The lights of Shipwreck City were reflected on the water, tiny, golden sparks in an ever-moving blackness and Elizabeth clung to their comforting presence as she walked across the suspension bridge leading from the town centre. Her feet led her automatically to the small house built inside of the volcanic crater that surrounded the cove, protecting the city and its inhabitants like a vast, impregnable fortress, its only portal an impassable cave known as the Devil's Throat.

Distant voices floated through the night air, losing their substance to its all-consuming darkness, a sharp contrast to the icy silence between her and Will until they reached their veranda. A flickering lantern bid a homey welcome to them, as it had for nearly eleven years. The welcoming light summoned memories; Elizabeth remembered how she'd walked the cliffs with Captain Teague and his dog, savouring the old man's quiet company.

There had been no bridge; the only way to access the house was a small path winding down from the rocks. The house had been empty and neglected, the roof partly uncovered and the clay veranda was distorted and fragmented by thick cracks.

'It's been too long this place has had its share of children's laughter,' Teague had said solemnly, his voice thick with memories that only he seemed capable of grasping. She'd mustered the courage to ask but one question: "Who built it?"

"I did." His reply had been curt, his voice a fortress against further intrusion into corners of the mind a stranger's eye was rarely granted a glimpse of. She respected his unspoken boundaries, as he did hers. In all those years, they rarely spoke of Jack; only random remarks from time to time sustained her insatiable curiosity. They floated past like a summer's breeze, too short-lived and fragile to cling to, and she sometimes thought that these moments were like Jack himself. His presence in her life, significant as it had been, was surreal and almost dreamlike when looked upon with the welcome distance of time and space. Those memories belonged to someone else's life, and she couldn't bring herself to remember him in any other way.

Teague had asked her to take the house from him, not a gift of charity, born out of compassion and generosity, but a gift from one king to another. Months had passed during which the town's best craftsmen had breathed new life into the finely carved railings and wooden pillars. They'd rebuilt the veranda and repaired the roof, and when she'd finally been able to move in, not long after William was born, it had been the proudest and most beautiful house in all of Shipwreck City. It still was grand, though tonight, it couldn't exactly be dubbed the most peaceful one.

"How could you do that?" Elizabeth burst out; the metallic clink of the door slamming shut behind her punctuated and proclaimed her anger through the entry way. "How could you make such a mindless, completely preposterous offer?"

Will stared at her fiercely, offering stony silence as his only reply. His eyes, his clenched shaking fists underscored his grim determination until stubborn resolve gave way to something softer, something which might have been remorse.

When he couldn't bear her reproachful gaze any longer, he turned his back to her and pulled off his coat, throwing it over an ornate hat stand, the possession of a French émigré until it had found its way to Shipwreck City and into Elizabeth Turner's hallway.

He strode over to the parlour room and threw himself into one of the cushiony, richly upholstered Italian armchairs. Will stretched his legs and made an effort to procure an observable yawn.

It was evident he wished to avoid the debate that was lingering over their heads like storm clouds. The threatening roll of roaring thunder was imaginable, the sound mirrored by the thump of Elizabeth's boots being kicked off and unceremoniously sailing into a corner. Her fury was as unpredictable to him as the weather.

When his wife planted herself in front of him, arms akimbo, he knew his chances of avoiding the discussion were nil.

"What were you thinking, William Turner?" Elizabeth demanded, her voice trembling with rage and the need for answers.

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to lay his head back and close his eyes, collecting himself before he dared to look at her again.

"The Raider is threat to all who live here," He began somewhat awkwardly. "What did you think I'd do? Watch as my wife and son starve?" Elizabeth gaped at him in disbelief, then brought a hand to her forehead as though to feel whether she'd caught the same strange sickness that had caused his temporary lapse of good judgement.

"For heaven's sake, Will! No one here will starve anytime soon. The town has enough supplies to survive a besiegement of more than two years. Besides, it is rather more likely the cove will soon be flooded with dead bodies, stabbed in the back and shot twice in the head, but that's nothing we haven't dealt with before. This is a pirate city, after all!"

