Hello all. I think this chapter may have more errors than the norm, due to the fact my brain has suddenly decided to take up playing the drums in my head, making editing a story with really tiny print - on a very bright white background - exceedingly difficult. I feel like I haven't described this scene adequately, and even to me it seems confusing, so I've included a brief synopsis at the end of the chapter.

NB: Sailing terms used extensively in this chapter:

Yard-arm/yard – horizontal spar/beam thingy that holds the sail up to the mast.

Scabbards – thingy that holds sword to belt and prevents wearer from slicing their legs to ribbons.

Back-winded – falling behind the wind

Charlie Noble – gallery smokestack (chimney for kitchen cooking) made of brass

Baldric Sash – material belt that, when combined with a leather belt, holds the pirate's weapons like pistols, cutlasses etc at their waist.

Stern – back part of ship

Starboard – right side of ship (I had to look that one up – for shame)

The squall poured down so fast and so hard that the crew couldn't even notice if someone was beside them. One moment they could see the ocean, lapping gently for miles around them, and they were calmly talking to each other on deck; the next thing there was just heart-stopping booms of thunder and the pouring rain. It was almost impossible to hear Jack's bellowing commands over the booming thunder, but he was easy to make out in the rain – his solitary figure stood by the helm, silhouetted by the constant lightning strikes. It was with those strikes that the crew hurriedly looked around to see who was where, doing what. But despite this, the crew felt a weird sense of isolation; they couldn't hear anything over the rolling thunder and shrieking winds, and the sheets of dark rain gave the illusion of standing alone on an empty deck. Crew member's mouth's opened, but no words seemed to come out - stolen by the wind. The sails flapped relentlessly in the winds, but no noise was heard. Just the scream of the storm and the scraping of the ship asshe struggled to hold herself together. The scene was coloured in washed-out monochromatic shades of blue, grey, white and black.

The ship ploughed through the 9 foot waves, which spilled over the decks, knocking the buccaneers to their knees and soaking them through. A wave broke over Will's head, making him feel like he had just been submerged into a deep bucket of ice-cold water. The sails billowed eerily white in the darkness of the storm, and the ship creaked and groaned, adding to the abnormality of the night. The rain was ice-cold and felt like needles on the skin. Everyone was soaked to the bone. Will felt like he was drowning from the torrential rain, and freezing to death at the same time. Salt water stung his eyes and burned his nose, the back of his throat and his lungs. His lungs felt constricted and he felt extremely lethargic; like he'd been fighting the storm for 24 hours, not 24 minutes.

The entire crew, despite their previous experience, felt totally out of their element. The storm followed no rules or definite pattern. The winds blew from all directions, and Jack ordered the sails to be pulled down before the masts snapped off. But the ropes and rigging - stiff from cold and taunt from the driving winds – were impossible to undo.

"They won't budge!" Billy John Fosters, the sailmaster, cried in anguish and worry, his hands almost freezing onto the ropes. The rain had turned to the point of freezing, and small icicles clung to the rigging and frosted the masts. Jack's voice filtered back to them, faint and broken-up.

"Cut though the bloody things – they can be replaced!" The crew's hands jumped to their hips. With horror they tugged at the scabbards; their swords and cutlasses were frozen into their scabbards. In terror they turned to look as the brass and metal fittings in the ship. They all had icicles and a thin sheeting of ice growing over them. Will brought his hand to his face. A light coating of ice rubbed off his day-old stubble.

"Tis no natural storm." Gibbs murmured.

"Get rid of the sails!" Jack roared over the crashing waves. The ship careened dangerously at a sudden gush of wind, and the mast groaned in pain. The crew stood transfixed in horror as it began to splinter and crack.

"Caesar's whores." Alex yelled, grabbing the rigging and throwing herself up.

"Alex!" Will hollered, fighting his way over to her. He grabbed her ankle and wrenched her back from climbing up the rigging, catching her as she fell back to the deck.

"What do you think you're doing?" Will bellowed at her, fighting to be heard over the driving rain, which fell into his eyes and forced him to squint.

"Getting rid of the sails!" Alex yelled back, struggling in Will's arms to clamour back up the rigging.

"How?"

"Cutting them loose with my dagger." Alex brandished an unsheathed dagger from her boot, a light coating of ice covering it as soon as it was exposed to the cold night air.

"Stay here; I'll do it!" Will commanded, seizing the dagger from her hand and securing it in the belt at his waist.

"No, I'm lighter than you, I'll go!"

"I'm the seasoned pirate here; I'm more familiar with the Black Pearl than you are. You've barely spent a week on a ship."

