"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest/yo ho ho and a bottle of rum."

Blast Gibbs for getting that song stuck in his head, Jack winced, tiptoeing down the stone spiral staircase of the prison. With each step, the stench of rotting meat permeated more and more until it blended in with the air so well that Jack decided holding his breath would be a fruitless effort. The wardens outside busied themselves with prodding a skeleton of a man so emaciated all that was left of him was his nose and spine. Jack conjured the image of a bird in a cage when he crept past them, the ebony of the night sky concealing him and the blackbirds circling overhead.

Going in with only one pistol and a knife, he kept an eye on the steps, knowing it was too much to expect a sword or even a loose chain to just be left discarded. His eyes watered as the odor blew over him at the end of the staircase. Lifting a torch out of its holder just to the side of the doorway, Jack leapt into the dark room with it held out in front of him.

From the ceiling, rows of bones dangled, most of them full skeletons extending almost six feet down. A buzzing resounded down at his knees. Adjusting the torch, he could see specks of flies hovering over pink and orange lumps, some tinged with a milky white hue. Sliding his leg out to make his way around the sea of muscles and ligaments, he skidded on the slippery surface. Sighing at the fact only the bottoms of his boots were sullied, he remembered making the choice to leave his coat on the Pearl. If he fell and the hem of his coat brushed against this slimy mess, it wouldn't do to keep it after that. He would have just had to give the order for the ship to make port somewhere so he could burn it. Just to be extra cautious, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Falkenburg?" he hissed into the darkness. Further into the torture chamber, he eyed fresher bodies hanging from the ceiling, chained by the wrists.

A hoarse, phlegm-filled cough echoed back.

"Falkenburg!" he whispered louder, maneuvering around the maggot-infested mounds of flesh. Making sure his trousers were tucked tightly into his boots, he wound around to the back corner on his left. The man was all ribs, purple blotches plaguing his skin. Deep-set eyes stared down at Jack, violet sacks dripping below his eyes. His arms were positioned above him, hung from the ceiling like a rabbit. Jack bit his lip. He'd planned on freeing the man once he found him, but Captain Falkenburg seemed about ready to snap like a twig at the slightest touch. "Just sit tight there, my good man. We'll have you out of here and a member of me crew before you can say 'a pirate's life for me.'"

"No way…out," Falkenburg coughed. Jack held his breath, climbing atop a little podium reserved for hanging prisoners. He cringed when he could not tell what was rope and what was skin. The rest of the poor buggers looked like they had been chained to the hooks on the ceiling.

"There's always a way out, mate." Jack took out a small knife and began sawing at the thick strands.

"You…ack, come for the hide?" Only the man's eyes seemed to move. "Pocket."

"I got one more," Jack said, ignoring the information. "Just a couple rules now. I'm the captain, no discussion there. Second rule, if you get the order to douse the lights, you douse the lights. The Pearl's not solid black for nothing. Third rule…well, pirate ships don't have that many rules…as a rule, ha ha, but we are a sorry lot what could benefit from some. Hope you like sweet grog." Running out of rambling, Jack peered down. The eyes that reacted with such surprise to hearing a human voice now lay still.

"Falkenburg?" Jack asked, tapping the side of the man's face. Hopping down from the podium, he pricked the man's exposed torso with his knife. "Sorry I couldn't get hear sooner, mate. But…" Jack said, eyes drifting to Falkenburg's trouser pockets, "since your last act was one of charity, I believe a flight of angels'll sing thee to thy rest. God speed." Digging through both of them at the same time, he felt the soft, slightly frayed hide and rolled it up.

About to blow out the torch once he made his way back to the doorway, he remembered to just place it back on the wall. Sneaking up the stairs would prove harder than sneaking down them. He kept his knife out. Not like this place needs anymore guts lying all over, he mused, but when desperate times arise…

The caged men outside remained, pecked away by the lingering blackbirds, their screams flying over Jack's head and pulling at his heart. Keeping his eyes straight ahead of him, Jack concentrated on keeping his stance straight, still a problem after all this time. Really, it wasn't so bad, he had convinced himself. Everyone just mistook him for a staggering drunk and never expected any foresight or observations from a man who still practiced walking straight lines in the privacy of his cabin. Of course, Jack thought with a smirk, he liked to exploit all those assumptions and exaggerated his speech and gait even further.

Where were the wardens?

At the end of the narrow bridge leading to the main building of the labyrinthine prison, the wardens heaved massive wooden boxes out into the black emerald sea. Coffins, Jack observed, the heads of the nails glistening in the torchlight, dozens splayed out. Crawling behind them, he watched the wardens pound the nails in and dump the contents. Each one plunged far from the jagged rocks just below the building, and small wonder considering the arms of the men.

Jack scrambled over to one of the coffins in the pile and lifted the heavy lid, his arm tensing at the burden. A small, ragged body lay inside, an eyeless grin looking up at him. The smell dove into his throat and grabbed at his stomach, straining to pull it up out of his mouth. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he wiggled inside the coffin with the corpse, its frame narrow and petite, either that of a woman or a boy. Straddling it, he let his legs slide down further until both their hips touched. Face to face with his nose-less, hairless companion, he waited.