Will straightened sharply, his posture vertical as he glared at his wife with glittering eyes.

"How can you speak like that with our son sleeping upstairs?" His voice was low and calm, but his anger was most acutely felt when his voice took on a soft, cold tone.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to retaliate then closed it again and took a deep, calming breath.

"I have lived here for more than ten years. I know the inner most workings of the city as does our son. I am perfectly aware Shipwreck City is not Port Royal, but we have certain guidelines, rules laid down in an ancient document we call …"

"The Code," Will groaned with a roll of his eyes. "How could I ever forget about that blasted writ?" They glared at each other, neither of them wishing to concede defeat.

The warm, flickering light of the candles painted his handsome features with ever-moving shadows, softening them, and Elizabeth thought he looked tired and exhausted, as though his decision to chase the Raider had taken his last reserve of strength.

Elizabeth's anger dissipated into thin air, leaving room for an emptiness that seemed to pull her heart down to her stomach. Dropping to her knees, she put a soft hand on his arm and looked up to him, her apology spoken in deep hollows of her eyes.

"Don't you understand?" she whispered, "I lost you once, in a battle that wasn't yours to fight. We didn't have a choice then but now we do. I believe the Raider is as human as you or I. Consequently, I am certain that he can be made to see reason. Why not try and …"

"Parlay," he finished for her quietly; his hands consciously avoided hers.

"I know, you suggested it and I have taken it into consideration. But where did it lead us in the past? We always had to fight in the end…" He looked as though he felt he was a man without a port in the midst of a raging storm.

"It seems that even old Teague agreed with me." His last words were laced with thick sarcasm, his mistrust of the old pirate obvious in every syllable.

"Teague nearly shot you," she pointed out with an uncomfortable chuckle.

"But he did offer me his ship. That has to count for something…" Will couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of triumph even though he knew perfectly well what Teague's intentions had been.

"Yes. He thinks you're foolish and that you won't succeed," Elizabeth was quick to remind him.

"Seems to be a family trait," Will shot back, unable to suppress his bitterness.

"I know how you feel about him, but accept he was trying to be reasonable." She sighed heavily and the strength in her shoulders wilted.

"And it isn't reasonable to try and put an end to the Raider's dark schemes?" He shifted in his seat and took hold of her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. "You saw it for yourself, Elizabeth," he continued desperately. "No one was willing to take action against him." His justifications sounded forced to her ears, and as she observed his features, she saw that Will appeared to despise his own convictions.

"They are pirates; their credo is: 'fight to run away'. Action is not in their nature..." Her fingers were limp in his, cold and motionless. Her eyes dropped in disappointment to the floor sending shivers down his spine. Will considered his choice in comparison to her implications and for the first time, he realized all of the ramifications of his decision.

"You want me to be like them? Is that it?" he countered to distract himself from the truth he'd been faced with only moments before.

"No. I want you to stay. Ten short months, in comparison to ten long years …" The words seemed to reach him from a faraway shore; yet another sword to his chest. Tenderly he took hold of her arms to pull her up into his lap feeling as though he was trying to cling to something that had already slipped away.

"My love for you never faltered," he heard himself reply involuntarily while he wrapped his arms around her body. It surprised him that the words held some semblance of truth.

"Nor will it now; but I have made my choice." Elizabeth didn't reply; she settled her head tranquilly against the groove of his shoulder and savoured a comfort she had been denied for far too long. Now she was on the verge of losing it again. Still, there was a portion of her heart that knew Will's choice had been inevitable. It was not only a reflection of his bravery and idealism, but of an incontrovertible truth: Will Turner had never been one to run away from his choices, but he always made them alone.

A forlorn pair of shoes lay on the beach, strategically placed to evade the reach of the water's greedy fingers– a portion of the portrait of a strangely anomalous morning tinted with the melancholic cries of the seagulls and the gentle lapping of the waves. It was not long after sunrise, and the air was thick with faint reminders of the night that had passed, crackling with dreams soon to be forgotten and memories easily brushed aside in daylight.

