Off the Edge of the Map

Desiderata: 12/22



Chapter 12

From his hiding spot behind the Fuerza’s mast, Jack watched Elizabeth as she climbed up onto the Pearl’s rail. Strands of hair, like spun gold, escaped from her plait and were whipped about her face by the breeze. The eyes which had met his so warmly moments before, creating a flickering, persistent flare of hope in his heart, now narrowed sharply in determination, molten metal hardened into steel.

So fierce, Lizzie, he thought with no small amount of pride. The time at sea had transformed the Pirate King; no longer was she the taciturn leader, bearing her burdens with soft resignation. A new, stronger woman – the one that Jack had always known her to be, simmering below the surface, showing itself from time to time in flashes of fire – had emerged, her curtain of hesitation blown aside by the warm Caribbean breeze. He looked at his crew gathered behind her, ready to go into battle on her signal, their firm confidence showing on their faces. A pirate’s loyalty was a hard-won commodity, given to few and easily revoked. Elizabeth had won the respect of the Pearl’s crew, and they were proving their esteem now, fighting by her side.

Jack watched her as she measured the distance between the rail where she stood and the deck of her ship. The wind still filling the sails, though Gibbs made sure the vessels drifted along steadily with only a thin strip of open water between them and it was across this small gap that Elizabeth now swung herself with a fierce yell. Her sword was drawn the instant her feet touched the Fuerza’s deck and she spun, taking two of Eliana’s men down with one stroke. The rest of the Pearl’s crew followed her across the breach, landing with a clamour of thumps and shouts, immediately brandishing their weapons at the enemy sailors.

Keeping low, Jack crept along the back edge of the crowd, moving on silent feet toward the quarterdeck steps. Timothy had heard the commotion on deck and came racing up the stairs, sword at the ready. Catching sight of Jack, he took a breath to shout, but Jack forestalled him with a sharp look. Shaking his head, the captain motioned for the other man to stay toward the rear of the battle now being waged in front of them. Timothy nodded in understanding, and Jack looked through the clashing swords and falling bodies to meet Elizabeth’s eye. He muttered a curse as she ducked a sword swung at her head, but smiled when she disposed of her attacker with a roll of her eyes. Not breaking her gaze, she nodded her head to where Eliana stood on the quarterdeck, fighting two men at once and not looking like she was being terribly taxed by the effort. Jack nodded, and continued toward the port steps while Elizabeth fought a path to the starboard ones. By the time they emerged at opposite sides of the quarterdeck, Eliana had dispatched her attackers and was looking down onto the battle below. Seeing Elizabeth approach, she laughed out loud, wiping her blade on her trousers. Unlike Jack, with his simple breeches and linen shirt, Eliana was attired in the finest fabrics, smooth cotton and silk embroidered with delicate threads.

“Captain Swann,” she barked, and her brother winced at her abrasive tone.

“Softly, Ellie,” he purred, walking toward her on silent feet. “No need to abandon civility just because you happen to find yourself on the losing end of a fight.” His sister turned sharply at the sound, and her hand tensed on the hilt of her sword. She looked tired, Jack observed with a twinge of sympathy. Her raven hair had lost some of its shine and for all her fancy clothing she gave off the air of a deckhand asked to do a captain’s duties – in over her head and searching the horizon for land.

“Jack!” She let the surprise show on her face for a moment before carefully schooling her features into an expression of unconcerned amusement. “It took you that long to escape from the brig? I hope you don’t expect me to be impressed.”

“Hardly, love,” Jack said calmly. He had a firm grip on his pistol, but his arm remained dangling at his side. “I’m sure you outgrew your admiration of me long ago.”

“Perhaps,” Eliana shrugged. She raised her sword and pointed it at her brother, the blade firm and unwavering. “But mark my words, before we’re quit of one another you’ll have learned to admire me for the captain I’ve become.”

Over her shoulder, Jack saw Elizabeth raise her own weapon and take a step forward, but he shook his head, the slightest possible gesture.

“Already do, darlin’,” he assured his sister. “Not much of a life you had growin’ up, was it?”

“Don’t pretend to understand things you chose not to be a part of,” Eliana snarled. “I was six years old, Jack. I had naught in this world save for my father and brother. One abandoned me when I was barely old enough to remember him and the other decided to chase the horizon not long after. Neither you nor Teague know me anymore. If you ever did to begin with,” she finished with a lift of her chin.

“Oh, yes, poor you,” Elizabeth said drolly. Jack dragged his eyes over to her face and gave her a warning look.

