The Challenger had suffered from the attacks, there was no denying it. But on the whole, she had withstood the hostile fire remarkably well, Commodore Norrington found, and for the first time, he was endeared to his new ship; he meant, he could even tolerate the golden trimmings after all.

The masts hadn't fallen, and the leaks had been mended provisionally, so they were able to sail back, accompanied by the Black Pearl. Not two days later, they sighted the Falcon, which was looking out for them. Lieutenant Chandler was most relieved to see both the ship and his Commodore again, and only slightly bewildered to hear about Captain Sparrow's unexpected rescue mission. This man was bound to be surprising.

Much more intriguing was the idea that said Captain wished to turn privateer; he was consulting the Commodore and got to hear the story, torn between amusement and a soft shock.

"Miss Swann offered them that?!" he asked, wide-eyed. "How could she offer him something like this?! It's not in her power to decide!"

"No, she didn't. She offered him to ask for whatever, but I think she meant her father's fortunes rather than any amnesty."

"She offered Captain Sparrow her father's fortunes? I wonder what the good Governor would say to that!"

James smiled. "He's accustomed to her temper, I dare say –"

"So what will you do, Sir? The Governor can't pardon Sparrow!"

"Neither can I, Chandler. I have to report to Admiral Thompson, and then we'll see. He'll certainly be most grieved to hear about his protégé Filister, and I'm not sure whether this puts him in a mood to grant clemency to anyone!"

"Is Sparrow aware of that?"

"Yes, I told him, of course. It's not fair to let him run into disaster. If he sails into Nassau Port just like that, he'll be hanged in the next morning, no matter what. He will return with you to Port Royal, and wait there while I see what I can do about the Admiral."

"And if you can't do anything about it?"

The Commodore chuckled mirthlessly. "Then I will return and grant him safe-conduct, and he'll sail away with my entire fortune –"

"What?!"

"That's the deal, Chandler. I cannot accept anything else. Neither can I pursue a man who has saved my ship and my crew from the most cruel death, nor can I endure to have the Governor pay for his services."

Chandler stared at him. "But Sir – you may not – your whole future is at stake here!"

"And I only have a future because Captain Sparrow came for us in the first place. This is a matter of honour, and I value this higher than any money. Don't try to argue with me about it, I'm quite determined. But if you like, come down with me to interrogate Black; Mrs. Anamaria allows me to get up today."

Chandler couldn't suppress a laugh. "Does she? She's not as over-protective as Miss Swann, as it seems!"

"No, Miss Swann would surely demand me staying in bed for the next eight weeks, clearly! Mrs. Anamaria is far more lenient, and incidentally, utterly ingenuous. Her mother was some sort of healer in Barbados, did you know? She was accused of witchcraft by our authorities, and killed, Mr. Gibbs told me. I'm very impressed by her magnanimity, to nurse English soldiers after all she's suffered from our side!"

Chandler nodded in astonishment. For a sailor like him, women were no issue really. He faintly remembered his own mother and sisters, and for many, many years, they had been all he had had for an example. So now that he had encountered such peculiar creatures like Captain Sparrow's wife, for instance, he had to change his mind in many ways. Mrs. Anamaria, as all the English sailors called her, was outstandingly brave, a fabulous sailor, great fighter, and highly skilled nurse. Had she been a white man, she could have made a fantastic career in the Navy. As things were though, all her merits didn't bring her anywhere but on a pirate ship, because there was no other place for her.

Then there was little Miss Swann, who wouldn't fit his conception of an English lady by any rate either. She wasn't lady-like at all, she was head-strong, inconsiderate and ignorant of her own place. He had to admit that he liked her a little better after seeing her genuine concern for the Challenger's fate; he couldn't even blame her for her most extravagant idea to promise Captain Sparrow anything he would ask for. It was silly, but done with good intentions; he couldn't begrudge someone who behaved like that for his friend's sake.

Eventually, there was Miss Van Dyke, the divine Miss Van Dyke… He had never imagined to have ever much interest in any woman at all, and not in his dreams, he could have thought that he would ever meet one like her. She was heaven itself! Her beauty, her intelligence, her dignified air and amiable temper – there could hardly be an angel in heaven resembling this angel on earth. He was honestly glad that the sweet lady didn't have to mourn for the Commodore's loss, and once she became Mrs. Norrington, he'd be able to see her much more often, to continue their friendship in silent admiration. Wasn't this more than a man like him could hope for?

