The future is as fragile as spun glass. A look one way or another, the lift of hand or eyebrow, the emphasis on this word or that one, all of these may send one future crashing to the floor and raise another one up from the shards.

Often the one shattered and the one risen are so similar as to be indistinguishable to the blinkered eye of man, and most would say nothing changed; but there are times where the shattering is potent, when whole worlds may hang in the balance of a moment and the pattern of fractures upon the glass.

***

1. The Blow

The blow sent Jack Sparrow reeling, pitching his mind into dizzying darkness and igniting fireworks of pain through head and body.

Even as he was falling to the depths he struggled to re-orientate himself towards the light, pushing up against the crushing weight of water, feeling it resist his rise. Seeing the shadow of the creature in the gloom he felt the tentacle tighten to hold him fast as the darkness closed against his eyes, and for a moment he thought himself lost again.

A roar cut through the horror and an insistent and familiar voice whispered that he could not fall this time; that he must rouse himself, fight back. So he sought the surface again, struggled upwards, kicking out against the shadow. It held him a moment longer then the cold retreated allowing light and feeling to come flooding back.

The world returned. A wet deck beneath his cheek, the rain beating down upon his out flung hand, then finally bleak day pushing the grey mist from before his eyes. Around him he could hear the sounds of battle, the rage of a man in bitter pain, the splintering of wood, and as he opened his eyes he saw the tentacle moving across the deck its precious load clutched to it. Unnoticed he reached out with an unsteady hand to pluck the key for himself then looked around to find the chest.

Jones saw him as he straightened and Jack tightened his grip on his broken sword as Bootstrap was thrown aside one last time and Jones came towards him his clawed leg slipping slightly on the bloody decks. Jack looked past him to the pair of rag dolls tossed so carelessly in a corner, all striving and suffering finally ended on the point of a sword. Love's bond now just a ribbon of life blood smudged by the rain.

He looked up again and met the eyes of Davy Jones, felt the pieces of his past come together, and ended the life that he held in the palm of his hand without a word

2. Looks 1

It was the slight narrowing of Bill Turners eyes that caused him to pause, then the prickling of the skin on the still healing wound on his wrist that reminded him that just because he proposed to deal fairly with them didn't mean that they were proposing to deal with him in the same manner.

Jack summoned his best little boy grin, it had served well him in the past maybe it was worth a try now.
As you say Hector, equal share and all that. Tell you what, I'll do more than that, since not all men can hold the compass, " he gestured to the watching crew with youthful exuberance, " what say you to a map each. Eh? I'll hand Hector here the helm and get me to the cabin and draw a map for each man jack o'you." He turned his eyes on his mate, "All equal then even those who don't know how to navigate."
He looked back at the crew devilment flashing in his eyes,
"You can have it copied in fine silks and gems when we find the treasure as a'fittin' memento." His smile became even brighter and his voice took a gleeful purr, "show the ladies, when you tell them the story of our wondrous voyage eh?"

Hector watched him with suspicious eyes but the crew murmurs of agreement kept him quiet. And Jack drew close to his mate tapping his forearm with a careless finger.
"What say we have a little celebration afterwards? To celebrate like, christen the maps. " He looked back to the gathered crew, "Double rum rations all round."
The agreement echoed around the deck.

***

As most of the crew sat in glum silence on the empty beach, nursing their headaches and trying to shake off their lethergy, Hector reflected that he should have remembered that Jack was a clever lad, and Teague's son. A useful trick though, and one he would remember if he lived long enough. Weapons do not have to be sharp, and a quart of laudanum can change things as well as a pistol when diluted in a barrel of rum.

***

3. Looks 2

Later, as they brought her body home in stately pomp, he would wonder.

He had thought Brown dead drunk, just as the pirate had, and the surprise at his master's unusually coherent actions had been written too clearly in his face when dealing with one who had nothing but the rope waiting for him. The pirate had sprung away without bothering to turn, even as the bottle was still descending. Brown had overbalanced, Will springing forward to catch him out of habit, aware of the pirate bounding past with a muttered 'thank you' as the soldiers hammered on the door. Then there was a rattle of a latch and he was gone as the red coats stumbled into the gloom of the smithy.

