Birds of a Feather

The Curse of the Black Pearl

Chapter Three

The Gold Calls

The rest of the afternoon passed quite awkwardly in the Swann Manor. Weatherby silently fumed over Philip and Elizabeth's disobedience, Philip silently fumed over his uncle's refusal to let Will Turner teach him to fight, and Elizabeth fumed over a great many things.

One thing she did not fume over was Philip's discovery of the medallion: that was a thought that terrified her. Elizabeth was not blind to the relationship between Philip and Will. Though she was extremely close to both men, it was clear that they were best friends, and she was sometimes the outsider looking in. Elizabeth worried about how Philip would react when she revealed she had stolen from his dear friend, especially if that dear friend was Will.

So Elizabeth took what she believed to be the most sensible course of action: avoid Philip as long as possible and hope he forgot about it.

However, that was easier said than done as Weatherby forced the cousins to join him for dinner. Elizabeth feigned a headache and claimed she was too rattled by the day's events to join them. Philip was all too quick to remind his uncle that it had been Elizabeth's idea in the first place to go on their little adventure to the smith, and if she was fit enough for that, she certainly was fit enough for dinner.

"Traitor," Elizabeth mumbled, glaring at Philip as the servants basically marched them into the dining room.

Philip grumbled back, "If I have to suffer through this, I'm taking you down with me."

Both had the feeling that if one tried to make a run for it, the Governor might have actually given the staff permission to tackle them.

Dinner was unusually quiet, and naturally tense. The servants said as little as possible, and scurried out as fast as they could. Philip's prayer to bless the meal were the only words exchanged by the Swanns – Philip tended to call himself such for the sake of convenience when someone wanted to address the family – for most of the duration of the meal.

The clanking of utensils against dinnerware and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock filled the room with a painful echo. All three Swanns kept their eyes lowered as if they feared eye contact would finally set off the fight brewing below the surface.

Finally it came to a head.

Philip threw his fork down, "Why can't Will teach me to fight?"

Weatherby sighed, giving in to the inevitable argument, "Philip, I have nothing against Mister Turner. He has been a good friend to you and Elizabeth over the years, but he's not properly qualified."

"He just fought a pirate!"

"And who knows if he would have won?" Weatherby calmly replied. "Philip, I don't know how long Mister Turner has been training, but testing out weapons to ensure their quality is much different than real world experience. Even the way one fights in battle is different than practice fencing."

"Like you would know," Elizabeth mutter under her breath.

Weatherby shot her a cold look but kept his focus on his nephew, "I would rather have someone to teach you properly so if you do need to fight you can protect yourself. This family had sustained far too many losses, and the last thing I need when I get to Heaven is your mother yelling at me for letting you get stabbed by a pirate."

Philip cupped his hands to his face and took a deep breath. He knew that his uncle's intentions were good and that it was nothing personal against Will. And yet Philip could not even consider anyone but his loyal friend having the understanding and patience Philip required to learn.

"I hear your arguments, Uncle," Philip tried to sound respectful, "but this is not your decision. I am twenty-one years old and I need to make my own choices. In this case, my answer is William Turner."

Pausing for a moment, Philip glanced over at Elizabeth. He could tell by the look on her face that she wished to give the same answer to the choice she was facing. He hid a smile as he wondered if Elizabeth still secretly practiced calling herself Elizabeth Turner in front of her mirror. There was a scar on his forehead hidden beneath his hair from the one time he laughed too loudly while spying on her doing it. That was the day he learned not to make fun of Elizabeth Swann when she had heavy books within throwing reach.

Weatherby Swann took a long time to mull over his nephew's words, but eventually he made that sound of a heavy breath released that he always made before conceding to a Swann.

"I suppose you are right, Philip." Weatherby shook his head, the warring factions of fatherly duty clashing with the desire for his children to be raised with more freedom and agency than he had when he was their age. "As much as I wish you would listen to me, I must accept that despite my raising you, you are not my son. More importantly, I must recognize that you are no longer a child and it's time for you to make your own decisions and mistakes. ...Besides, I'd be a fool to try to stop Rebecca Swann's son from doing what he chooses. You may look like your father, but you certainly have my sister's nerve."