In the afternoon, he accompanied the Commodore down to the cells where the surviving pirates were imprisoned. Some of them were most pitiful creatures, formerly sailing on merchant ships that had been captured by Black. They had been forced to choose between their own gruesome deaths and the life as a pirate under Black's command, and judging their faces, they would have been better off dead. They looked haunted by what they had seen or done themselves, their mouths twisted and their eyes empty. Not so their Captain, or 'Commodore' as he styled himself. Horatio Black had a cell for himself, not because anybody thought he had to be better treated than the rest, but because he had strangled two men he had shared a cell with.

He welcomed his visitors with a contemptuous sneer, his hands tied in his back to prevent him from jumping at the officers, but his spirits unbroken. "Ah, Commodore Norrington," he drawled. "Have your injuries mended at last? How does it feel to owe one's life to a pirate?"

The Commodore sighed. "So what about your injury, Captain Black?"

"The filthy bitch patched me up well enough. She was lucky that I was unconscious, or it would have been the last thing she had done in her worthless life!"

"What a pity that she should have cared in the first place! We will take you to Nassau Port and hand you over to Admiral Thompson. You've heard of him, I suppose?"

"Admiral Thompson, oh yes, the man who's most admirable quality is his incredible stupidity! Sure enough I've heard of him! I owe everything to him, you know?" He gave a high-pitched giggle that let James Norrington's blood freeze, but he tried to remain unperturbed and calm.

"Will you tell us about that famous battle that you were supposed to have died in?"

"And do you a favour? Not for the world!"

"Never mind," the Commodore replied quietly, thinking he had understood how Black was to be worked upon. "We know enough to reconstruct the events ourselves. You've been defeated by Captain Filister who proposed a bargain then – your lives in return for a share of your future loot –"

He battled with himself to conceal his inner triumph when seeing Black's fury with this assumption. "Defeated?! I've never been defeated!"

Obviously, this was wrong, otherwise he wouldn't have been arrested, but the Commodore refrained from making a remark and stop Black's ravings, telling him all he wanted to know now, to please his own twisted sense of pride. As it was, the Fortuna had been on the verge of a total defeat back then, half of her crew dead, and Captain Barnes determined to fight until the last man. He had received a shot in the head then, and the shooter had been no other than Filister himself. James Norrington shut his eyes for a second when hearing this revelation; he had no reason to doubt Black's report – the man was proud with every man he had killed himself!

"He pleaded for the cessation of hostilities, claiming that he'd know a good bargain. I thought he was a cowardly fool, but I enjoy to see my prey begging for their lives and listened to him. It turned out that he's surely a coward, but a smart coward nevertheless. He offered his assistance for our future raids, promising me to get me two more ships and keep us informed about the English Navy patrols. I don't trust idiots and asked him why I should believe that he wouldn't simply return to Nassau Port if I let him go, and come back with a whole fleet. Ah, but Filister is a sly bastard. He singled out two dozen men that he had faith in, let them come forth and ordered them to execute their fellow sailors. He knew his lot, and they obeyed him without a question. Then, he made them sign confessions, and he wrote one himself, confessing that it has been him who has shot Barnes. He handed over the letters, and I understood that he was indeed serious. Of course, he asked for a certain share of the loot, and had he demanded more, I would have killed him straight away. My men fight better when there's something in there for 'em! But like I said, Filister knows how far he can go, and I found it could be useful to have an ally like him. We agreed that my men stayed away from the area of Nassau and moved to the West, just in case. And we all gained our profit, to be sure! Filister got his promotion and more gold than he would ever have dared to dream. You Navy idiots don't get paid too much, do you? Perhaps your king should consider that loyalty can in fact be bought! And I was delivered two fine ships, that Filister had claimed to 'confiscate' from some Dutch merchants before shooting the whole lot of them. He's provided me with routes of gold frigates, information on arms and patrols, he even told me where I could find your precious Dauntless, Commodore –" He grinned maliciously. "It must hurt to lose one's ship, right?"

Chandler couldn't restrain himself any longer and punched Black right into his face, knocking the small man downright out. "Stop it!" the Commodore ranted and grabbed his Lieutenant's arm. But Black only laughed, blood dripping from his nose that appeared to be broken.

