Hathaway saw the fog developing on the horizon, and just ahead of his quarry, and he sighed, with some resignation but little surprise, wondering what was happening now. Those black sails would disappear from view soon and he was uncertain whether following her into the thickening haze would be the action of a sensible man; however much he might want to capture her he was determined not to make the same mistake as James Norrington. Even if he lost her now there would be another day and it was not worth risking his crew if he could avoid it, though he doubted that the ship he was following was at the same risk.

There had been no warning of inclement weather, it had been set fair for the last three days, though the wind direction had been unexpected for the season and the seas had been running in a somewhat unusual manner. But that aside nothing in the sky or winds to suggest that they were likely to come upon a sea fret here, much less the deep and spreading fog he could developing ahead of them. As the Black Pearl became a shadow against the fading horizon he called for Groves.

The black ship was still ahead of them, they were not getting closer but no t was she increasing her lead, though she would have lost a slower vessel than Intrepid by now. His crew had striven tirelessly throughout the days and nights to keep those patched black sails in sight, and their skills at getting the best from their ship had kept them in the race, if race was what it was. Yet somehow Hathaway had been sure that they would not catch her yet almost from the start of the chase for if he was to entice Sparrow into the open he probably needed that ship and he was not sure that he was to be allowed to find him, at least not yet. Sparrow had disappeared completely into a fog no less dense than the one they were sailing towards and Hathaway doubted that he could have managed to vanish so completely without some help.

Yet where would that help come from? Perhaps Groves would have an idea.

The other man was hurrying across the decks still settling his coat and straightening his wig as he came, obviously roused from his bed. Hathaway noticed the dark shadows under the eyes and the look of strain about the well-shaped mouth and his captain couldn't blame him for his tardiness foir he bore a heavy burden. Of all the people on board only Groves knew what his captain knew and was the only one remaining who had seen the events that had brought them here. Their Lordships had not given him much succour having had doubts about the report that Groves had given them, but then who would not doubt it? It had only the sudden and belligerent approaches from the Spanish that caused them to reconsider their opinion and take seriously that which at first had seemed preposterous. Even so their lordships had been surprised when the king had taken it so seriously, yet more so that the privy council had insisted that Hathaway be involved. Their lordships were not all sure of Captain Hathaway, any more than they were of Groves, and he knew it as well as any. But he had known Beckett before, and had seen many strange things in his colourful career, and he found it all too easy to believe the tale, particularly when the stories of mass graves were already circulating and the Endeavour was lost. Their lordships had not known that the King and his advisers had had some doubts about Beckett and his intentions even before he reached Jamaica, and some of those had been raised by Hathaway himself. They had only known some part of it of course, he had many more suspicions that he had not disclosed, not least about Sparrow's compass.

Now as the he watched the ship ahead of them some of the stories came back with a force that sent his heart thudding, for an idea was taking shape that caused him considerable concern. If Sparrow was not captaining that ship, and it seemed he wasn't, then another pirate captain must be, for an honest man would not be running this way. But the pirates had dispersed after the battle and Sparrow had sailed alone towards Tortuga. There had been no mention of another pirate captain aboard her, while the man Gibbs had been seen in Tortuga with Sparrow so it wasn't him at the helm. Which left him... who...as his adversary?

There had been a name mentioned in the taverns, yet it had seemed impossible given James Norrington's report. Could he have been mistaken? Given the stories of Sparrow was even that not a possibility? Maybe that was more pressing than the source of Sparrow's help, for the moment at least. With a hidden sigh he turned to Groves.
"Tell me again Mr Groves what you know of Hector Barbossa."

In the whiteness off the port side Calypso heard him ask and grinned.

***

On the Black Pearl the sudden fog had added to the sense of strangeness, making the crew even more uneasy than before. The navy ship was still just visible from the deck, still behind them, but in front and to each side the seas were swallowed into a wavering and shifting whiteness. Pintel and Raggetti exchanged uneasy glances remembering the slip over the edge of the world into the locker, and, though neither of them spoke of it, even to each other, they both were wondering if the Pearl was maybe set on returning there. Or maybe she was being stolen back by something they didn't understand. Both of them found themselves thinking about the daft pair's conversation about the Pearl and Jack Sparrow, and wishing with unusual fervour they had not sided with Barbossa in leaving captain Jack behind.