Philip smiled at the memory of his mother who he missed so dearly. Even Nathaniel Swift, Rebecca's husband couldn't hold her back if he wanted to. Not that he ever had, and in fact usually led her cheering section to the detriment of them both.

"Speaking of my sister," Weatherby turned to look at Elizabeth, "I hope that whatever decision you do make about the Commodore's proposal, Elizabeth, you follow through with it. We don't need another Beckett Incident."

Elizabeth and Philip shared a knowing grin. The Beckett Incident was the most famous piece of Swann family lore.

When Rebecca turned twenty, her father – the fearsome Bartholomew Swann – had betrothed her to an up-and-coming young man named Cutler Beckett. Rebecca found the man horribly chauvinist – one of his favorite pastimes involved parading his fiancée around to his employees – absolutely unempathetic for the plight of the less fortunate, viewed marriage as nothing more than a business contract to obtain a trophy of his political power, snobbish, closed-minded, arrogant, a full head shorter than her, and thoroughly unpleasant. She tried to refuse the match, but despite even Weatherby's support of her, Bartholomew would not break the engagement.

Shortly before the engagement was brokered, the Swanns had agreed to host a young missionary by the name of Nathaniel Swift. Bartholomew had invited the man into their home as a way to fix his reputation after an unpleasant public altercation involving Weatherby's wife, Katherine after her fourth miscarriage. Rebecca rolled her eyes at the gesture – her fury over what her father had done Katherine was one she would carry to her grave – but soon enough found got along well with Nathaniel.

Quite well.

Throughout the year of preparations for the wedding, Rebecca and Nathaniel had become closer, and their relationship eventually turned more bold. When it came to the attention of Bartholomew a month before the wedding that Nathaniel intended to marry Rebecca, Bartholomew threw Nathaniel out of the house and confined Rebecca to her room. Her door was boarded up, her windows nailed shut, servants brought Rebecca her meals, and even a guard was posted at her door.

Weatherby liked to bring up that part of the story whenever Elizabeth or Philip accused him of disciplining them too harshly.

A dour mood fell upon the Swann residence, but a week before the wedding everything changed. The maid came to bring Rebecca breakfast, only to find the door had been pried open and Rebecca was gone, as well as a bag's worth of her possessions. All too quickly, the news arrived that Nathaniel too had disappeared. Search parties were sent out, and there was even the discussion of charging Nathaniel with kidnapping.

They were nowhere to be found.

Three months later, a letter arrived at the Swann household. It was from Rebecca, confirming Bartholomew's fear: she had eloped with Nathaniel and run off to Africa. Knowing her father's next action, Rebecca had included the cheeky note that her marriage to Nathaniel could not be annulled as it had been thoroughly consummated on multiple occasions. Rebecca had always loved to add when she retold the story that Bartholomew had burned the page bearing that comment.

Of course, the severe action of eloping had caused a strain on the Swann family. Bartholomew was forced to explain to Beckett why the marriage had fallen through, and Beckett as a result swore a vendetta against Weatherby of all people.

As a known supporter of Rebecca and Nathaniel, Weatherby ended up with most of the blame for Rebecca's escape, despite his insistence that he had down nothing. The only evidence against Weatherby has that he had promised to be the guard that night; a fact Rebecca easily took advantage of, knowing he was extremely unobservant and couldn't stay awake the whole night.

Rebecca herself did not return to England until Bartholomew suffered a fatal heart attack five years later. The timing turned out to be a Godsend as upon arrival to England with her husband, Rebecca's atypical bout of seasickness proved to be morning sickness. Philip came into the world eight months later, and about a year after that, the Swanns and Swifts struck their deal about his upbringing.