“Lizzie-”

“You seem to be doing well enough,” Elizabeth continued to address Eliana. “Took the Pearl, kidnapped Jack, stole my ship. You appear to have learnt a few things on your own.”

Eliana spun in a swirl of raven hair, bringing her sword up to point at the other woman. Jack tensed, readying himself for a fight, but his sister chuckled. “I have indeed. My brother seems to think I’m still his baby sister, someone to be coddled. But you, Captain Swann, see me for what I am.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “A bitter, conniving woman who’ll not hesitate to imprison her own brother in order to get what she wants?”

“No,” Eliana replied in a wry tone. “A pirate.”

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Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noted with satisfaction that the battle on the deck below was coming to an end, her crew – the Pearl’s crew – having gotten the best of Eliana’s hired muscle. Returning her attention to the woman before her, she was startled to realize that Jack’s sister was near her own age. Both parents lost. Sailing the sea looking for adventure, a pirate’s heart beating within. Peas in a pod. She was conscious of a smile crossing her face and did nothing to inhibit it, though she was mindful of Jack’s curious look.

“We are much alike, you and I,” she said softly.

“Hardly.” Eliana stated brusquely.

“It’s true,” Elizabeth insisted, one eye on the tip of Eliana’s sword as it dropped slightly. “My mother died when I was young, my father four years ago. I, too, am alone in the world.”

“You are the pirate king.” The blade lowered further. “No one would believe you to be abandoned.”

“And yet I am.” Tears threatened, but she refused them. “There is a difference, you know, between people who care about you and those who merely obey your orders. The former sort of company, I’ve found, being the far more desirable of the two.”

“What is your point, Captain Swann?” Eliana forced a bored tone onto her words, but Elizabeth could see that she was listening quite intently. That was a start.

“You are far more fortunate than I,” she answered. “You have someone who cares for you close at hand.” Over Eliana’s shoulder she could see Jack’s eyes widen, and he slowly shook his head at her.

“And who might that be?” For a moment Eliana appeared genuinely puzzled. Then her face cleared and she laughed. “Surely you don’t mean my perfidious, black hearted brother? He had his chance, didn’t he. He chose to walk away, to go chasing after his precious horizon.”

“He did return.”

“Oh, yes, let’s not forget that bit, the part where he deigned to see me just long enough to talk me into giving him my ship, which he swore he would bring back in short order. Of course, once he had possession of it, he had no need to appear in my presence again.”

“Pirate.” Jack’s voice broke into the conversation. Stepping forward and planting one upraised finger in the air between the two women, he fixed firm eyes on his sister. “And I did come back, love. You’d already left, something I can hardly be held accountable for.”

“Five months, Jack. Five miserable months I waited, growing more impatient by the day, realizing that I’d been played for a fool by my own flesh and blood.”

“Ran into some trouble on the way – as Caroline no doubt relayed to you.”

“Caroline?” Elizabeth interjected.

“Teague’s sister.” Jack barely spared her a glance, though the brief touch of his gaze burned. “He left our Ellie in her aunt’s care – Caroline was waiting for me when I returned with the Pearl and found that I had arrived too late; she promised to send word of my presence there on to her niece and I have no doubt that she did so. Therefore, you, dear sister, cannot be as ignorant of my misfortunes as you would pretend.”

“Your Ellie?” She spat the words from her mouth as though they had a foul taste. “Have a care with your possessiveness, Jack. It’s been sadly lacking these past years.”

“How inconsiderate of me,” Jack mocked with a curl of his lip. “I was under the impression that you were beyond needing my protection.”

“Oh, I am,” Ellie’s voice was rough with emotion, though her eyes remained as cold and hard as icicles on a December night. “I learnt long ago how to fight for myself. You may still think of me as your baby sister, Jack, but I am a child no more.”

With that cold pronouncement, she raised her sword. Elizabeth was sure that time stopped then – her eyes darted from the bright blade glinting in the sun to Jack’s face, the cool and calm of a spring sea next to the heat of his sister’s summer storm.

Then the world came crashing down.

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Jack watched, blood frozen in his veins as Elizabeth ducked, spun, twisted, lunged. Screamed. The harsh sound grated at his ears, tore at his heart; he felt the wound as though it were his own. Elizabeth looked down at the deep gash on her arm with a confused expression, watching as the bright red of freshly spilt blood began to stain the white of her shirtsleeve. She raised her eyes to meet Jack’s, the barest flash of fear in their depths, and the sight of the unfamiliar emotion made his stomach turn. Gripped by a mixture of protective instinct and a peculiar, burning rage, he watched as Eliana pulled back her blade, a flash of silver and scarlet, and prepared to deliver another blow. Only one thing to be done, mate.

