Chapter Three:

Elizabeth was shocked, but not at what he'd said. But at how much since it made. Granted, it was undoubtedly nothing more than a new tactic in Sparrow's bag o' tricks to seduce her, but it had its points. She was slightly disappointed that she was at the point where she felt nearly nothing for Will any more. She didn't miss him, what was there to miss? Jack's devilish expression reminded her; Will was tender and caring, where as Jack was neither, unless it suited his needs. William loved her-he would never betray her. If she truly loved him, than she wouldn't be able to betray him, right? Even if he was dead? She knew what Jack meant by 'one of those women'; the often beautiful, innocent women whose first and only love died at sea. They lost their beauty over time, but mournfully retained their innocence.

"And just what is your point, Mr. Sparrow? That you should save me from said fate of unwed bride?"

Jack hadn't been expecting this. He had no interest in being tied down-that's why he'd left land in the first place! No, he had simply been trying to...well, there's no way around it, work things to his advantage. Figuring honesty was the best way of this, he started to tell her,

"Elizabeth, you and I-"

He stopped short.

"What now Jack, yet another try at me? Jack?"

He stared in horror at the oncoming sight. Elizabeth turned to look at what was holding Sparrow's concentration.

"Oh my God..."

She gasped. The Flying Dutchmen and crew had just come into port. Jack's eyes widened, than squinted. While Elizabeth was thus distracted, he snuck a peek at his palm. The Black Spot was still gone, how could Jones know where he was? In a daze, Elizabeth walked deftly in the direction of the Dutchmen. She brought her hands up to cover her ears as a roaring noise erupted from the surface. Jack nimbly stepped back, on to the lower deck and into the captain's cabin. He started throwing things off the shelves, searching for the maps.

Hearing the heavy thudding and clanking coming from the lower deck, Elizabeth headed that way. Lewis had come up from the kitchens, nearly crashing into her,

"What's goin' on, Lassie?"

In response, she pointed to the Flying Dutchmen.

"Holy tourniquets"

The mate crossed himself, and turned to Jack's cabin. He opened the door and quickly ducked. An empty bottle of some unidentified substance came flying towards Elizabeth. It smashed on her abdomen. She screamed, having been already upset, as shards of glass sliced into her flesh.

Jack fought back his newly acquired desire to help. His current occupation was too important. Peering over the maps, he used the pendant and an iridescent powder.

"Blessed be the Brethren,

in all their ventures

In supplication of these,

I am indentured,

Show me the path,

winding though it be,

That which I may follow,

and leads to safe serenity."

As he recited the incantation, his facial features expressed his personal doubt that any effect would occur. He sprinkled some of the powder over the map and passed his pendant over the paper, counter-clockwise. Nothing happened; he began to scratch his face sores in agitation. But then, the powder began to reform from its position. It traced a path from Port Royale east, than south. Farther south still. Jack's eyes showed his fear of the inevitable. The sand arranged itself in a burst of flame in the dead center of the Bermuda Triangle. He let the remainder of the parchment burn to ashes, and cursed his luck.

Meanwhile, Lewis had turned to Elizabeth to help her. He switched out his knife, ready to pour liquor on it and remove whatever he could,

"I rather think not!"

"Aye, but I do! Now, come on, skin fairer then yers 'as had worse scars! If it's not removed, it'll be the death of yea to be sure!"

Her cries of protest, in earnest fear, finally brought Jack out of his reverie of anger. He stood up and came upon Lewis standing over Elizabeth with a dagger in his hand. Sparrow's face flamed with anger when he saw soft red spots, blooming across her belly. He drew his sword, smarted his mate's dagger hand and bent to Elizabeth's aide.

Elizabeth nearly fainted at the sight of yet another man coming at her with a weapon drawn. But was shocked back into consciousness when she realized Jack was, in his own misconstrued way, playing the hero.

"Lizzie, are you alright?"

His voice had suddenly lost all of its husky masculinity. It held the quiver of a child whose mother lie on her deathbed. It was not at all becoming. Jack mistook her look of lost affection as a sign of pain. He repeated his question, in a slightly more authoritative tone.

"I would be if you hadn't thrown that bottle out!"

She gasped in pain as he softly lifted the fabric that had been torn to look at the wounds. She fought back all her instincts to not slap him away. He maintained all professional attitude towards her, however. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry and it produced an odd clicking noise.

"Which bottle hit you?"

She looked at him, face full of confusion. What difference did that make? But he didn't wait around for her answer. He stood up and found the rest of the vessel. He mouthed a few incoherent words. This was the bottle that the enchanted sand had come from. He rushed back to Elizabeth, and nearly ripped her corset as he again inspected the wounds,

"Oh bugger."