He must have come back later for his hat and coat but no one saw him again until the next year when he returned and stole the Interceptor from under Norrington's nose. By which time Elizabeth was dead and buried and he was walking out with a maid from the fort.

But Will couldn't help but wonder if it was at that point that his fate, and that of Elizabeth, was decided. For the pirate had not been beyond compassion, had he not saved her, at some risk to himself? Perhaps if they had caught him, if he had been in the jail when the pirate ship came calling and took Elizabeth, he might have been persuaded to help them find her before they slit her throat.

***

4. Something stupid

The Black Pearl was long gone and the horizon was empty.

How many days had it been now? Four? Five? She was beyond counting them, the seas and the skies were still empty, Will was lost for her foolishness and she was beyond hope too. Dreams of what might have been had faded, all her thoughts were concentrated on the dry rasp of her throat and the burning ache of her hunger. Will had bartered his blood for her life and safety but he had not driven a wise bargain and Barbossa had managed to keep his word and leave her to starve at the same time.

***

In the caves of Isle de Muerta Will looked up towards the passage where a pirate who might just have saved them lay with a broken neck. Fallen behind thanks to a blacksmiths strong right arm and an oar. As Barbossa spouted his doggerel he wondered what Jack might have done, saved, if he not done something stupid. But there was no way back, and as Barbossa fell silent Will prayed that Norrington found Elizabeth before anyone else did, and before thirst drove her mad. Then his blood washed over the gold like the sea over sand and the thought was gone.

5. Pride comes......

It was not what he had wanted for his daughter it was true. For all that Will was a good lad with the makings of a better man he was still a blacksmith when it came down to it. Weatherby Swann shuddered to think what her mother would have said about it, for she had had such ambitions for her only surviving child, even on her death bed she had plotted alliances and advantageous matches.

But as he watched the coach pull away from the house, starting down towards the docks and the ship that waited to take them on their bridal journey, he sent up a half hearted plea for understanding to the shade of his long departed wife. Norrington would have been preferred of course, but the Commodore had resigned his commission and vanished after losing his ship in the search for Jack Sparrow. It seemed that even James Norrington was all he had appeared to be and at least Will was here, and would not leave Elizabeth languishing alone for months at a time.

The messenger waited patiently while the father thought of might have beens and a daughter’s happiness.

***

“So what did he come for? Were you expecting a visitor from London father?”

“No there had been no word from London about it, nor has there been one since. But why Cutler Beckett would come here I can’t imagine, he was always a company man and the company has no dealings in the Caribbean. Nor do any of his aides appear to know his intentions, his personal aide has disappeared it seems taking money and papers with him. Cutler Beckett a always secretive man, and never the most honourable, he must have been about some business of his own and probably nothing I would want to know about.”

“And he tried to ride a horse ashore in a long boat?”

William’s voice was etched with disbelief, even a novice horse man such as himself knew that horses liked firm ground beneath their hooves and could get quite skittish even when asked to do nothing more than ford a stream.

The governor smiled at his son in law, already reconciled to a blacksmith sitting where he had expected to see a commodore,

“So it seems. He was always one for a show and a grand entrance.“ He shot the pair on the other side of the table a droll look, “but this time the entrance was not the one he expected. He must have hit the side of the boat with some force to break his neck so cleanly. The company have recalled his men and I doubt we will ever know what it was that he wanted.”

“Well I expect it was some thing dull.” Elizabeth sent her husband a look laced with pride and happiness,

“Our news on the other hand is anything but.”

***

6.The world in grains of sand

It had been a single grain of quartz that betrayed the betrayal. One sparking shard of the past lying on the planks that warned him it was gone, and there was only one place that it could have gone to. Jack took a moment to cast a quick look at his companions but it was clear that only one had the opportunity or inclination, only one would consign them all to the devil in such a way. The dark side of ambition indeed!