Of course, when Rebecca arrived to help her brother take care of their father's estate, it was revealed Bartholomew had written Rebecca out of his will due to her disobedience. It was a move both siblings had been expecting, but Bartholomew still made the pair jump through a ridiculous number of hoops to get the finances sorted. Rebecca only received her due inheritance because Weatherby had been kind enough to bequeath her half.

As entertaining and romantic the tale of Rebecca and Nathaniel was, it had become a warning to the Swann family of the consequences of defying propriety.

"Have you made a decision yet, Elizabeth?" Weatherby pressed much to her annoyance.

Philip had suddenly become very interested in a pepper on his plate.

"No, I haven't, Father," Elizabeth answered. Truth be told she never wanted to make a decision. If she said yes, she would be wed to a man she didn't love. If she said no, she'd suffer the social consequences, not to mention her father's disappointment and insistence to reconsider.

"Pity," Weatherby put his napkin down, and the servants began to clear the dishes. "I shall see him at the Fort tonight, and I was wishing to pass on good news."

"My apologies, but I just need a little time after today," Elizabeth flashed a smile that she hoped didn't look too much like the grimace she was withholding. "But I promise, Father, when I do make a decision, you'll be the first to know."

Philip loudly cleared his throat.

"Well… after Philip of course," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but a genuine smile touched her lips. "That should go without saying."

Philip looked very satisfied with her amendment.

"I do hope you reach a decision soon." A loud clanging ran through the house, and Weatherby looked back at the large grandfather clock, "Is that the time? Goodness, I must be on my way. Try to get to bed early, both of you."

"Actually, Pastor Thomas wanted me to come to the church for a few hours," Philip said. "You know, deal with anyone who shows up with a midnight crisis of faith."

"Of course. I suppose I'll see you both tomorrow morning then. Goodnight, children."

"Good night, Father."

"Good night, Uncle."

And with that, Weatherby departed, leaving Philip and Elizabeth to stare awkwardly at each other from across the table.

Elizabeth could see the question in her cousin's eyes. The medallion. The unavoidable fight. She looked down at her dress; the medallion was still tucked safely in her bodice.

Briefly touching her neck, Elizabeth struggled to find the words.

"Philip," Elizabeth started.

But Philip simply raised his hand to quiet her.

"We'll talk about it later," Philip said. "I have to head to the church."

"Oh," Elizabeth looked pleasantly surprised. "Well, enjoy yourself. Don't get home too late. Then again, don't feel the need to hurry along."

Philip smiled as he got to his feet. All his worries about the dangers she had been in that day finally came bubbling to the surface. He walked over to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. When she smiled he couldn't fight his own rising in response. He patted her shoulder, muttered a goodnight, and headed for the door.

Warmth filled Elizabeth's chest as the relief of not having to explain herself as expected washed over her. She could sleep very soundly that night.

Philip stopped at the door frame and looked back at his joyous cousin.

"Elizabeth," Philip's voice cut her happiness short. He gave her a warning look, "We will talk about this."

And Elizabeth's grin fell off her face.

A clanging of metal rung out from the blacksmith shop. Though it was well beyond business hours, Will was working hard.

The hammer pounded down the… well, to be honest, Will wasn't even sure what he was making. It would probably end up being some misshapen mound of metal that was a waste of the money paid for the material. Then again, what did it matter if Will wasted Mister Brown's resources? It wasn't like whatever Will made, he would get to claim.

What did Will even have? The clothes on his back? He didn't own the rooms adjacent to the shop where he slept. His reputation for his works were transferred to Mister Brown. His expert fighting skills were undermined by his lack of formal training. His best friend and fervent supporter was itching to leave Port Royal behind for the call of God at any moment.

Worst of all, the woman he loved would marry another.

Will tried to reassure himself that it was not true. Elizabeth had not yet agreed, but he only knew it was a matter of time. He shuddered to think of the day Philip would come with the horrible news.

What would be the point after that? Did he truly have any reason stay if Philip was gone and Elizabeth wed to another?

He had been considering it more and more over the past few months. Maybe a fresh start was exactly what he needed.