The shot rang out across the open air, the sound loud as a flint spark in a dark room, and he saw Eliana fall, as if from far away. From the deck below came the metallic symphony of blades crashing to the floor, mixed with the Pirate King’s curses, colourful as a sunset sky.

“Bloody hell, Captain!” Gibbs took the quarterdeck steps two at a time and gaped at the scene. Jack stood in blank silence for what felt an hour, staring at his sister lying dead at his feet. He finally raised his gaze to the first mate’s face, saw the shock there. Noted it and looked away. Saw at Elizabeth, her thin fingers clamped over the deep gash on her arm. The pale circles of her eyes stripping away his layers until she beheld his very essence, measured the sacrifice he’d made, added up the cost. Jack struggled to keep his footing, to avoid stumbling under the sad weight of her stare.

“Jack-”

Unable to bear her scrutiny, his numb fingers dropped the offending pistol to the deck. Somehow his feet moved past Eliana’s body, wilting under Elizabeth’s penetrating eyes, and over the threshold into the Fuerza’s cabin. He closed the door softly with trembling fingers and stumbled over to the table. Gripping the edge, he felt the breath leave his body and swayed in place, his mind a dark vortex from which his thoughts could not shake free. Sinking into the chair at his side, he stared with sightless eyes at the maps and charts before him as the shadows moved in and swallowed him whole.

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“Mr. Gibbs.” The first mate heard Captain Swann speaking to him, but could not bring himself to raise his eyes from the dead woman before him. She had fallen on her back, raven hair a cushion for her head. Her skin was beginning to turn pale, though the expression on her face was so serene he might have believed her to be asleep had it not been for the wound in her chest. Her fingers still gripped her sword.

“Mr. Gibbs.” The voice again.

“Aye.” Finally looking up, he saw the blood still dripping from Elizabeth’s arm, seeping between fingers struggling to stem its flow. The sight jarred him into action. Stepping quickly over to her, he peeled her reluctant hand from the wound and winced as a fresh river of red flowed down onto the worn wooden planks below them.

“Mr. Ragetti!” he barked, turning his attention to the deck below. It was littered with the dead, most of them Eliana’s men. The Pearl’s crew had wounds of their own, which they were tying up with whatever scraps of cloth they could find, but Gibbs doubted the looks of shock on their faces were caused by the cuts and bruises. There was one unfamiliar fellow among them, tall and broad, standing uncertainly beside the mast, looking down at his boots. “You there!” Gibbs hollered at him. “What’s your name and what the bloody hell are you still doing alive?”

“Name’s Timothy Nevins.” Ragetti had arrived at the bottom of the steps and spoke with a stronger voice than Gibbs would have given him credit for having. “He helped Captain Sparrow escape, 'e did. Says he was promised a trip back to ‘is family – ‘is nephew, who lives at the Cove – in return.”

“Nevins!” The man looked up hesitantly as Gibbs called his name. “Come here, man, and be quick about it!”

Picking his way through the maze of fallen bodies, Nevins stopped beside Ragetti and focused his eyes once again on the worn leather covering his feet.

“Is it true?” The first mate questioned brusquely. “You got Jack out?”

“That-that I did, sir,” Timothy stuttered. “Right decent man, he is. Said he met me brother’s boy at the Cove, looked after him a bit.” He raised earnest eyes up at Gibbs. “I don’t want no trouble from anyone ‘ere,” he said firmly. “I just want to see Ben, make sure he’s alright.”

“Ben? Benjamin Nevins?” Elizabeth spoke up from over Gibbs’ shoulder. She stepped forward to stand next to him, once again clutching her injured arm.

“Aye, miss,” Timothy confirmed, looking puzzled. “That’s the lad.”

Gibbs looked from the man on the deck to the king beside him. “D’you know each other?”

“No,” Elizabeth smiled, the first bright light Gibbs had seen on that dark day. “But I believe we have a small boy in common.”

“Ye’ve seen him, too?” Nevins asked in amazement. “Imagine, our Ben makin’ the acquaintance of so many pirates.”

“I have indeed met him,” Elizabeth confirmed. “He brought me this.” She released the grip on her injured arm – Gibbs was relieved to see that the blood dripped much more slowly now – and reached with stained fingers down to her belt and removed a familiar object. Nevins looked puzzled, but Gibbs started at the sight.