Elizabeth stood on the shore, her skirts lifted and her ankles bared to the caress of the sea, her eyes fixed on the horizon. They rested on the seascape that lay far beyond her reach where the white sails of the Captive Swallow had disappeared only moments before. Outwardly she knew she should feel as if it had all happened before as though she were trapped in a strange repetitious nightmare. Was she stepping in the footprints and was the same sand wriggling between her toes?

She'd felt such loss eleven years ago; today she cried the same tears she'd cried that bitter day, and though it was completely irrational to do so, she clung to the memory. It had been a goodbye sweetened by the soft afterglow of lovemaking and the certainty of a love that would never fade. A love that would overcome time, space and supernatural powers beyond their control seemed so much more comforting than the farewell they'd shared this time: words left unspoken, questions too precarious to ask. All of it an act designed to preserve the fragility of their newly found, long sought after happiness.

Elizabeth's closed her eyes; the wind swept through the lose strands of hair surrounding her face and she listened to the waves. For minutes, she stood completely motionless. It occurred to her that perhaps she had been waiting for a sign as she had during the years she had been separated from Will. The sea had whispered to her then, had ensured her of his safety and undying love, had been hope and comfort until the day he had been returned to her, but today, it remained silent. No whispers or promises, only the sound of waves breaking upon the lonely shore. There was a nameless shadow, a fundamental difference from her stint of waiting eleven years ago; a nagging weight she found impossible to brush aside.

She wasn't alone, someone was watching her. Her eyes snapped opened and she spun around, prepared to find herself face to face with a familiar figure, Captain Teague perhaps – the man had an undeniable talent to turn up in what seemed like the most inopportune moment-, but there was nothing. Sand and rocks, the beach as empty and deserted as it had been when she'd witnessed Will's departure. She looked up to the cliffs towering above her, skimming them, but if anyone had been up there they'd already disappeared from sight.

Her eyes traced the bared rock down to where it cut off the sandy shore and reached into the sea, creating a small inlet. For a short moment, Elizabeth wondered whether someone could actually hide there. Unconsciously, she stepped closer to the rugged barrier and screwed her eyes to see more clearly. There was nothing but naked rock and jagged coastline. She shook her head to dismiss the strange sentiment of being stalked; she told herself that it was impossible for anyone to hide in a bay that could only be reached from the sea. An endeavour like that would have required a ship, and there was no possible way even a small schooner could have managed the feat –only a madman would have attempted the passage between the rocks.

Elizabeth decided half-heartedly that her mind had been playing tricks on her – probably her nerves and a lack of sleep. She spotted a seagull perched on one of the many black rocks littering the beach, cocking its head in a way that seemed designed to mock her. Impulsively, she picked up a handful of sand and threw it at the startled bird, causing it to fly off with an angered cry that made her ears ring.

"It's your fault," she muttered under her breath, unsure of whether she addressed the bird or someone entirely different. Disgruntled and anything but at peace with the world and herself, she snapped up her shoes and ran across the sand to the hidden path that led up the back to Shipwreck City.

A collection of eclectically shaped keys jangled merrily to match her step. Elizabeth rushed through the maze of alleys that wound their way through the tangle of broken hulls, neatly aligned steering wheels and protruding masts that was Shipwreck City. The sun had risen and the town's colourful population was oozing out of their various hideouts. The bolt holes ranged from vast suites of rooms, the furniture and carpeting of which would have put French nobility to shame, to small dens comprised of nothing but cocoa matting and the overpowering aroma of incense.

Her path rarely deviated from its charted course; she had the routine of someone having lived in a place forever. First she passed by the bakery of Mrs. Martin, which had never seen a Mr. Martin but was famous for its breads and pastries tasting similar in nature to the breads and pastries from Briny Mick's bakery on the opposite end of town. The only difference between the baked goods was that Mrs. Martin's tasted as though they were one day behind which was probably rather close to the truth.

Elizabeth lifted her hand to greet the elderly lady as she passed by her shop window, which had displayed the same skull-shaped doughnut ever since she'd moved to Shipwreck City. Without a second glance, she knew a weathered hand was waving enthusiastically behind the paned glass, beckoning for the chat she might have gotten any day but today.