"Leave him! Let him taste a bit of my field of expertise! Not everybody is as constipated as you, Commodore Norrington, so why don't you leave the interrogation of prisoners to the real men, who hunger for screams of pain and thirst for blood?"

Chandler winced back, shuddering, and the Commodore said through gritted teeth, "It's all right, Lieutenant. Please go up and set up the report for Admiral Thompson, and inform your men to prepare for a return to Port Royal, will you?"

Chandler nodded and almost fled the place. The Commodore dragged Black up to his feet again; he was a foot taller than the pirate and bowed to face him directly now. "I will ask Mrs. Anamaria not to look for your broken nose this time, knowing that you cannot suffer her care. Make sure you won't bleed to death, I would hate to see you die before we reach Nassau. Wouldn't it be a shame not to see you hang beside your friend, the Captain? You will like it, as you relish agony so much – I do not doubt that you know perfectly well how long it takes until one is dead from being hanged."

Black cackled raucously, and spat him right into the face next. James straightened up, looking disgusted. "Just for the record, Captain Black – you won't die undefeated. You seem to forget that all the time!"

He turned around and left the cell, feeling sick and besmirched, not because Black had spat at him, but for what he had heard. He addressed the guard, "If he annoys you, gag him, but only after his nose has stopped from bleeding. Do nothing that could lead to his death, if something serious happens, shoot him only into his kneecaps. Oh, and in case you are bored – read to him from the bible, I'm sure he'd be delighted!"

"Rot in hell, Norrington, you bastard!" Black was yelling behind him, but he did not turn around again.

"To be a bastard in your books comes in as quite a compliment, Captain Black, thank you!"

Two days later, they parted; the Challenger set course for Nassau Port, while the Falcon and the Black Pearl were heading for Port Royal.

To make it short – Commodore Norrington reached safe haven without any more disturbances, and during the voyage, he had to learn some more dreadful stories. Black's First Mate, formerly a Spanish privateer, resolved to give all information that his superior had been so reluctant to give. Filister's plans seemed to have grown and blossomed; he had sent Black after the Dauntless back then to eliminate Commodore Norrington. It had been a risky plan, they had known that the only weak point of this flagship would be to set the powder magazines on fire. They had waited like a spider in her cobweb, sailed out in the storm against all reason to have their victim in the most vulnerable state possible, and had been rewarded with success. But Filister's scheme hadn't worked out, as the Commodore had survived after all – he had calculated that his cousin Lieutenant Gillette would be made Head of the fort and another major military base would be part of the conspiracy. He had offered him a piece of the share in return for his assistance, and Gillette had consented, aware that this was his only chance to ever advance himself anyway. But he hadn't had a share of Filister's cold blood or patience; when realising that Admiral Thompson wasn't about to degrade the Commodore, he had meant he could succeed nevertheless. Filister, worried that his not particularly bright cousin could blow his secrets up out of ill-consideration, had knocked him out with a hit in the neck and had hung him then. He had suffocated before regaining consciousness.

James Norrington had seen a lot in his years in service, he had heard many stories, and had believed himself to be rather insensitive against any crime or evil conduct. Despite his experience, he was shocked yet – he had never liked Gillette, sure, still he had meant him to be incapable of betrayal or conspiring with a man like Black. He couldn't grasp either that the Captain had been ready to murder one of his own kin, but had to see that, after going so far, Filister couldn't have turned around anyway.

They had sunk the three heavily damaged vessels right after the battle, which turned out to have been a mistake. Black had stored the confessions in his cabin, to always have his lever against Filister at hand, and the Commodore was not sure that Admiral Thompson would believe the testimonies of some pirates if they incriminated his own protégé. But then again, the proofs were still overwhelming – Black was alive, he knew things that he could only have got from a high-ranked officer. Hopefully, that would be enough to convince the Admiral.

These worries were unfounded at last; the Challenger put in Nassau Port's large harbour, easy to see for Captain Filister from his windows that faced the shore. Being the smart man that he was, he understood what it meant that Commodore Norrington was not only not dead, but that he had come here instead of returning to his own home base. He had no doubt that Black would have handed the confessions out – why spare them? – and had resolved long ago what he would do if that day was ever to come. He took his pistol, pressed it against his temple and pulled the trigger, void of any fear or remorse. He had played the game as far as he had come, a game with high stakes and immense profits – well, he had lost it, and a shot in the head was much better than a slow death on the gallows after all.