“Mother and child!” he gasped. “The captain’s compass! We knew he was without it, but he’d not say where it went.”

“He gave it to me.” For a moment, affection and confusion played across the Pirate King’s face, then they cleared away, leaving only a soft smile in their place. “Actually, he sent Benjamin to give it to me.” She turned and looked over the rail to meet Nevins’ perplexed gaze. “Your nephew is quite brave, sir; your brother is to be commended for the job he’s done raising him.”

“He’s dead, miss.” Nevins shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s Ben’s mum who should get the credit – right strong lady she is, but doing poorly last I heard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Elizabeth’s voice was filled with compassion and looking at her, Gibbs saw why the citizens of Shipwreck Cove held her in such high esteem. The wound on her arm had soaked her shirt sleeve clear through, turning it the crimson of holly berries at Christmastime. The limb hung useless at her side and must have been causing her no small amount of pain, yet her voice was clear, her eyes calm. Hers was a quiet strength, not the swaggering bravado of a pirate captain nor a king’s vain haughtiness – though she was both of those things and more. Governor’s daughter, ferryman’s wife......and if the recent rumours were to be believed, lover of the most cunning man who ever sailed the seas. Gibbs wasn’t sure how much stock he put in rumours, but he wasn’t blind – he had seen the doors of the Fuerza’s cabin shut tight and knew very well whom Captain Swann entertained within. Jack had sworn to loathe the woman for all eternity, yet there remained a bond between them that endured beyond anger, beyond resentment, beyond the memory of the Kraken’s jaws.

“Mr. Gibbs?” Ragetti’s voice pulled him from his musings. “What d’you want us to do with ‘im?” He nodded in Nevins’ direction.

“Put him to work,” Gibbs said firmly. “And get to it yerself; it’s high time we’re quit of these waters and I’ll not have the king’s ship sailing along with a load of dead men aboard her.”

“What’ll we do with them, then?” Pintel had joined Ragetti at the bottom of the quarterdeck steps; he cast his eyes warily about at the bodies littering the deck.

“Perhaps we should give ‘em to him.” Ragetti pointed with a shaky hand to something in the distance; Gibbs followed his gaze and saw the Flying Dutchman floating off the bow.

“Heaven and earth,” he muttered, shaking his head. “How long are we to be plagued by that man and his ship of ghosts?”

“He’s come for their souls, Mr. Gibbs.” Captain Swann’s voice was weighted now by a measure of weariness; she eyed her husband’s vessel with a calm expression, though there was a twinge of trepidation in her voice. “It’s his duty.”

“Aye, that it is,” Gibbs agreed reluctantly. “But ye can’t blame me for wishin’ he’d start doin’ it a bit further away.”

With that, he started down the steps toward the main deck and the knot of wary crewmen below. “Lord help us, Jack,” he murmured as he went, “but you’d better get yourself together and quick. We’ll not last much longer without ye.”

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Will Turner was all too familiar with fear. He saw it on the faces of nearly everyone he met – men, women, children, their eyes wide with fright. Living or dead, the emotion was the same. No doubt they had been long told tales of Davy Jones and the grim, slimy ship that appeared in a flash of green and stole away souls into eternal servitude; this was the past that the Dutchman carried with it. This was his burden to bear. Yet it still pained him to see the crew of the Pearl, men with whom he had sailed and fought, those whom he considered friends, quake at the sight of him.

Gibbs approached him, looking a bit more confident than the others, though he hesitated before reaching out his hand for Will to shake.

“Captain Turner,” he nodded. “I expect you’re here for them.” He indicated the dead men strewn about the deck.

“For them,” Will acknowledged, “and for Jack.”

The crewmen gathered behind Gibbs gasped and muttered, glancing quickly at Will, and then just as quickly looking away. The first mate seemed unnerved, but spoke up. “Captain Sparrow, you say? Is his life in any danger?”

“No,” Will said, looking up toward the tightly closed doors of the cabin above. “But I fear his soul may be.”

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Jack heard the murmur of voices outside the cabin’s doors, but made no effort to decipher who was speaking, or what was being said. His dagger lay on the table in front of him; he only wished he had the courage to use it, to rid the world of such an untenable creature as himself.

“After all,” he argued aloud, “what sort of heartless son of the devil would kill his sister to save the disloyal harlot what took his own life?”

“One who was given no alternative.”