Will's thoughts were interrupted by a loud pounding at the door.

He looked back at it queerly. It was an hour before midnight; who could possibly be calling?

"We're closed!" Will yelled to his mystery visitor.

"Will, it's me!" Philip's voice sounded back. "Can I come in?"

Terror shot through Will's heart as he scrambled for the door. Had something terrible happened?

"Philip," Will urged his friend into the shop. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Relax, Turner. I had the night shift," Philip grinned, automatically grabbing the chair propped against the wall. It was their usual routine, and Philip made himself at home, "I just wanted to talk."

"Let me guess." Will grabbed a rag from a hook and wiped the soot from his face. "The Governor does not wish me to teach you to fight?"

"True," Philip shrugged as the donkey wandered over to greet him. Philip patted it on the head and opened his hands to show the creature that he didn't bring any carrots this time. He laughed as the donkey snorted and lumbered away to sulk. "But we've come to the understanding that it's not his decision to make."

Will paused putting away his equipment, "Wait… Does that mean…"

"William Turner, will you teach me to fight?"

"Alright," Will grinned, "but I won't take preacher lessons as payment."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Philip chuckled. "Could we start tomorrow?"

"We can start now if you have the time."

"Let's do it."

Will knew he should have guessed the announcement when Philip unsheathed the sword Will only now noticed had been hanging from Philip's hip. He put a hand on the hilt and told Philip to put it away while he dug out some practice swords. Will tried not to laugh when Philip sheathed the sword, looking as sullen as the donkey.

They started with the basics, and conversation quickly turned to how Will had dueled a real live pirate to submission earlier. And Jack Sparrow, no less.

Sorry. Captain Jack Sparrow.

"I wish you would have seen Uncle's face when he charged in and found you two on the rafters," Philip chuckled as Will showed him how to properly grip a sword. "I wish there was something that captured a record of images so I could look at that expression all the time."

"Admit it, Swift," Will playfully elbowed his friend. "You set me up."

Philip feigned innocence, "Set you up? Whatever do you mean?"

"You knew I was fighting Sparrow. You led that group into the shop on purpose."

"Of course I did it on purpose. We needed to arrest Sparrow and make sure you were alright. I didn't randomly appear in your shop to gossip about the promotion ceremony."

Will rolled his eyes, "And your purpose in bringing everyone into the shop wasn't so that the Commodore and Governor saw me fighting Sparrow?"

"How dare you accuse me of that!" Philip's jaw dropped open in mock indignation. "Do you really believe I care so little for my friend that I only brought him help so he could show off?"

"Remind me, doesn't the religious life frown on failure to confess sin?"

"My sins are between the Lord and I alone."

Will just laughed.

"So," Philip grinned. "When do I actually get to fight you?"

"Not for some time yet," Will replied. "We need to get the mechanics done first. Even Norrington would tell you that."

Will hesitated.

"Speaking of Norrington…" Will scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Philip's eye. "Has your cousin made a decision yet?"

"None that she's confessed," Philip answered. "Then again, I'm fairly certain she's decided she does not wish to marry the Commodore. Now it's just a matter of working up the nerve to follow through with it or surrender to what is expected of her. And for the Love of the Lord, Will, could you at the very least refer to Elizabeth by her first name to me? I know you pulled the bold faced move of calling her Elizabeth to her face in front of everyone, but seriously, there is no reason you should be referring to her simply as your cousin in front of me. I may be a Man of the Lord, but I will smack you upside the head with my Bible for that nonsense."

Will ignored the latter rant, "And what of you? Any thoughts of marriage in your mind?"

"Nothing more than an approval of the abstract concept," Philip noncommittally shrugged. "In the bride seeking quest, no one's caught my eye the way Elizabeth's caught yours. Truth be told, I've considered a vow of chastity just to avoid what Elizabeth's going through. But don't tell Elizabeth, because she might get ideas."

"Elizabeth Swann in a convent," Will shook his head. "I'm more likely to turn pirate."

