as she coaxed the horse around, and then the carriage was gone with its lanterns and it was only Jack and Beckett standing in a small circle of light.

They met each other's eyes. Beckett raised his eyebrows impatiently: Get on with it.

Jack bent to pick up the rope and almost died. Beckett had produced a dagger and extended it, and Jack almost leaned right into it and slit his own throat. He froze, and then straightened gingerly. Beckett's dagger followed, coming to rest just below his Adam's apple.

"Drop the pistol, you mangy rat," he spat.

Jack did as he was told.

"You can't win, Jack," Beckett said, "though you have been a worthy adversary. I wouldn't have expected a common flea-bitten dog to manage that."

"I try," Jack gulped.

"But you've been losing from the beginning. I sank your ship. I branded you. And now, I'm going to kill you."

"Your cuffs'll get bloody," Jack whispered.

"I do have more than one coat, Jack," Beckett smiled, and then turned grim. "I will never offer you an escape route via my emotions again. You taught me well and I thank you."

"Well, there's one thing I forgot to teach you."

"And what's that?"

"Not to gloat when y'feel victorious."

"Sorry if I fault you for hypocrisy," Beckett sneered.

"Being lower life forms, pirates're supposed to gloat," Jack told him, and then ducked back, seizing Beckett's wrist before the agent could slash at him. Going on the offensive, Jack shoved Beckett hard, pinning him to the tree trunk. The knife was between them, they grabbed it with both hands, straining, shaking. Jack managed to get the dagger pointed at Beckett, and Beckett tried to knee him. Jack dodged, and to keep the knife away, ducked to the right and yanked, setting Beckett off-balance. Then Jack kneed him twice in the belly. Beckett choked, curling, and Jack pried the knife out of his hand just before he tumbled to the ground.

Gasping for breath on his side, Beckett almost moved, but Jack stooped and put the dagger where he could see it. He went still.

"You're right about me losing from the beginning," Jack panted. "You did sink my ship. You did brand me. But y'forgot it doesn't matter who's winning or losing in the beginning - it's the end what counts." He grabbed Beckett's short hair and pulled his face around. Beckett stared up at him, eyes wide, paralyzed.

Jack looked at his bound wrist. "Me last lesson t'you - how it feels to be marked." Baring his teeth, he slashed an X on the side of Beckett's head, shearing away hair and leaving two oozing lines.

Beckett barely flinched, breathing in quickly.

"I know you'll cover that wif a wig," Jack said, hurling the dagger into the brush. "But they'll still be there, underneath." He leaned his face close to Beckett's, and once again, green-gold eyes stared into chocolate brown. "You're a marked man, Cutler. An' I never want to see you again."

He stood mechanically and took up the lantern. The last Beckett saw of him was a haggard, pale face with a grim, tight mouth and black, black eyes.

Then Jack shuffled off, taking the light with him.

Utter, silent darkness fell like a pall.

Please tell me if this was really confusing...TBC!

Check out Dizzles the Dizzy's Come Sail Away. This is an extremely humorous look into Jack's first stay at the rumrunner's island and will brighten your day!