Jack chuckled humourlessly. “Just when I thought me day couldn’t get any worse,” he muttered. “Come in, Mr. Turner,” he continued after the man made no reply, “and bloody well shut the door; I’ve no desire for further company.”

“And you’ve a desire for mine?” Will appeared at his side and lowered himself into a chair beside Jack’s.

“No, come to think of it.” Jack slid his gaze over to the other man. “But I don’t suppose I’ve a choice, so get on with it.” Turner looked the same, he mused; hadn’t aged a day in the years since they’d last met. There was some strange magic afoot on that ship of his, to be sure. Reaching for the open bottle of rum at his elbow, he took a long swallow; no doubt he’d be glad of its effects during the conversation that was to come.

“Your sister is dead.” The words were said plainly, but not without sympathy.

“Is she now?” Another drink of rum. “Thanks for stopping by to pass along the news, mate; otherwise I doubt I’d have heard.”

“You need to say goodbye to her.” Turner’s gaze was heavy upon him; Jack felt as though the other man was using those wisdom-filled eyes to bore a hole through his skull and take a look at the thoughts within. He laughed, a harsh, abrasive sound even to his own ears.

“Thanks all the same, Your Ferryness, but I’d just as soon stay locked away in here with only me rum for company.” He lifted the bottle in a mocking toast. “Better for everyone, considering the damage I’ve caused,” he whispered.

“Your men need you, Jack.” Will leaned in closer and Jack made an effort not to shudder at the sudden chill – the Dutchman’s captain seemed to be operating at a temperature several degrees cooler than that of an ordinary man. “They need you, and so does she.”

“You must be joking.” Jack let out a barking laugh. “That, or there’s some other woman aboard that I don’t know about because you cannot be referring to your fierce and fiery wife in such a manner. The great Captain Swann has no need of anyone in this world – you know that as well as I.” He paused and raked an appraising glance over Turner’s face. “Better, I expect.”

Will smiled. “She’s not as tough as she pretends to be.” He winked. “You know that as well as I.”

Jack eyed him warily and reached for the rum. “Easy now, lad, I’m really not in the mood.”

Will rolled his eyes and rose from the chair. “Sooner or later, Jack, you are going to have to accept the fact that the two of you are as connected as the moon and the tides.” He started toward the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder at the pirate. “She is your equal.” He smiled softly. “As hard as it may be to believe, there is someone out there to match the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Will opened the door, and Jack sighed as he saw who stood just across the threshold.

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Elizabeth had been standing on the quarterdeck in front of the cabin door for several minutes, listening to the muted conversation within. She couldn’t make out what either man was saying, yet she was comforted by the familiar rumble of their voices. One hand reached almost unconsciously to rub her injured arm, now cleaned and tightly bandaged. The bloody sleeve of her shirt had been cut away; she knew she must look slightly ridiculous in such an outfit, but at the moment there was nothing to be done about it, and more pressing issues to be resolved.

She heard footsteps approach but didn’t bother to step back from the door; from Will’s knowing smile when he opened it, she knew it would have been no use to pretend she hadn’t been listening. He said nothing, just paused in front of her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight for a moment as he looked deep into her face, into her soul. Then he nodded once, released her, and moved past her onto the deck.

Jack’s eyes fastened on her from across the room as she stepped into the doorway. Black as the Pearl’s sails and dark as the horizon on a moonless night, they drew her in despite their blankness. But as soon as she crossed the threshold they slid away, and he raised the rum bottle to his lips, taking a dispassionate swallow.

“I’ve no need of company, Lizzie,” he said roughly. “Having already dealt with one unwelcome visitor today, I’ll thank you not to become the next.”

Elizabeth made no reply, just walked into the cabin and closed the door behind her, shutting out the world and all its complications. Appraising him as he sat slumped in the chair, ringed fingers tapping one by one against his leg in an absent rhythm, she thought that she’d never seen him so defeated. Tired. Worn out by the world and its troubles and pain.

“Then perhaps you should start to think of me as something other than unwelcome,” she said quietly.

“Don’t hold your breath, love.” Jack stretched out his legs and rested his feet on the chair next to him. “There’s only one captain aboard this ship and he’s sitting right here, getting sloshed.” The barest ghost of a smile touched his lips, then vanished. “And I’ve hidden all the rest of it, so there’ll be no bonfires tonight, savvy?”