Murtogg and Mulroy, neither of them sailors, were even more unnerved by events, having never seen anything like this fog before. They stood stiff and nervous at the rail watching in unspoken dread for any sign that a giant beast was lurking in wait. Marty had insisted that the Kraken was dead, but, as they had whispered to each other when the mist first appeared, there was no certainty that it had been the only one of its kind. Nor were they really sure that it couldn't come back from the dead, not when both the captains of this same ship they were standing on had done just that.

As the gut wrenching moments passed the air got thicker, as if it were a pall of smoke rolling out across the water, and for the first time in days the outline of their pursuer disappeared from view. No one felt like cheering though, for none of them doubted that it was still there, waiting for the fog to thin before closing on them again. Meanwhile they sailed into the mist without a captain, pretty much blind, without charts and with no real idea of where they were sailing to, or what awaited them. Then the wind dropped and the canvas slackened letting their forward speed drop. As the Black Pearl seemed to hang back more of her crew rushed to the rail wondering what new misadventure was about to befall them.

At first they could see nothing but the woolly whiteness, and then, seemingly from nowhere, there was a shadow, like a hint of smoke against a candle flame seemed to hover before them. A ship perhaps, and with her sails swelling, but just an outline in the thick and swirling air in behind them. Then the lookout bellowed a warning, though even he was not sure what it was that he was seeing. At their stern the mist seemed to darken as the shadow became more solid for a moment, and more threatening, the towering suggestion of masts speaking of something fast and formidable.

Suddenly the wind to pick up again, though not in the Pearl's favour this time, sending the shadow in the mist rearing against the swell. Marty rushed back towards the stern and for a moment he thought he caught the sound of water rushing around a hull, the hiss of the swell being cut by a keel and the crack of billowing canvas. The Pearl appeared to shy, pulling on her head like a frightened horse, as if she knew there was something out there and was afraid of the collision. He squinted into the curtain of whiteness and thought he saw a flash of a different white and the outline of a towering mast or two, fully rigged, the canvas they held strong and round bellied in the folds of the mist. Then something moved, snaking from the stranger towards the Pearl and he opened his mouth to yell the call to stations, at the last moment he held his breath uncertain about just what it was he was seeing and was glad he had when nothing happened and the shadow seemed to turn away from them. As quickly as it had it slipped into invisibility without making any contact.

'Could nat have been a ship' he told himself, no sailor would risk coming so close to another vessel in such weather, and if it had been another ship they would certainly have collided. He sent a silent prayer to Calypso for taking pity on them this time, and not sending them to the bottom speared on another vessels bow, and then hurried back to join the others clustered at the helm, certain now that they could not risk sailing without a captain for very much longer and cursing the sleeping Barbossa in every dialect that he knew.

****

"The line is attached." Ariadne confirmed laconically to the helm console.

So it had run true, just as he had said it would. Elanor waved an ironically congratulatory hand as Jack turned to beam triumphantly at her. He responded by quirking an amused eyebrow at her expression, widened his grin still further and pointed a finger at her as if to say 'Ha. See!'

They were running silent as agreed and passing closer to the Black Pearl than was entirely comfortable, even with Jack's assurances. Elanor did not fear collision, both she and Ariadne were far too good for that to be a worry, but she was not convinced that human eyes would not see more of them than she wanted, despite the mist. Nor was she as sure as Jack seemed to be that the line would not be seen, however true his aim might be. If they saw the line then they might well take him before he reached the supposed safety of the cabin, and if he got caught before he was prepared then his reception might well be more hostile than he could cope with for all his airy assurance. It was her concern over this that had persuaded her to allow him to use a limpit rather than a grapple, despite her desire to avoid the contact of the two technologies. But the limpit did not need a rail to loop over and it could attach the line to the frame of the cabin casement and so below the line of the deck and sight. Jack had looked momentarily confused when she had explained this to him, but he had agreed with her reasoning and accepted that a grapple might well be seen. About the only modification to his plan that he had accepted though!

Once Ariadne had said her piece Jack flipped a hand to Elanor in a half mocking salute, shot a quick smile towards the worried looking Gibbs and went over the side before the other two could have second thoughts.