Had there been more room, he could have pulled the hide from his pocket and examine it. Too late now as to whether the key was actually drawn on it or not. He'd sail back to Tortuga and wallop Gabriel and Anamaria both if the stories all turned out to be hoaxes. Somehow, however, he knew the rolled up clue in his pocket to be genuine, and soon enough, he'd see the key itself.

At last, he felt the sensation of being lifted. Foreign conversation muffled its way into the coffin before the pounding of a hammer. Jack shifted his legs to avoid the rusty nails driving their way through the lid. Again, he felt the coffin being lifted by the men, followed by a jerky swaying back and forth. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the fall about to come. If he vomited now, he would just have to lie in it, inhaling it, feeling it soaking up his shirt. Ramming into the side of the coffin, he closed his eyes even tighter.

The fall lasted a lifetime, ending in a nauseating smack into the water. Wedged in between the corpse and the side of the coffin, Jack's arm and side throbbed from the hard splash. Narrow streams of water slithered their way into the coffin, shiny worms tapping against his boots. Finally, the water regurgitated it with a loud gurgle. Ah, time to get out. Fumbling off of the corpse as best he could, he reached for his pistol.

XXX

"Come on, snap to, and make sail. You know how this works. Quick! Quick!" Jack snapped at the crew, retreating back into his cabin. Gibbs did quite well playing dumb in front of them, especially in front of Leech, irritating little bugger. Smiling, he inhaled the air within the cabin—odorless, all evidences of dead bodies good and absent, he thought, collapsing onto his bed.

"I love me bed," he sighed, burrowing in a little more before lifting his shirt up enough to see the red mark down his side from knocking against that death-carrier. The cabin swayed upon the sea, cluttered with charts and books and souvenirs from the last year. How Barbossa had managed to keep the cabin so sparse and clear boggled his mind. He couldn't resist a satisfied snort to emit after thinking of that name. It really hadn't been all that long ago, when he shot Barbossa and…

"Jack," Gibbs said, opening the cabin door and staring down at him.

"Bloody hell, Gibbs! I could have been doing things of a secretive nature in here."

"Sorry, but it can't be helped. We, I, it's come to my attention…anything wrong, Jack?"

"Besides expecting Davy Jones to come wiping his tentacles all over my ship, you mean?" Jack growled. "No, other than that minor detail, all is right with the world."

"I wouldn't ask, but since ye know what the key looks like now, I thought that might 'liven your spirits a little."

"Well, it doesn't."

"Oh. Well, we was just talking, Marty and me, and for a while now…"

"For a while now? Been harboring up some thoughts about me, some assumptions, have ye?" Jack stood, taking step after step towards Gibbs. "Tell me honestly if any of them neighbor mutinous ones. You'll at least do me that courtesy."

"I'd think you'd know me by now that that wouldn't be the case."

"I've trusted a lot of people I shouldn't." He bent down and opened one of the drawers under his bed. Bringing out a glossy brown bottle, he snatched up two glasses and poured the two of them some of the dark liquid inside before passing one of the glasses to Gibbs.

"Is this brandy?" Gibbs asked.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what it is." Jack took a swig. Whiskey. Well, he'd been close.

"So then, whatever's eatin' ye up…it's got nothin' to do with me?"

Jack laughed. For all Gibbs' knowledge and experience, it could really be like sailing with a child sometimes.

"Ye wrangled me up a crew for the Pearl, did ye not? Here ye are in me cabin drinkin' what may or may not be brandy. You're lettin' Leech infect you with his stupidity."

"I do hate that man," Gibbs admitted. "Well, since ye've got the hide finally, I can tell the crew to expect merrier times ahead, can't I?"

Oh, get out and get out now, Jack wanted to cry out, to give him a good hard kick in the bollocks, but this was Gibbs who was talking to him. It was Gibbs just checking on him, like Mum did when he'd been too quiet at times. She'd nag away, wearing her heart on her sleeve and trying to pass her own vulnerability she was feeling onto him.

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, teeth gritted only a fraction, "if in the event I am bothered or put out beyond any rational thought, I would surely confide in you before any of those also present."

"You know best, Captain," Gibbs whispered, turning and leaving the cabin.

Jack lied back down, but now sleep refused to come. It had been so close before Gibbs barged in wanting to talk, but by now it decided to have some sport and hide somewhere. So Gibbs and Marty had been talking, eh? And from the sounds of it, they'd been talking a good long while about what could possibly be bothering old Jack. Well, let them ponder it a little more. He went over to his table and spread the charts out. Maybe sleep would come out of hiding if it thought he didn't want to see it. He stared at the hide, the black outline of a key staring back at him.

Of course she bothered him. Why wouldn't she?

Walking across a sea of flesh had kept his mind good and occupied, but alone, at night, the same thoughts always entered his head, and he dreaded them as much as an eternity of servitude on the Flying Dutchman. He'd gone back months ago, trying to throw Norrington off the scent. Or at least that was what he'd convinced himself the reason was when he took his ship and his entire crew back to Port Royal. Then a novice swordswoman gussied up in her nightgown, it still shocked him that, of the two of them, he had been the one to make a fool of himself that night.

