conundrum of Jean-Luc. A good man, it seemed; one who shared a history with Jack, had intimate knowledge of him across nearly two decades of his fabled life. Perhaps not such a simple puzzle after all. She smiled, a woman pleasurably vexed. There were worse things in life than to be caught in the midst of twin enigmas such as Captain Jack Sparrow and Captain Jean-Luc Beauvais.

~

They left the Faucon d'Argent and returned to the Pearl when Beauvais' ship reached the sea. Getting aboard was more painful than she wanted to admit, even with the assistance of Jack and Kalé. Jacob offered her a measure of rum which she accepted with alacrity. He appeared to have transferred some of his adoration of Jack to her following their inland excursion. Elizabeth was not certain this offered any better hope for the lad's future.

The day transformed from bright morning to afternoon storm, a tepid but steady downpour. Elizabeth requested enough water to bathe as their stores would soon be replenished, and Jacob eagerly lugged the copper tub to the great cabin and filled it. To her consternation, the boy shyly offered assistance. He indicated that she should sit before the basin and lean her head back; practicality won out over propriety and she obeyed. She shooed him out when her hair was washed clean of blood and forest remnants, wrung dry and wrapped in toweling. Jacob exited with a smirk worthy of his mentor, and she worried again at Jack's influence on the boy. She gingerly removed her breeches and Jean-Luc's immense borrowed shirt. Gratefully sinking into the tub, she finished bathing to the sounds of rainfall and the rumble of captain's orders on deck.

When Jack returned she had donned fresh clothing, belatedly remembering Malani's gift. He sat beside her at the charting table, smiling at her bewilderment when she reached inside the bag and produced a handful of crumbling gray-green leaves. "She's given us safety, love, of a sort; those are meant to prevent pregnancy, work quite well according to the natives. Brew yourself a tisane with a pinch of those each month and guarantee your bleed."

"Does it work? And how can I know it's safe?" She looked dubiously at the mess in her hand, then back to him.

"In common enough use here; if you've noticed, children on this island seem to come only two or three to a family; can't say the same for England and the continent, and the natives have a refreshingly liberal attitude towards the body's pleasures – very willing to share the delights amongst friends. Malani is something of a sorceress, a mistress of the magicks, so to speak; she only married into the Betsimisaraka, was born to the Antaimoro, here in this village. They do have some powerful magic, witnessed it myself; highly regarded as apothecaries as well. We could just continue to trust to our luck, seeing as it's so exceptional, or choose to adopt Catholic practices. Of course, sweeting, there is always the alternative of abstinence."

"There's magic in the leaves as well? I think I'd prefer to trust to your aim, Jack, if it's all the same to you. Abstention certainly does not seem to be in the cards, and neither of us are Catholic." She brushed the contents of her palm back into the bag, and felt the weight of something else inside. Searching within, she pulled out the small, delicately carved stone image of a kneeling woman, hands clasped in front of her obviously pregnant belly. "And this little lovely? She certainly seems at odds with the other."

"That, Lizzie, is protection of a different sort; meant to shield its owner from evil spirits and misfortune. You've caught Malani's eye; that token is not something given lightly. Powerful magic; supposed to call on the legions of the dead if a threat presents."

"Why is this fierce protectress so obviously with child? And Jack, did you by any chance…make a request for these tokens? " His mouth curved at that; a slow, maddening arc that stirred dual urges to either slap or kiss it off his face. He avoided the second question and answered the first.

"Nothing more powerful than creating life, Bess. A uniquely feminine gift, and one that terrifies men for all number of reasons. To the Malagasy, a pregnant woman represents the union of male and female spirits, life conquering death, the most powerful magic of all. Keep your little goddess close, might as well take luck as it comes." He produced a length of thin leather cord from a trunk, wrapped the tiny figure securely and tied the ends behind her neck.

Elizabeth cupped its weight in her palm for a moment, felt again the stirrings of warmth it had produced in the forest. Her mind avoided questions raised by his request for Malani's first gift, territory she was not yet ready to explore with him. Her thoughts settled instead on the second, now resting against her heart. "Since I'm so well protected, Captain Sparrow, and healing so quickly, I'll ask you to reconsider your idea of excluding me from an inland excursion."

Jack frowned, turned away from her, finding something of great interest on the cabin floor. Suddenly, with a magician's grace, he tossed his knife in the direction of her left hand. Her fingers touched the handle as she gasped with the sharp pain of sudden movement; the blade clattered to the floor. "There's your answer, Lizzie; I'm off to confer with Jean-Luc. Best be thinking of how to repay your whore's debt – I'll be adding interest." He winked lasciviously and swept out the door before she could think of a fitting retort, leaving her to rail in solitude against the iniquity of both her circumstances and her captain.