***

For all his determination to do it, and his dismissing of the dangers when talking to the other two, Jack had never doubted that getting on board the Pearl would be a difficult and unpleasant experience. As soon as he hit the water he realised that he had been unfortunately accurate in his estimation, on that at least.

The tow of the Chaser pulled at him as she passed by, but he was ready for it and he took a single large gulp of air before he was pulled down, but even prepared as he had been it was a struggle to hold on to it in the churning waters.

There was no time to lose and even as the ship passed him he was already striking upwards towards the shadow of the line, but he was able to see enough of her keel as she passed to be reminded just how strange this ship from the future was. Even in the turbulence it was clear that however superficially familiar she was above, below the water line she was unlike any other ship that he had ever seen. But he had no time for speculation on that for the Pearl was close too and he needed to make his move before she travelled on. Summoning all his strength he kicked against the current and towards the surface, dipping his head and striking out towards the trailing end of the rope, released by Ariadne as he soon as he broke through. The black bulk of the Pearl was moving slowly and Jack sent up a silent prayer that he was right and the crew would be more concerned with the navy and the disappearing shadow of the Chaser than anything going on in the water.

He stretched to catch the rope feeling it pull taught as it took his weight, then he was being towed like a speared shark behind the Pearl.

Time to move.

The mist still boiled above the surface of the sea, in it the bulk of the Pearl a dark shadow. He tightened his grip on the rope, remembering Elanor's warnings about the effort it would take, then he took another deep gulp of air before he reached for another handhold. Stretching against the protest of his shoulder and the pull of the sea he reached as far up the line as was possible.

It seemed that for a moment the water would really oppose him, swirling around his legs and torso, the current still bent on pulling him under. But then Chaser was gone and suddenly the pull was slackened. Jack gritted his teeth and threw his arm forward again, the convulsive heave taking his left hand over and above his right. Without bothering to take another breath he repeated the movement, this time right hand over left. Then again, and again, muscles screaming and his jaw aching with the tight clench of his teeth. Sweat broke out on his brow joining the salt spray stinging his eyes and the roar of his heart was almost deafening. Fire flamed in his shoulders and arms and then between his shoulders, muscle shook with the strain of it and every tendon was corded and hard, but he held on determined that the Pearl would not leave him behind this time. Two more hand shifts and his torso was out of the sea, two more again and his hips were clear and only his legs trailed in the water. The next hand shift was less painful and so was the one after it. After what seemed to be an age he got enough leverage on the rope to pull his feet clear of the water and begin the struggle up the rope, hand over painful hand.

Only once did he allow himself to wonder if he would have been able to do this before he had drunk the water of life for it was certainly harder than climbing the anchored Dauntless. Or maybe that was because this time he was alone. Or was he? At times he thought he could hear a voice, a worryingly familiar voice at that, urging him on, telling him to hurry.
"Tryin' aren't I? What more do you think I can do? Eh?" He panted in the privacy of his head, not thinking about whom it was he was talking to. "I'll not lose me ship again so do something more useful than chatter at me and give me a hand."
He might have imagined it but it seemed that he heard the waters gurgle a laugh then a gush of wind raced across the surface and put a spectral hand on his backside, lifting him two hand holds higher in a single movement.
"Oi," he protested, "What is it about people of the female persuasion? I've said it before but I'll say it again, easy on the goods!"
The laugh seemed to be repeated and the hint of a hand was withdrawn with just a faint windborne caress down his thigh as it was. Jack smiled to himself and redoubled his efforts to climb.

Now he was close enough to brace his feet against the Pearls dark side at least for part of the time and he moved faster, hand over chafed and burning hand. As he climbed he talked to her, reassuring her that he was back and that soon he would stand at her helm again. Reassuring her too that, lovely though the Chaser and her captain might be, it was she who was still his favourite girl. He thought he heard that gurgle on the wind again but ignored it still concentrating on placating the Pearl for his absence.