"You could do very well with your fighting skills," Philip teased. "Though please don't. I don't want to have to fear for your eternal soul."

"We both know if I ever turned pirate, you would hunt me down, drag me back here, and lock me in the church with you until I repented."

"Only if you teach me how to fight," Philip laughed. "Honestly, Will, give me some sort of timeline. When will I get to engage in combat?"

"Philip, I guarantee that you will not be fighting anyone for a very long time."

It was at that moment, The Black Pearl fired on Fort Charles.

As the ship and Fort began to exchange shots, and the pirates landed to raid the town, Elizabeth watched in horror from the balcony of her bedroom.

She thought not of the likelihood that the pirates would attack the mansion, nor of how she saw the same ship the day she stole the medallion.

All she thought of her the three men she loved – Weatherby at the Fort, Philip at the church, and Will at the blacksmith shop – and how they were all in terrible danger.

"Stay here!" Will ordered Philip as he armed himself.

But Philip surprised Will when he too began to grab random weapons from the shop.

"What do you think you're doing?" Will demanded.

"I have to get to the church and hide the valuables," Philip explained grabbing a large axe. "They're locked up, but in an easier to find location. We have a special hiding spot in case of raids. I'm on night duty and Pastor Thomas lives on the other end of Port Royal. It's my responsibility to secure them."

Philip headed for the door, but when he passed Will, the blacksmith grabbed him and yanked him to a stop.

"I can't let you go out there in that mess," Will's voice was earnest, worry suffocating his words as he imagined a thousand terrible things that could be done to his best - and probably only - friend.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not asking your permission," Philip wrenched his arm free. He took a deep breath and pushed away his indignant thoughts. His best friend was just looking out for him. "Will, I promise I won't do anything stupid. I'll go to the church, secure the valuable, and then I'll go straight home. Elizabeth's there, and Uncle is at the Fort. Someone needs to go protect her."

Will hesitated. Personally he would rather go to the Swann Manor and protect Elizabeth. But he was fairly certain that even in the middle of a pirate attack it would be deemed improper, and he wouldn't be allowed in.

"Alright," Will conceded. "But straight home. Promise me."

"As long as God wills it," Philip agreed. "Now let's go."

"Wait!" Will grabbed the giant axe in Philip's hand and replaced it with Philip's forgotten sword. Philip had propped it against the wall when Will gave him the practice one. "You'll be able to handle that better."

"But you haven't trained me yet."

Will shrugged, "Use the sharp part, and that should get you along well enough for now."

The two men ran outside. Immediately they came face to face with a pirate chasing after a woman. Without any hesitation, Will threw the axe in his hand straight into the back of the pirate.

Philip clutched his cross and muttered a prayer as the man fell down presumably dead.

"Don't be so squeamish!" Will called as he rushed forward to collect his axe and join the melee.

Philip looked around in horror as he watched the pirates loot, fight, and murder the people Philip had grown up with.

"Oh Lord," Philip raised his eyes to the Heavens. "Where are you now? Please turn your eye upon our little town and free us from the damnation."

Then he turned toward the church and ran.

Fire. Screams. Explosions.

Weatherby Swann watched in horror as the pirates attacked his beloved town. Even worse, Weatherby feared for his beloved children.

Had Philip returned safely from the church? Weatherby prayed that his nephew had not stopped at the blacksmith shop on his way home, as was the usual habit. Will Turner was a fine gentleman, but the blacksmith's apprentice had finished Philip's corruption of reckless behavior as a result of a love of adventure that Elizabeth had worked so many years to achieve. Sure, the boy was predisposed to recklessness from his mother, but that didn't mean Will and Elizabeth hadn't exacerbated the process. Weatherby shuddered to think what would happen if Philip was left to fend for himself against pirates with only William Turner to fall back on.

...Then again, after witnessing Turner's duel with the pirate earlier that day, Weatherby felt a sense of relief at the thought of Turner protecting Philip. Though he dare not admit it, Weatherby found Will Turner to be a superb fighter.