"No!" Alex yelled stubbornly. Will looked pained, glancing between Alex's stubborn-set jaw and the tortured masts and quivering sails. Without further hesitation he bodily picked Alex up and strode over to Gibbs, who was trying to lash the cannons to their ports. "Take her, and don't let her get away." He instructed, passing the still resisting Alex over to Gibbs, before once more striding back to the main mast and ascending the rigging. Alex ceased her fighting to watch Will in fear as he nimbly stepped out onto the yard-arm, wrapping his hands around the ropes hanging above his head for balance. Stooping down, he pulled Alex's unsheathed dagger from his belt and slashed at the top of the sails, several inches below where they were tied to the yard-arm.

"What is the daft lad up to?" Cried Billy Johns in horror.

"Saving the ship." Jack murmured.

"How are we to get to Tortuga with no sails?" Asked Fosters in shock, addressing no-one in particular.

"And how are we to get to Tortuga with the ship and all its crew at the bottom of the sea?" Jack replied.

All faces peered up into the rigging to watch as Will stooped and walked the length of the fore-mast's bottom yard, dragging the dagger through the canvas the yard held underneath him. There was a sudden gust of wind and the ship lurched starboard. There was no way the crew could keep their grip on the masts and railings, let alone Will keep his footing. Alex, Gibbs and the rest of the pirates were pitched forward and thrown onto the deck. Jack stumbled but kept his footing at the wheel. Alex scrambled to her feet – released from Gibb's bear-hold - shielding her face from the gusts of rain as she scanned the rigging. If Will had been pitched overboard, there was no hope for him… He would have been swallowed by the ravenous and unforgiving sea, another new acquaintance for Davy Jones.

There, swinging just in front of the very sail he'd been attempting to cut loose was Will, spinning madly at the end of the rope he'd wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to keep balance before the ship had lurched. It had cut into his wrist to the bone and held tight. He swung back and forth in front of the sail, attempting to grab a hold of the cordage from another loose rope. Back on deck, Alex held her breath, unwilling to move in her anxiety, in case her movement somehow caused Will to fall. Still daggling from the rigging, Will's almost frozen hand grasped his dagger that hung above his head, still stuck in the taunt and frozen canvas sail. He held it, and with a loud ripping sound the dagger tore free, after being dragged through about 8 feet of sail from his pendulum swinging underneath.

"You'll be sewing that bloody thing up!" Jack cursed into the winds. "Properly!" He added futilely. "Backstitching and all." In all truth, Jack was almost certain that Will - being a former blacksmith by trade - had absolutely no experience with a needle and thread, and trying to force him to repair the sails may leave them in a worse condition than what they were before Will attempted to sew them together. Perhaps Alex, being a woman and all, would be a better choice… through the veil of rain, Jack could vaguely make out Alex struggling wildly against Gibbs, elbowing him in the stomach and stomping on his foot, grinding it into the deck. Jack could hear Gibbs bellowing in pain even over the roaring of the storm. Perhaps Alex wouldn't be a good choice either… The torn left sail no longer held wind, and the ship became back-winded, lurching slightly to the right and falling faintly in speed.

One-handedly resheathing the dagger into his baldric sash, Will tried again to grab the yard-arm. This time he managed, and precariously pulled himself up onto the yard. He straddled the yard and bracingly unwound his hand from the rope. From the deck, Alex couldn't make out what his hand looked like as the rain doubled its force, blinding her as it fell into her up-turned face. Blinking the water out of her eyes, she glanced up and with the flash of lightening saw the middle sail glide off the fore-mast.

"Sail falling starboard side! Stern!" Alex bellowed. The crew who the heavy sail was about to fall on scrabbled out of the way. The next sail to fall Jack noticed, as it billowed towards the deck like some vestal apparition of a ghost. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but the wind caught the sail and threw it out to sea.

"Just take the bloody ship!" He cried out in annoyance, appealing to the stormy sky, but his words were swallowed up by a crash of violent thunder. "Take my sails, steal my thunder…" Jack muttered bitterly. There was a loud ripping sound as Will slashed another sail. This time it didn't fall to the ground, but entangled itself around the lower part of the mast. He only needs to cut down one more and the ship has a chance of making port, Jack thought desperately.

The rain eased slightly, and the entire crew peered up at the upper-masts. Alex had attempted to climb the rigging, but had once more been caught by Gibbs in an unbreakable bear-hold, and dragged back to the relative safety of the overhang from the captain's cabin. Will was crouched on one of the top sail of the main-mast, the yard lighter and smaller, which held smaller sails. It was also one level higher up than the previous sails.

"Will!" Jack bellowed on a terrible premonition. "Get off the mast!" But it was too late.