"I'm engaged," she had said, just when he had asked her to come with him. Women. How bothersome they could be at times. Sure, every woman he'd been with sang his praises, except one, but they paraded around claiming they loved him and couldn't get enough of him, yet when he offered them a chance to sail away and shed the responsibilities society demanded of them, what did they say? They say, "I'm engaged, Jack."

His fingers tapped the charts in front of him. He hadn't any idea where to even plan to go. Seeing Calypso again may be worth the trouble, but he had nothing to barter with and she never told him anymore than what she wanted him to know.

Might have told me some rum-burning viper refused me.

Jack shook his head, staring at the drawing of the key, waiting for it to explain its secrets to him. When he felt he was ready, he opened his compass.

XXX

This is a mistake. This is a mistake, Jack kept saying to himself, waiting for some signal from Will. He was relying on Jones to be so keen on snagging him at last too much. What if Jones just lost interest after all these years and sent one of his shell-men to just slit William's throat? Bill would never let that happen. Bill wouldn't know William if the boy fell on him from Heaven. Maybe he would, depending… Stop depending on things! He wrung the sleeve of his shirt, staring out at the demolished vessel before them.

"Hand us a spyglass, Gibbs?"

"Right here." Gibbs handed the spyglass to Jack and stood next to him. His fingers could have sunk into the ledge. "Even if Will does get the key. What about the chest?"

"William comes back with the key when Jones releases him. He and I find the chest."

"How?"

"Mr. Gibbs. Save your concern for Mr. Turner's well-being please. I can manage finding some pitiful chest." Or can you? Never mind that, he thought, and brought the spyglass up to his eye. As if he had rung a church bell signaling his presence, Davy Jones jerked his face right in the Pearl's direction. Practically flinging the spyglass away from his face, Jack jumped, finding Davy Jones standing on his deck, glaring. The silence surrounding him, told him the crew were surrounded, leaving him to not take his eyes off Jones.

"Oh."

"You have a debt to pay. You've been captain of the Black Pearl for thirteen years. That was our agreement." The shrill voice with just the hint of an accent forced Jack to take several steps backward, his heart pounding. There was not even time to clear his throat.

"Technically I was only a captain for two years and viciously mutinied upon," he said, deciding to muddle the one year before the mutiny and this last year.

"Then you were a poor captain, but a captain nonetheless," Jones spat, his wooden leg stomping the deck. "Have ye not introduced yourself all these years as Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"You have my payment," Jack said. Oh, he knew this was a mistake. Think, Jack. Think. Sono spiacente, Will. Don't apologize yet, he told himself, fighting for breath. You promised Bill you'd look after him. "One soul to serve on your ship is already over there!" He fought to keep his voice from cracking. Could he leave William there, even for just a little while? Bill could take care of him and then they could find the key. Well, it all depends on if you can find that chest now, doesn't it? That takes time. Time. Jack let the corner of his mouth turn up just slightly. Barter for time, find the chest, find the Dutchman, everyone goes free.

"One soul is not equal to another."

Jack could not have asked for a better cue.

"Ah! So we've established my proposal is sound in principle. Now we're just haggling over price."

"Price?"

"Just how many souls do you think my soul is worth?"

Davy Jones gave a throaty laugh and straightened his back. "One hundred souls, three days."

"You're a diamond mate," Jack said, sighing. Three days. Good enough. That chest had better not be in Madagascar. "Just send me back the boy and I'll get started right off."

"I keep the boy!" Jones bellowed. "A good faith payment. That leaves you only ninety-nine more." He let out a hearty laugh, his crew following suit.

"Have you not met Will Turner? He's noble, heroic, terrific soprano…" Jack spun out the ode to William, his tongue not quite sure what it would say next. "He's worth at least four, maybe three and a half. Did I happen to mention he's in love…with a girl? Due to be married? Betrothed. Dividing him from her and her from him would only be half as cruel as actually allowing them to be joined in holy matrimony. Aye?"

He saw the teardrop, all right, but beads of sweat dripped down the back of his neck for another reason. Closing his eyes, he snapped them back open, shaking everything but the present bargain out of his mind.

"I keep the boy, ninety-nine souls," Jones stated. "But I wonder, Sparrow, can you live with this? Can you condemn an innocent man, a friend, to a lifetime of servitude while you roam free?"

"Yep, I'm good with it. Shall we seal it in blood or, er, ink?" Anxious to leave, Jack pictured a roaring fire in the corner of a pub at Tortuga. Tortuga never sounded so good.

A/N: To go back and find out what happened the night Elizabeth told Jack she was engaged, you'll have to read my fic "One or the Other." The Italian in this chapter basically translates to, "I'm sorry." I use an internet translator, so if it's not right, sorry. Jack speaks better Italian than I do. So we're now in the thick of DMC. Wonder what will happen...maybe a few reviews will let me know...