Once level with the casement he took no time to explore the strange disc that held the rope so securely, though he noted it for future interrogation of its owner. Instead he moved to find the damaged catch sending up a silent prayer to someone that it remained damaged. He had been right in thinking that Barbossa would not have taken time for further repairs once he found the map gone, the hurried rebuilding of the window of the great cabin still showed some of the scars left by the Kracken's attack. As he had hoped the catch was still unsecured and it was the work of a moment to slip a knife beneath it and ease it free. Jack smiled to himself as he pushed the window open and with a flick of his body he was sliding over the sill. As he dropped to the floor he leant out and unclasped the tell tale line and let it go, then he flicked the clinging disc free, secreting it in the depths of a pocket. He looked around with satisfaction, finally he was home.
***

"The limpit has been released." Ariadne told her captain.
"He made it then." Elanor sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes feeling some of the tension in her shoulders release.
"It seems likely, there is no sign that the limpit failed."

Gibbs watched in anxious silence for a moment and Elanor summoned up a reassuring smile, with Jack on his Pearl she was, for the moment, Mr Gibbs only captain. She reached forward and put a reassuring hand in his arm for a brief moment
"The line is free, and the device detached, so it seems likely that Jack has made it into the cabin."
"Aye ma'am, so it does." But his relief was short lived "Now all Jack has to do is deal with Barbossa and the rest of the crew." He looked out at the curtain of mist, "and with no help but his wits."

Elanor looked back to where they had left the black ship and her would-be again master, there really was nothing that could be said to that.

***

Jack dipped into a crouch, pulling his pistol from his belt as he did. He had meant it when he insisted that Barbossa would be on deck but that didn't mean he was safe here, at least not for the moment. Once he had Barbossa captive it would be different, he was sure of it, but for the moment it would pay to be a little cautious. He was a little cautious more often than most people would have believed, it was why he was still alive despite there being more than one person still in the world who would rather that he wasn't.

The light in the cabin was dim and he remained crouched as he waited for his eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom. The ghosts of the past were crowding in on him here, memories of those first few days after his return when he and Barbossa had vied for domination even as they recognised that neither of them were quite who they had been when last they had met. Jack shivered and pushed the memories away staring around for any sign of a current threat.

Gradually shadows resolved into objects, tables, chairs and chests, and everything reassuringly familiar. The cabin was still much as it had been when he had left for his assignations on the dockside at Tortuga, the only real change the messy pile of charts upon the table and an even less tidy pile of bedding on the cot. Whatever he had been doing Barbossa had not been refitting the Pearl.

Jack straightened slowly, ears straining for any sound, and looked around him. The mist had cut the light from outside to a faint glow and none of the lamps were lit but there was enough light to see that the chair was unoccupied and Barbossa's coat was not hanging on the peg. He edged his way across the cabin and set his ear against the door. From the other side he could hear the sounds of sailors moving around, the thud of footsteps, the creaking of rope and the snap of canvas all accompanied by the muffled shouts of men about the business of running from the navy in a fog.

As he listened he thought he heard the lookout call a warning, and then the sounds of scurrying seemed to move towards him, no doubts they had caught another sight of the Dawn Chaser as she slipped back into the mists. All as he had expected, or not quite, one sound seemed to be missing, and that was Barbossa's angry roar, but if he were at the helm then maybe that was not so surprising.

Jack eased himself away from the door and back into the room, silently slipping through the shadows to the open window, closing it as tightly as he could before beginning a search of the familiar room. He needed clues to what Barbossa was about for his actions made no sense at all, a fact that made Jack uneasy. With a faint sigh he stepped back towards the table and the scattered charts, smiling in satisfaction when he saw the remnants of Sao Feng's chart tossed on the top of the pile. No doubt Barbossa had looked at it every day and cursed his leaving of Jack Sparrow behind. Well he'd do more than curse when Jack got hold of him.

But that was for later, for the moment he must look for his answers, and it was in the rest of the pile of charts that he might find clues of Barbossa's intentions. That and in the other charts that were scattered about the floor like rice at a wedding. A further puzzle and concern they were for he had never known Barbossa to be careless with those things his life relied upon. But as his eyes accustomed themselves to the light he could see that the cabin was far from the ordered place that a good captain kept it, in fact it looked as if there hadn't been a captain here for some time, and as if monkey Jack had run wild in it to boot!

Pausing only to be sure that no one was approaching the cabin he set about spreading out the pile of charts on the table. He took his time about it, turning them this way and that in search of some meaning in the selection, but he found none, for they proved to be a motley, even illogical, collection. Jack shuffled them like a deck of cards, tried laying them out this way and then that but he could make no sense of why this set had been preferred over any other.