But it was Elizabeth, Weatherby most feared for. As a woman, there were things a lot worse that could be done to her. Weatherby begged God that Elizabeth's virtue would remain intact. How would she recover from the trauma if it was stolen? Would Norrington still want his daughter if Elizabeth had been defiled? Would Philip be able to find enough strength in God not to repay the second worst sin by committing the worst? Would Weatherby?

He thought back at the awkward volatile dinner the family had before the attack. Weatherby's heart would be shattered if the last words he told them were ones of anger and he returned home to find Philip dead and Elizabeth violated.

"Governor, barricade yourself in my office," Norrington's words brought Weatherby's attention back to the present.

But as another shot hit the Fort and Weatherby cowered in fear, he found he could not move. He needed to know his children were safe.

"That's an order," Norrington's tone left no room for argument.

So as he locked himself in the office deep in the middle of the Fort, Weatherby found that he was completely helpless to help his children. All he could do was pray and beg to God that neither Philip nor Elizabeth would join their mothers – and Philip's father – in the Kingdom of Heaven that night.

"But don't you ever forget, Brother," Rebecca's voice whispered in his mind. His little sister's words had a soothing effect on his mind. "Swanns don't stay caged. I'll get out of this… and so will you."

He took a deep breath.

No. That wasn't all he could do.

Philip ran through the crowded streets, doing his best to fend off the pirates. He tried to stick as many pirates with his blade as possible – muttering a quick apology to God each time – but still saw them alive and well minutes later no matter how good a wound he made.

After seeing the fifth dead man walking, Philip decided that if anyone asked, he'd fib and say he had abstained from killing for moral reasons. No need to add extra embarrassment to his already thoroughly humiliating day.

"Church. Home. Church. Home," Philip repeated the mantra under his breath.

He was nearly there when he ran smack into Estrella, Elizabeth's maid.

"Estrella!" Philip gasped, pulling the breathless woman to a halt. "Are you alright?"

"Mister Swift!" Estrella looked terrified. "It's terrible! They've attacked the Manor!"

"What? Elizabeth! Is she alright?"

"I don't know, Sir. She was sound when I left, but I fear not much longer afterwards. She sent me to tell the Fort, and pirates were getting there as I was leaving."

The deep love and protective spirit of a brother filling him in a heartbeat, Philip's jaw set and he found a new sense of determination.

"Estrella, go somewhere safe," Philip ordered her. "I'll go to the Fort."

Being the Governor's nephew, Philip received easy admission into Fort Charles, and to his luck, he ran straight into Groves not far from the entrance.

"My Uncle!" Philip had no time for preamble. "Where is he? The Manor is under attack! Elizabeth's there!"

"I'll send some men straight away," Groves nodded to a trio lingering nearby. "You stay here, Mister Swift and I'll go get the Governor."

"Thank you," Philip gave a small smile. Any bigger felt inappropriate under the circumstances.

Groves ran off with his men and Philip nervously waited. His hand drifted to the Bible still miraculously sitting in his belt. It was in moments like this Philip knew there had to be some sort of greater force in the universe that would deliver salvation. After all, what was the point in living if there was no hope of justice? He prayed to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost that Elizabeth, Will, Estrella, and Weatherby were safe, and that he, Philip, would remain as such.

"Mister Swift!" Groves came running back to him.

"Well?" Philip asked hopefully, but then he noticed Groves' wide eyed and pale face. "What's wrong?"

"I've sent men ahead to your home, but…" Groves hesitated. "The Commodore ordered the Governor to confine himself to Norrington's office, which he did."

"But?"

"The Governor isn't there. I think he left to check that you and your cousin were safe."

Philip groaned, "Of all the things our family could have the knack for, it had to be escaping in the dead of night. Well, that and our poor handling of whiskey."

Groves opened his mouth to question, but thought better of it.

Philip shook his head, "Alright, I'll head back home to make sure he's safe."

"No," Groves said firmly, taking charge of the situation. "This Fort is the safest place to be at this time. I'll send more men ahead, and hopefully the ones on their way will catch up with the Governor. Stay here until the fight is over. If pirates breach the Fort, get out and don't look back."