She was already five minutes late, and she despised tardiness; a relic of her days as a pristine governor's daughter. Pirates, she had learned, considered punctuality beneath them which, of course, didn't keep them from expecting it of others. More than one man had made the acquaintance of Teague's quickly drawn pistol for arriving belatedly to his birthday party, and since the old pirate was usually one of her first clients to turn up every morning instinctively she quickened her pace. When she finally turned her steps onto the footbridge that crossed Bilge Water Bay, she spotted a tiny female frame standing beneath the sign that read "Pillage and Plunder".

Nell Maloney was a young, personable Irishwoman and the best – though maybe not the most knowledgeable – shop-assistant Elizabeth could think of. She'd hired her almost two years ago, when work in her shop became too frantic for her to manage by herself. Nell had never given her any reason to regret this decision—her disposition was as bright and cheery as the fiery texture of her auburn hair.

Her fair looks and jolly personality induced many a young man to buy whole shipments of goods, the use of which largely remained a mystery to them, and though Elizabeth had grown used to solitude she couldn't deny that she appreciated the girl's help and most especially her company.

"Good morning, Lizzie", Nell chirped with a good natured grin. Elizabeth unlocked the door and braced herself for the gush of town-news and gossip that was about to spout from the girl's pouting lips.

In truth, she rather hoped a breathtaking event had occurred during the night, so Nell would be so busy chattering that she would miss Elizabeth's contemplative silence. Unfortunately the day's exciting news was particularly unsuited to distract her from her musings and worse required her taking part in the conversation.

"The whole city is captivated by your husband," Nell began while pouring salt into a casket, her voice brimming with admiration.

"Is it really true he plans to confront the Ghost Raider all by himself?" Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh. The subject was a sore one and not one she particularly cared to discuss with Nell.

"He's hardly all by himself considering that he left this morning with a crew of 37 men," Elizabeth retorted with feigned indifference. It wasn't until she'd said the words that it occurred to her she probably sounded like William when he tried to convince her that he'd already done his school work. Nell, however, seemed completely unaffected by her employer's brusqueness and continued ingenuously:

"But he was the only one who was brave enough to face him. My brother told me that not even Captain Teague dared to meet the Raider face to face!"

At the mentioning of Teague's name, Elizabeth felt an uneasy sensation creeping up her spine. There had been something amiss in his behaviour at the council meeting two days ago. She'd yet to pin point it, but there was something almost guilty in his manner; he'd snuck off as though he'd something to hide.

To disguise her agitation, she stuck her hand in a large sack filled with dried ginger, scooped out a handful and drank in its scent. It helped to clear her head, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded even and conversational.

"Captain Teague is an old man, even if he refuses to believe it," she heard herself say, but she did not feel convinced by her own words. Teague might have been a man of advancing years and he certainly had his eccentricities, but he was by no means senile; he was as quick with his mind as he was with his pistol.

She pretended that his superstitious notions about the Raider were nothing but the result of his inability to see the obvious: the ghost was human. And as such he could be hunted and destroyed.

"I can hardly picture him chasing a man he believes to be a ghostly phantom." Nell prattled absent-mindedly as she scooped fresh almonds from their burlap bags into their new home in a small barrel located close to the shop door.

"But he trusts Will to do it!" Elizabeth murmured more to herself than her oblivious companion. Maybe that was his purpose. She knew Teague well enough to be perfectly aware that he mistrusted and even despised Will. Yet, he'd left his treasured ship to him and begrudgingly supported his cause. Perhaps it was driven by his loyalty and friendship for her, but he was still a pirate. Somewhere in the back of her troubled mind, she wondered whether his motivations had been as unselfish as they seemed.

"Will sailed on the Captive Swallow, didn't he? You must be terribly proud!" Nell continued unaffectedly and Elizabeth wasn't quite sure whether Nell expected her pride to be directed towards Will's bravery or that he'd been allowed use of the fearsome Captain Teague's ship.