Like it was in slow motion, a jagged lightening bolt cut through the sky and struck the mizzen-mast; the smallest and luckily the lightest and less-needed mast on the Black Pearl. With a loud screech of splintering wood, it crashed past the main mast, creating an almost domino effect. The top sail of the falling mast tore past the yard where Will was perched, snapping the yard arm off from the main mast completely. With almost inhuman strength, Alex broke free of Gibb's hold and rushed back onto the open deck, "WILL!" Although Will was so far up, Alex swore she could make out his dark eyes widen in surprise before being swallowed up by the plummeting mast.

With the wail and unearthly screech of a dying animal, the mast crashed almost onto the deck – it hoovered inches above the deck, barely supported by a few ropes and cables, as the broken yard-arms and spurs from the main mast rained down around it. Once more the crews gaze was pulled to the upper-mast. Alex's eyes desperately searched through the pounding rain, scanning the remaining yards, booms and gaffs – anywhere where Will may have had a chance of grabbing a hold of. The rain fell down heavily in sheets, the tragic scene almost hidden from Alex by a thin curtain - a fine mist of water - shielding her from knowing Will's fate, shielding her from harsh reality. Will wasn't there. In the shock and muddle of Alex's thoughts, one thought came through clearly. It was a solid fact; where Will had stood, there was no way the falling mast could have missed him. He must have been knocked off the mast, Alex thought. No, he was too quick for that; he would have used a rope and swung to safety somewhere, was her next desperate thought. He's not dead… he can't be dead. Will… Will?

Did everyone get what happened there? If you didn't, here's the explanation. The Drifting Maiden creates a storm that pre-empts its presence. The temperature drops below zero (Celsius), which caused all the swords to freeze into their scabbards (don't ask me if this is physically possible, but it works for this story), so Will grabs a dagger from Alex (which was unsheathed, so it wasn't frozen into its holding) and begins to cut down the sails.

The Black Pearl has three masts – the main one in the middle, and two smaller ones located in front and behind (there's a better explanation for all this, so I hope no-one's a sailing buff and picks me up over these discrepancies). The main mast has three levels of sails, held up by yards. Will cut off the first sail on the main mast, moved to both lesser masts and cut the lowers sails down also, then moved back to the main mast, and climbed up a level to cut another sail down. When he was up on the second level, lighting struck one of the lesser masts, and like a domino effect, it fell past the other two masts, brushing past them and snapping off a few yards and cables etc. Will was on one of the yard-arms that got snapped off, meaning he lost his perch and basically fell off the yard arm. The mizzen mast crashed to the deck, but the main mast remains standing, albeit missing a few spurs and yardarms etc.

So, where is Will? Pitched into the sea, another casualty to present to Davy Jones. Swallowed by the sea, only to turn up on a deserted island? Is he even alive at all? Mortally wounded underneath the fallen mast? You'll have to wait until next update to find out.

Jousting Elf with a Sabre – (you have a really long name, do you know that?) Thanks for your review – new reviewers are always welcomed :)

DCoD - I'm not sure exactly how long it takes to get to Tortuga – I did look up pirating ports in the 17th-18th Century when I initially drafted that chapter, but it was so long ago I've forgotten all the information, like the exact bearing and leagues from Britain.

Pebbles1234 – Ah ha; you caught me. It wasn't written in the story how Jack came by the knowledge of the Drifting Maiden, which was my error in oversight. Basically, Jack knows because he's Jack Sparrow – he knows virtually everything. The Drifting Maiden has been sailing the seas for just over two centuries, but it was previously believed to be a myth, like sea sirens etc. Over the years, Jack has heard of tales in bars of it and it's cursed crew, but also previously dismissed the legend as exactly that; a legend. After he learnt of their latest victims and whereabouts, from that bartender in chapter 7, he knew that the storm that's blown up now is the work of the Damned Maidens. He may even suspect the Drifting Maiden is tracking him; he's a sly dog, that Captain Jack; he's been around for a while. I'll explain the origins of the Drifting Maiden, and the surrounding curse, a few chapters down the track.

Hippolytos – Yes, you're my 80th reviewer! I did the 80-review-dance in my office chair (similar to the 20-review-dance, only 4 times better). I haven't forgotten about Anamaria; I'm trying to work her into the story a bit further down the track; someone Jack and Company runs into in their hour of need - I don't know, but she deserves a grand entrance, whatever it is. As for mini-plots, I'm trying to ingrain them into the story, without confusing the plot and drifting off on a wild tangent, which I have a bad habit of doing. At the risk of exposing the story, a few sub-plots include: the history of the Drifting Maiden, whatever mystery Alex is holding back (from chapter 14), a new pirate adversary for Jack and his motley crew (remember the disgruntled giant at the docks in chapter 5), a betrayal and maybe some more that I can chuck in. Once the Black Pearl makes it to the Tortugan bay, everything should move at a much faster pace than previously; everything should come together.