"Yes, Sir," Philip nodded.

And with that Groves was gone.

Trying to calm his nerves, Philip studied the hallway he was essentially trapped in. Looking around, he suddenly realised that he wasn't as safe as he had expected. He was standing directly next to the door that led to the prison cells.

There was a loud explosion and he heard "Prison break!" Dozens of soldiers appeared out of nowhere and raced past Philip. He just barely jumped out of the way.

Philip was trying to recover from having been nearly run down, when he saw something move in the shadows. He couldn't react fast enough. A hand grabbed his throat, and two pirates – a black man with dreads and a bearded brunette wearing a yellow bandana – slammed Philip against the wall. The black man was the one who had Philip by the throat, pinning to the cold stone so Philip couldn't escape.

"Let him breathe, Koehler," the man with the bandana smirked as Philip choked loudly.

"But look at him squirm, Twigg," Koehler replied as Philip feebly struggled in the pirate's grasp. He let out a dark chuckle when Philip tried to pry his hands off. "I bet this wasn't what the kid signed up for when he joined the Navy."

"Please," Philip begged. "Show mercy. Release me and find your salvation in the word of the Lord."

"Oh, a churchly fellow," Twigg laughed. "And look at the pretty bible he's got himself."

"Don't touch that!" Philip snapped as Twigg began to pull it out of its holder. He couldn't move to snatch back his father's bible. "Please, it's special to me."

Twigg pulled out a knife and stuck it under Philip's chin, carefully avoiding Koehler's hand still wrapped around Philip's throat.

"I'll leave it alone," Twigg pressed the dagger lightly so that it had not cut Philip, yet still caused pain. "If you tell us where the armory is."

"I-"

Philip stopped. He had been about to answer that he didn't know where the armory was when his eye caught on the stairs next to him.

"There!" Philip pointed to the steps that led to the prison cells. "They're down there!"

"That's a good boy," Koehler dropped Philip.

The pirates dashed down the stairs, and Philip – laying on the ground – dare not move a muscle. He listened as he heard the soldiers on the stairs lose their duels against the pirates. Philip prayed God's forgiveness for sending the soldiers' killers to them.

"This ain't the armory!" Twigg cried out.

And Philip ran. He ran away from the pirates. He ran out of the hallway. He ran even out of the Fort.

Back through the town, Philip weaved through the fight that seemed to be dying down. His mind was so focused on his family back in the manor that he didn't notice the body lying in the middle of the road until he had already tripped over it.

Philip looked back, ready to apologize, when his heart froze.

"WILL!"

Philip was at his friend's side in an instant, shaking the unmoving body as hard as he could.

"Come on, Will! Come on, Turner! Get up!" Philip urged, even slapping Will's face for good measure. "Please, God, don't do this. Don't take him, Lord. He has so much more life left to live.

But Will didn't wake.

Despaired, Philip sat back on his feet and lifted his eyes to the Lord before bringing them back down to examine Will's body. Philip experimentally picked up the blacksmith and found he was strong enough to carry Will. The only question was where? Philip didn't think he could make it all the way home, but he needed to check on his family.

But Groves had sent soldiers to help the Swanns, and Philip couldn't leave Will to die on the street.

Making up his mind, Philip carried Will back to the blacksmith shop, and set Will in his own bed. Philip quickly reinforced the doors – secretly wishing Will was awake to do that thing where he threw a sword at the door to keep it shut – and armed himself with as many weapons he could find. Thankfully the pirates hadn't thought to raid the shop.

Philip sat next to Will's bed, silently counting the minutes as he listened to the cannon fire outside.

Slowly, the commotion began to wind down, and after an hour it ceased altogether.

"Will," Philip shook his friend. The adrenaline of the situation had not yet allowed the fear that Will would never wake to set in. "Come on, Will. Wake up."