“I don’t believe you to be half as drunk as you put on,” Elizabeth said bluntly, stepping toward him on firm feet and taking the bottle from his hand. Its weight was familiar now; many nights she’d sat in this very cabin, feeling the fiery liquid caress her throat, numbing a bit more of her with every burning taste. She understood all too well the desire for the world to fade, grow dimmer and dimmer until oblivion was but a breath away. But she was damned if she’d let Jack sit here and drink himself into darkness. Not today.

He glared at her. “Not the best idea to be depriving a man of his drink, love. Especially not one who’s had a day such as I’ve had.”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” Elizabeth took a drink, felt herself relax a bit.

“I’m all ears, darlin’. Assuming, of course, you return me rum.” Jack held out his hand and she placed the bottle in it with a scowl.

“You would do well to go out on deck.”

“To what point and purpose, Your Majesty?” The red-gold liquid sloshed as he twirled the bottle idly through the air.

“Ellie is dead, Jack.”

The captain rolled his eyes and turned in his chair to address her with a wave of his hand. “You know, sometimes I really cannot believe my good fortune. Commander of the fastest ship in the Caribbean, crew that’s nearly loyal half the time.” A glance at the bottle. “Plenty of rum. But I must say, love, that the best part of it all, the sign that points to my absolutely stunning luck, is the fact that I have you and your chilly husband coming in here at your will to tell me things of which I am already quite aware.” He did not move from his seat, his face remained carefully neutral, yet his tone could have stopped the most seasoned pirate cold. Elizabeth, however, was unmoved, stepping quietly forward to stand behind the chair on which he was sprawled like a discarded piece of clothing.

“You can’t blame yourself, Jack.”

“Can I not?” His eyes were fixed on the floor; Elizabeth could see the taught set of his shoulders, his jaw like stone.

“No.” She reached out a calm hand, resting her fingers on his shoulder with a quiet touch. “I won’t allow it.” Jack’s eyes closed, and she felt him lean into the contact ever so slightly.

“’Tis not for you to allow, Lizzie,” he said softly. “You may be the Pirate King, but even you cannot control my heart.”

“Some would say otherwise.” She heard her voice as if coming from another’s lips. Under her hand, Jack’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh so deep she wondered how he had breath remaining to speak.

“Control and ownership are two different creatures, love.” Elizabeth’s eyes closed and she tightened her grip on his shoulder, attempting to remain steady on legs that were suddenly shaking. She knew his words to be the truth, yet she was not at peace with the revelation they contained. “Take the Pearl,” Jack continued, his tone a bit more assured with the change of topic. “I might own her – and some would call that into question – but she sails of her own will.”

“You have need of one another,” Elizabeth suggested, her gaze looking, almost of its own volition, down at the open neck of his shirt, the smooth muscles of his chest that lifted with every breath. “For what good is a ship without a captain?” Her fingers slid along his shoulder and pushed aside the fabric to reveal the powder burns, dark against the gold skin. She brushed them with a glancing touch, making him shudder. “And what use is a captain without a ship?”

Jack cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter in his chair, causing Elizabeth’s hand to fall away. She swallowed her disappointment at the sudden lack of contact and met his eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder at her.

“And what of your ship? She still has a captain.” His gaze settled on her butchered shirt, the bandage on her arm. “If an injured one.” He nodded at the wound. “How fare you, Lizzie?”

“Fair to middling,” she replied, and Jack suddenly looked away, though not before she caught the pain that creased his face. “Jack? What is it?”

“Nothing, love,” he assured her, though his face defied his words. “Just a memory, is all.”

“Jack.” He wouldn’t look at her, but from the set of his shoulders he must have known what she was about to say. “It’s time to say goodbye to your sister.” She held out her hand, ready to join with his. “It’s time to let Ellie go.”

There was a silence, a pause that stretched into eternity. Elizabeth held her breath. Warm fingers slid suddenly across her palm, and she closed her fingers around Jack’s, holding her hand steady as he rose to his feet. His grip tightened in a brief squeeze, then released. Lifting both hands to his hat, he straightened it with a firm tug before walking over to the cabin’s door. He paused with his hand on the knob, and ducked his head for a moment as if in prayer.

“Will you come with me?” His voice, so unexpected, crept quietly across the space between them and reached through Elizabeth’s chest to tug at her heart. She could barely hear her own reply over its pounding.

“Always.”

Jack seemed to draw strength from her reassurance; he gave the knob a firm tug and lifted his chin to face the shaft of sun that fell across him as the door opened. Shoulders squared and eyes to the horizon, Captain Jack Sparrow stepped out into the light once more.