For a moment he stood silent, the only sound the staccato tap of his a finger on the top most chart, frowning at the dusty carpet. A disappointment to be sure that these charts gave him no insight at all to what had been going on aboard the Pearl for he did not have the time to waste in serious nor contorted cogitations. But try as he might he could see no pattern to them that made any sense, it was as if someone had chosen them at random with little thought for what it was that they were looking at. Odd.

With a sigh he abandoned the maps as a source of explanation and began a search of the rest of the cabin.

After the otherworldly cleanness of the Dawn Chaser the cabin of the Pearl seemed neglected. Charts and papers spilled out of every chest and bureau, some half in and half out, others scattered across the floor like a breadcrumb trail. Jack collected them up without being aware of doing so, returning them to their rightful place as part of his searching. But it wasn't only the charts that gave the cabin an air of neglect, the once glossy dining table was covered in a film of gritty dust, its polish greasy in the half light, the carpets also seemed dull while lamp black stained the walls in several places and candle grease had pooled around the base of the sticks. Even the charts themselves had been coated with a faint miasma of dirt and Jack frowned as he caught himself wiping his fingers in distaste after moving them, wondering how he would feel about losing the comforts of another time, even for the Pearl. It was amazing what a man could get accustomed to and how quickly he could do it too. A mental trail better not followed perhaps, not now and in the circumstances.

Putting the thought away he stared around the cabin, wondering where next to look for some indication of what the hell was going on his ship!

It was the cot that drew his attention, for though it was in shadow he thought he could see the outline of a pile of clothes. Strange, for Barbossa was no more endowed with spare goods than he himself was; even at sea neither of them was in the habit of carrying more than a spare shirt or two, or pair of drawers. Yet the size of the pile suggested a it more than a little extra linen. Even if it were it was still odd for such items were always kept in the sea chest against the wall where they were unlikely to be swept out through the window in a sudden squall or trampled under foot after a measure or two of rum.

He squinted through the gloom with narrowed eyes, no there was most definitely more than a spare shirt cluttering the counterpane. A frown drawing down his brows Jack edged closer to the cot, what ever was piled upon it was not cast carelessly on top but snuggled beneath the quilt, which made even less sense. Why would Barbossa cover his laundry so solicitously? Why would he be covering his laundry at all? Come to that what would he be laundering?

For a moment Jack just stood and studied the tumbled heap before giving a shrug and easing his pistol from his belt again. Hector might be a cur but he was a cunning one on occasion, even his return from the dead had not changed that. Jack edged his way around the foot of the cot and to the door one more time, reassuring himself again that no one was coming, before slipping back through the shadows to the side of the cot. There he leaned in towards the object of his curiosity.

This close he could make out the shape of man, and with a puzzled frown he stood back and levelled his pistol. No one would put a prisoner here in the cabin, nor an enemy neither, so just who the hell was Hector giving over his bed to? He eased the pistol hammer down and pushed the weapon into his sash again before leaning further over the figure while a hesitant finger edged forward and prodded a bulge in the cover around the heap until it was a little flatter. Was certainly male, the shape made that much clear, which made the obvious answer for the presence unlikely, given that Hector was strictly a ladies man, at least as far as those who had sailed with him knew. If anyone would ever have been given evidence to the contrary of that assumption then Jack assumed that he would have been one, for he had been a pretty enough lad. But he'd never had a sight of such a thing and the only obvious effect of thwarted lust on Barboss at sea had been a significant worsening of his temper and an increased tendency to seek private shadows.

No it was unlikely that he, whoever he was, had been brought here for amorous purposes. But who was he?

***

"It was ship I tells you." Pintel stared around the faces now staring at him. I saw it as bold as brass, passin' us silent as a ghost."
Raggetti nodded,
"Saw it too. White it was, all glowing and pearly."
"Naught but the mist." Marty scoffed.He too had seen the ship but he was not willing to admit to it for the moment.
"Twere not I teel you. It were a ship, big ship."
"Big as the Pearl seemed like." Raggetti agreed. "Under full canvas too and moving fast. Came like a shadow out of the mist then melted back into it as if it had never been there!"
"Might be because it weren't there." Marty was still having none of it.
"Eees right, it were a ship." The man called Bergholt had been lookout, and it had taken him some time to descend to the deck, but now he was there and he spoke with authority, "Navy ship is still a long ways off, this were a different one. Came out of the west she did, just like he said, big and white. At least that's how she seemed to me. Fast too. Came in close towards us then veered off again and disappeared back into the mist."