~

Cotton had fashioned traps from rope and wooden slats, baited them with rotting scraps, and hauled a bounty of dinnerplate-sized crabs from the sea floor. Captain Beauvais joined them on deck at sunset to crack open the pink shells and savor the delicacy. Jack had ordered rum dispensed from their still ample supply, and the crew celebrated the success of the hunt's first stage. Jean-Luc crossed the deck to sit beside her on the hatchcover, and inquired about the condition of her shoulder.

"Healing nicely, thanks to your needlework. Not quickly enough to allow me to venture past the village tomorrow, though." Elizabeth reflected again that he was a without doubt a striking man. The setting sun gilded his hair and skin; she noticed a thin scar at the corner of his upper lip that served to accentuate his sharp grin, so like Jack's.

"Ah, you mean your captain will not give the order for you to go. If it is of any comfort, he would make the same choice for Gibbs, or Kalé. But, I suspect that in your case there are other factors in play." He studied her, crystalline eyes sober and assessing although his teasing grin remained in place. "Jack is more than capable of love; do not doubt it. He will be as much the wolf in that as he is in all things, elusive and fierce. You see that as well as I do beneath the jest. Son coeur vous appartient ; il ne le donne pas facilement."

She met his eyes, saw his own truth. "Nor do I. You…care for him, Jean-Luc, see him for what he is; I believe you are very much like him."

"Ah, no, ma chère, there is no one like Captain Jack Sparrow. And yes; Jack is my friend, one who shares my past and my youth; a rare and valuable bond." He rose, offered a filibustier's salute, and rejoined Jack at the railing. Elizabeth watched his retreat with an aching recognition in her heart. As much as Jean-Luc held in common with Jack, it was Will's gentle ghost she had seen beneath his clean-edged features, heard echoed in his voice as he spoke of friendship.

Jack and his fellow captain were soon deep in their cups, regaling the crew with tales of shared adventure. Jean-Luc's skill at oration and delivery was a Gallic match for Jack's. They shared the stage in recounting the taking of a particularly well- provisioned ship of the crown, and the heaving outrage of a particularly well-endowed matron amongst her passengers. "Rose up with every screech and down with every wail like the swells of the Atlantic, vast they were, twin islands in a storm, wonder they didn't topple her nor box our ears. Was in grave danger of losing me hand when I went delving for her necklace, thought they'd swallow it whole." With this, Jack winked at her, swept his bottle in her direction and drank deep.

She watched as the two captains continued to play off each other's words, both experts in the art of theater and swagger. Fatigue and the nagging ache in her shoulder led her to their cabin early. Elizabeth fell asleep to Jack's rendition of an obsceneBen Backstayin which the unfortunate boatswain bewailed the successive loss of precious bits of his anatomy, and finally his head, to the ill-mannered shark.

She woke to him hours later when he found their bed, his hands and mouth a silent demand against her skin. He tasted of rum and pirate's tales, his body a stormy sea. Guiding her hand to his cock, he whispered instruction and curses until he came hard against her thigh. Before sleep took her again, she contemplated the source of his urgency. An answer evaded her; she drifted off, her mind still holding the question.

~

Midafternoon of the following day saw them back aboard the Faucon d'Argent. They made their way upriver through a more austere landscape than that which lined the banks of the Mananjary. The forest's lacy canopy allowed more sunlight to reach its floor, with its carpet of ferns and grasses stretching higher as a result.A few hours before sunset, the schooner reached a place where the river narrowed. Birds gliding in shifting patterns of flight swept over the water through swarms of insects clustered above the shoals. Here, the smooth stones of the riverbank were painted in dull shades of black, ochre, and gold, those lying beneath the water's clear surface transformed into glazed artifacts.

The Antaimoro village nestled at the forest's edge, a grouping of round thatch- roofed dwellings built with the river's multicolored stones. Ashawa, who had remained with them on the voyage south, led the way to a central structure slightly different from the rest. An open entrance provided a view of the interior, a dim space in which several seated figures were visible. They stirred at their visitor's approach but did not emerge. Jack held a brief conference with Ashawa and Jean-Luc, and then ventured inside with much sway and confidence. Kalé stationed himself just outside the doorway, holding the sacred book wrapped in sailcloth and at arms length.

Jack returned to Elizabeth's side looking smug. "The illustrious sages are most grateful for the return of their stolensorabe, that is, the book; gratitude that includes a willingness to share knowledge of a certain doomed pirate's visit and subsequent abandonment of that which we are here to retrieve. Said retrieval can commence following a brief ceremony conducted by their eldest elder, gentleman by the name of Mushad, to exorcise any stray demonic spirits or wayward souls who may have attached themselves to our party by way of leaping from said book and 'into our living circle,' I believe was the phrase. Savvy? Little of the dancing flames, hand waving and chanting, and we'll be on our way." Elizabeth tried to share his optimism, but given recent events was wary of placing too much faith in the straightforward nature of the island's inhabitants.