With anger fuelled strength he dispatched his attacker and headed for another, the oar felling first Jones crewman then his opponent. Norrington fell into the surf with just a grunt.
“Jack!” Elizabeth found time and breath to protest.
He ignored her and turned towards the advancing crewmen with raised hand.
“It’s not here mate. But I know where it is.”
That halted the advance.
“You’re lying Sparra.” The words seeped passed encrusted lips with difficulty.
“Am not! Came here in search of it meself I admit, but this one, “ he prodded the fallen Norrington with a toe, “has told me it was already taken. Not pleased to hear it as you can see. But!” he raised a finger, “I happen to know who wants it and what for. I’ll trade that information for me life and the Pearl.”
“Jack!” Will’s voice protested.
Jack rolled his eyes,
“Oh yes, and the life of these miscreants too.”

“Why should we listen to you?"
Jack smiled slowly, his voice becoming soft and persuasive as he leant casually on his oar,
“Because I know where the heart is bound, I know who wishes to use it to control Jones and seas, I know how to reach him.”
His smile widened,
“Think about it. A man who would use the heart to control the Captain of the Flying Dutchman himself! What would Jones think of that? Eh? Seems a fair deal to me. My soul for his.”

***

He should have known better of course, on reflection the rumour had been too perfect to be true. But in these last years there had been so little opposition worthy of the name that he had become complacent, and he had not seen any danger in putting to sea when there was no sign of his adversary and the possibility of easy success was before him. But he should have remembered the talents of his prey.

Only as the sea swirled before the bow did he realise how large and open the ocean was, only then did he remember that there was another adversary as yet un-encountered. Then the Dutchman rose from the waves and that enemy was no longer un-encountered. Davy Jones, it could be no other, stood before him with sword at the ready.
“You’re an ambitious man Cutler Beckett, if its control of the seas you’re looking for I might be inclined to assist you.”
The sword was raised.
“So tell me, do you fear death?”

***

7. Power failure

Crouched over her tokens she rapidly whispered the incantations with growing desperation. Barbossa had not managed this well and the tossing of the ship was making it hard to see beyond the walls of place and time. She hissed another charm seeing Witty Jack in her mind's eye, alone and tortured on the unforgiving white sands, her last hope unravelling under the sun of Davy Jones malevolence.

The boat rocked wildly and she scattered the tokens, despair taking hold as her hated human eyes saw their pattern wrecked by the bucking of the deck, her last desperate attempt to hold the threads together thwarted as her words were stolen away by the roar of the edge. As they fell she knew the game, and the world, was lost.

***

She saw him on the horizon, him and the Pearl, the black outline of the ship stark against the sand and sky, the trinkets in his hair flashing in the relentless sun. Around him her familiars were caught, petrified in stone, and she could not free them to carry him and the ship away. He could not see her, any more than the bickering straggle of lost souls around her could see him. Tia Dalma finally despaired; she was truly alone and there was no escaping from this prison at all.

Yet in one thing she was wrong, for he did see them. For a moment the parts still remaining came together and Jack was nearly himself again, and he looked up towards the horizon and saw them, a straggle of people he half recognised wending their way aimlessly across the sands. He watched them for a moment debating their possible destination. Then the moment passed and he was hurrying down the deck to berate the miserable soft-eyed wretch who was miss-tying a tack line, and all thought and memory of them was gone.

8. Why is it gone?

The bottle fell with a clink. She didn't notice where it went to, it was empty so it didn't matter.

Through the chink in the curtain she saw the pale gold of the early morning sun with its promise of another beautiful day, and turned her head away at the indecency of it.

Five years to the day. Five years to the hour. Five years to the minute.

Each year it has been the same, the night spent in drunken wondering of what if, the morning holding her prisoner in her knowledge of what had been and what was. The falling chink of the bottle drowned out by the echo of her father's words, 'Commodore Norrington is bound by the law', and the ever remembered crack of a brave man's neck.

Maybe it would have been different if Will had been faster, if the crowd had moved more quickly, if his desperate shout had not attracted the hangman's attention, if he had thrown that sword a little sooner. But he did not, and so she spent her nights in tipsy regret while her husband nursed his guilt in a bawdy house.

One day she would say it, each year she promised herself that, one day she would tell him. Loss of love is not a fatal blow, but loss of self regard is. It wasn't Will that stood between them, that sent him to the brandy and her to the port, it was the law.