"Dutchman?" asked a voice hesitantly.
Bergholt spat towards he deck,
"We'd know afore now if she were. Anyways we're not sinking, nor be the Navy ship as far as I can see, so what wud bring the Dutchman?"
Pintel exchanged a wary look with Raggetti,
"Could be lot o' things." He said, "Not that I thinks it were the Dutchman." He shrugged, "Any ways she's gone now whoever she was."
"Gone where?" Murtogg asked nervously,
Pintel glowered at the question,
"Search me. One minute she was there then she was gone, just like I told yer."
"Bit worrying that," Mullroy chipped in, "I mean a ship comes out of no where, then goes no where, in a mist like this? Can't be right, now can it?"
"Why not?" Pintel was belligerent again, "Ships sailin' all over the place, no sayin' that they can't be sailin' here, now is there?"
Raggetti rubbed his nose thoughtfully,
"'Tis true, but so is what Mr Mullroy here says, strange that she comes upon so quickly then goes so quickly too."
"You thinks she was here deliberate like?"
"Must be a possibility is all I'm sayin'."

"But what possibility?" Murtogg looked worried, "I mean what did she come here for. For us?"
"Maybe so" Raggetti said solemnly,
"But what for? I mean if she isn't the Dutchman then she'd not come to take our souls, so why was she here?"
Marty went to the rail and stared into the mists,
"Some 'tin odd about tis whole business," he said, "Navy can't catch us, mists comes out of nowheres, and then ships like shadows. Has to be some reason. If Captain Jack were here he'd know."
"Barbossa might if we could wake him up."
The mention of Barbossa brought a frown to Pintel's face,
"Aye, but could be to do with Barbossa anyways, even with him not awake." He cast Raggetti a frowning look, "I'm thinking Mrs Fish."
"Calypso?" Marty said, then shook his head, "Na, what would she be wantin' with a ship now that she nat be bound."
"Ay that's true enough." agreed Raggeti, "Though it might be that she sent it."

The men looked at each other in concern.
"So what might it be that she have sent it here to take from us?"
"Or bring?" Murtogg offered in a small voice.
Pintel and Raggetti exchanged a look then headed for the cabin with Marty close behind them

.***

Jack tweaked the bedcover ignoring the protest that the rank smell rising from the coverlet stirred in him, when had he become so nice in his requirements? Carefully he drew Elanor's little light from his pocket and directed it down towards the shadowed face. The bright little beam picked out a shirt collar that was strangely familiar and an even more familiar, and straggly, beard. His eyes wandered away towards the hands folded over the top of the quilt and he bit down on a curse as he recognised the gnarled and painted nails, no doubt about them. It were Hector himself lying there.

So that was why he had not heard his voice on deck he had been here asleep in the cabin all the time. Jack let the beam flicker upwards, and then gulped, his mouth twisting at what he saw. Not asleep for the familiar yellowed eyes were wide open, staring unseeing upwards just as they had on that pile of gold what seemed like years ago. Dead? Didn't seem likely, for all that glassy stare not when the quilt was drawn up to his chest but not across his face, anyways he couldn't see the crew putting a corpse here.

With a grimace of distaste Jack reached hesitantly forward and laid a reluctant finger against the man's neck. For a moment he held his breath then he felt the slow sluggish beat of the black heart within the chest. Alive then, but certainly not present.

A gusty sigh sent his beard braids stirring as he stared at the frozen expression, more bloody supernatural occurrences! Who was it this time? Calypso? One of her kin? Or William maybe? He looked down at the death mask face and decided not William, at least he hoped not, if it were then it was going wrong already and he had miscalculated, for he had been sure they had a year or two yet.

At this point he realised that the sounds from the deck had changed, and more importantly there were the sounds of footsteps heading towards the cabin. Jack smiled a sardonic smile and went and arranged himself carefully and casually in the captain's chair. He put his feet up on the table, ankles casually crossed and then he pulled the compass from his belt and cradled it very visibly in his hands. Seemed he was about to be reunited with his faithless crew.