The building's occupants emerged an hour later as sunset spread a red and gold awning above the tree line. Elizabeth was amused to see that the mysterious sages all stood no higher than her shoulder. Each man appeared to be well into his sixth or seventh decade, and all wore the benign expressions of particularly well-fed Anglican clerics. Jack held court, apparently telling them of his daring escape with their precioussorabe. The lilting murmur of their response and the occasional sibilant "sah" and "soh" appeared to indicate the group's appreciation of his tale. Younger members of the village busied themselves with a huge fire built at the center of a well-trodden circle near the water's edge.

The mystics moved to the circle at nightfall; with no apparent signal, the rest of the villagers followed suit. Mushad, the most venerable and gray of their leaders, motioned for Jack to come forward. Kalé followed with alacrity, his discomfort in his role as temporary guardian of thesorabeclearly written on his normally impassive countenance. Mushad raised a withered hand, and the crowd fell silent. He began to chant in a surprisingly sonorous voice that gradually enveloped Elizabeth in its mesmerizing rhythm. His fellow sages joined in, one by one. The villagers followed suit, their added voices building to a crescendo that rose and fell in sweeping currents, embraced shape, form, and color in the fire's shimmering heat.

Elizabeth found her body responding to the hum of their voices; they wrapped themselves around her in a web of sound, drawing from her soul an alien chord. A new resonance slowly began to weave into the enveloping cadence, a crystalline thread of poignant grace. Awareness formed, a cold zephyr against her spine – this music originated in the river itself. It spun from the black water, the moonlight that painted its surface in silver, the rocks lining its banks. The Mananara sang, a psalm evoking longing, sorrow, the desolation of those forever lost. A primitive part of her wisdom whispered that the river's voices were those of the dead, summoned for some unknown purpose.

One hand moved to clutch the reassuring warmth of the stone goddess at her throat, as the other grasped her sword. She strode towards Jack at the circle's center. Before she could reach him, Mushad lowered his hand in a graceful arc. The river's anguished sound gave way to a silence so profound she felt she had lost her hearing to the night. She found Jack's eyes, saw a warning there, and stilled. Mushad bowed to him, then turned to Kalé and held out his hands for the book. He took it with care, gently removing its sailcloth covering. Elizabeth felt once more the eerie certainty that this was an object out of time, out of place. Thesorabedid not belong in this world.

Mushad allowed the volume to fall open, revealed pages covered in dancing script. Elizabeth was not close enough for a full view, and was grateful for it. She had no doubt the words would shift, reform, escape her scrutiny. From his robes, Mushad withdrew an apparently blank sheet of parchment. Placing it between the book's folds, he closed it again and murmured a brief incantation. When he withdrew the paper, it was no longer unmarked. Words had taken shape, and a crude diagram. They appeared ordinary, solid, characters shaped by a mortal hand; a paradox born of that unearthly tome. Mushad presented it to Jack with a disconcertingly casual wave of his hand. He then retreated with wavering dignity to his central dwelling, the other sages tottering behind in an anticlimactic procession.

Jack stared after him, recovered his composure with some effort, and drew Elizabeth and Jean-Luc to stand with him at the waters edge. "We have our heading, it appears; the honorable elders have honored their bargain, we seem to be free of demons, ghouls, and underworld stowaways; free to pursue the object of our intentions. Which we will do, at first light; agreed?" He looked to Jean-Luc alone for an answer, a fact that did not escape Elizabeth and annoyed her no end. The French captain nodded his accord to Jack, and acknowledged her irritation with a wink.

They made their way back to the Faucon d'Argent, Jack between them with an arm around her waist and the other flung across his friend's shoulders. Jean-Luc's schooner loomed in the water above them, a bird truly silver under the wings of moonlight. Jack's high spirits were infectious, and Elizabeth felt her anger slip away. "This will be a tale for your storybooks, love, one for little girls to treasure under their beds and hide from their mothers. I'm feeling quite the pirate tonight." He flicked his tongue beneath her ear, slipped the hand at her waist lower until she gave his beard a sharp yank in return.

"Keep your hands gentle, Lizzie. I've another story for you tonight; one you've not yet heard." His eyes flashed mischief; she found herself responding with an all too familiar curiosity. "'Twas on our first voyage across this very sea – our first together, Jean-Luc, as I'm sure you remember. Two naive young merchant seamen. Ah, but I'm wrong; you were naïve – I was well-seasoned by then, and randy with it. 'Twas the first time we both set foot in Singapore…."