To Philip's relief, Will rolled onto his side, and furrowed his brow.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Philip, I... Elizabeth." Will groaned, almost as if he were trying to tell Philip something.

Whatever it was, Will could not communicate it and he went back to sleep.

Philip breathed a sigh of relief and thought of the soldiers he had sent to the Swann Manor. He wondered how Elizabeth and Uncle Weatherby were doing. Had the soldiers caught up with Uncle? He prayed they had.

His eyes felt heavy, and as uncomfortable as the simple wooden chair was, Philip felt no inclination to get out of it.

Exhaustion began to set in of a day where Philip had visited with his friend, attended a promotion ceremony, raced to save Elizabeth after she fell off a cliff, swan to help a pirate save Elizabeth, had said pirate take Elizabeth hostage, raced after Elizabeth in the middle of town, helped the Navy break into Will's blacksmith shop, had an awkward dinner with his family, spent the night shift at the church, visited with his friend again, started to learn to swordfight, actually fought pirates, outsmarted a pair of pirates, carried Will back to the blacksmith shop, and dreamed of a girl with a tail.

The day had been so eventful, Philip fell asleep upright in the uncomfortable chair.

Once again, Philip dreamed of the beautiful tailed girl, never suspecting the news Will would reveal when they woke up the next morning.

That Elizabeth had been kidnapped by pirates.

"Come on, Poppet," Pintel led Elizabeth down through The Black Pearl towards the cabin Barbossa had dubbed her prison. "We're not sending you to the brig."

"I can walk fine on my own!" Elizabeth wrenched her arm out of Ragetti's grasp as he followed behind them. Deciding to try to control the situation, she broke into a quick stride, pulling far in front of them. She stopped at a cabin door and folded her arms stubbornly, "If you insist on keeping me captive, you'll at least open the door to my cell, no matter how uncomfortable it may be."

But Pintel and Ragetti just eyed each other and chuckled low and giddy.

"That's not your cabin," Pintel grinned at Elizabeth.

"It's not?" her haughty look faltered for a moment. She tried to recover with dramatic indignation. She would not let them be in charge of the situation. "Well, why not? It's too far below for Captain's Quarters. Why don't you put me in this one?"

The duo just laughed again.

"Trust me, Poppet, you don't want to go in that one," Pintel replied. "But that reminds me. It's time for feeding."

Elizabeth watched as Ragetti walked over to a chest against the wall and lifted the lid. Inside, packed with ice and banana leaves to keep it fresh, was a pile of fish. Ragetti also pulled a plate out of the chest and began piling the fish onto it. They were whole fishes; heads, scales, and guts still intact. After filling the plate, the pirate shut the chest and carefully opened the door. He quickly shoved in the plate and slammed the door closed.

Elizabeth wasn't sure what she heard next. Something that sounded like sloshing water, hissing, and a ravenous tearing of flesh.

"Feeding?" Elizabeth asked nervously, trying to eye the pirate casually.

"Of course," Pintel grinned. His voice sounded exceptionally dramatic as he taunted Elizabeth, "This is where we keep… The monster."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "Monster?"

"Monster," Ragetti repeated, nodding enthusiastically as he and Pintel waited her reaction.

She just stared at them.

"Good try," Elizabeth said flatly. "But I don't believe in monsters."

"Oh, you'll see," Pintel assured her. "If you put the Captain in the wrong mood, I'm sure he'd love to introduce you two."

"Only then, it'll be too late," Ragetti gave his dopey laugh. "Come on. To the cabin now."

The pirates laughed among themselves as they started to lead Elizabeth toward her prison again. Elizabeth just rolled her eyes at the theatrics. Really, monsters? A portion of the terror she felt at being trapped on this pirate ship dissipated with the ridiculous notion.

Suddenly there was a creak of door hinges, the scrapping of dishware against a wooden floor, and the slam of a door. Elizabeth turned back to the room that held the alleged monster. Sitting outside the door was the remains of a devoured plate of fish.

There may not have been a monster inside, but something was in there.

And it had stripped the fish of everything but their bones.