In her desire to converse Nell had completely forgotten about the salt and was now sitting on the counter, eyeing Elizabeth expectantly. Sighing, the latter abandoned the ginger and said solemnly:

"All I want is his safe return." She'd spoken the words so often she found the words had lost their lustre in their continual repetition.

"Oh, he will!" With a confident smile, Nell reached for a jar filled with candy and chose a red one looking particularly bilious. "He returned after ten years as Captain of the Flying Dutchman, did he not?" Nell put the candy to her tongue and her lips smacked together as she appeared to appraise the candy's texture. Her head bobbed with approval of the sweet and she reached for another one.

"He was immortal, then. Mortality is a tenuous bond that is easily severed," Elizabeth stated as a matter of fact while she watched the younger woman savouring the saccharine taste of the bonbon, her legs dangling lazily from the counter and revealing the perfect shape of her slender ankles. She looked like God's gift to men, and despite her sullen mood, Elizabeth couldn't help but be a little amused at the thought of how much young Jimmy Meade, Nell's most ardent worshipper, would have paid to see her like that. Probably even more than he usually spent on the rock-hard wholemeal crackers he bought at least twice a day, just to gain the opportunity to gawk at her.

Nell was still busy contemplating the implications of immortality when the small bell placed above the door rang, announcing the entrance of a man who'd long ceased to trouble himself with a pretty turn of ankle.

Captain Teague was in a foul temper, and he fully intended to share his misery with those who did not comply with his disposition.

'Whack', 'whack', 'whack' the little shop rattled and quaked with awe-inspiring fear of his imposing presence.

He repeatedly rammed his walking stick down with such force Elizabeth feared the floor-planks might give way. The corners of his mouth were curled downward extending until they aligned with his moustache. His gruff tapping was apparently intended to be a "good morning" and he grunted a few syllables that sounded like a low growl originating from hell's innermost circle.

His charisma dominated the whole shop; Nell hurried to jump down from her seat on the counter, straightening her skirts and apron while she gave him a treacly smile that belied the death glare he had honoured her with. His hand twitched and for a split second, Elizabeth feared he might draw out his pistol. He seemed to change his mind rather quickly and pursued his attempt to kill the maddeningly cheerful girl with nothing more than the venom from his eyes.

"Good morning, Captain Teague," Elizabeth greeted politely, intent on ignoring his sour mood which was more likely than not the result of Will's departure this morning; no matter the reason he'd had for giving his ship to Will, he obviously regretted his decision.

"The usual," Teague mumbled into his beard in an attempt to hide that her pleasant demeanour had in fact, succeeded in brightening his mood. Elizabeth went to fetch his unchanging order. Religiously, he asked for the same pouch of peanuts and the twist of chewing tobacco twice a week ever since she'd opened her shop almost ten years ago.

Wordlessly, he slapped several coins against the counter, took the goods he had purchased and turned to leave without bidding the two women goodbye. Nell shot Elizabeth a questioning glance when the old pirate paused at the doorstep. He spun around with an agility that was impressive for a man his age. His hair surrounded his face like a lion's mane, a thick mass of black and grey, punctuated with gold and silver. Both women drew breath, expecting a scolding or a tremendously important announcement, but Teague's eyes focused solely on Elizabeth. His lined features softened until the last traces of anger and resentment had vanished into thin air.

"Hope you're in good spirits, lass," he mumbled gently, his eyes displaying genuine interest and compassion.

"Yes, don't worry about me," she smiled, moved by his concern. "I'll miss Will, but there are a few advantages of life with a rebellious ten-year old that requires persuasion to go to school every morning. There is little time to wallow in self-pity or fight something you cannot change." Teague nodded knowingly, his lips curling into a thin smile.

"I suppose that's the price to pay for the love of a knight in shining armour." On that surly note he left the two women to contemplate the confusion his wondrous comportment had created.

"He gets more peculiar every day," Nell observed nonchalantly after the door had closed behind him. Perplexed as to the intention of his parting statement, Elizabeth wholeheartedly agreed.