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Everything in Panama City had gone mostly according to plan, a rare happenstance for the pirates in this motley crew, and the more superstitious among them spent the first few days on board their new vessel debating whether this meant good luck or bad, fair wind or foul.

The Spanish ship they'd stolen isn't large or particularly pleasing to the eye, being in need of some new paint and wood maintenance, but it's seaworthy and swift before the wind, and most importantly, well-stocked for a long voyage.

And a long journey to Singapore it will be.

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Mal salutes. "Yes, ma'am. Hey -- "

Mal gestures down to his clothing, his holster in particular.

"Can do any...time-appropriate non-sweatshop-made clothing for me?"

Elizabeth looks suitably impressed.

"Could a door serve as such an enchanted object?" She smiles wryly, not really expecting an answer. Whatever had gone wrong with the door, it's clear that more than just her friend's magic had been involved. "I think I should still like to sail places, if urgency was not a concern."

Her brows draw together. 'Dora gives him a skeptical look.

"You wanna look like any old pirate, or does it need to be blendable with the whole Sao Feng posse?"

"As monotone as possible -- if we were robbin' a temple at home I'd say maroon or orange, but I don't know how different the customs are here."

An agreeable nod. "Yeah. I like the train best, although long trips get old really fast. Magic's very tempting when you're bored."

An odd, unexpectedly soft look crosses Elizabeth's face.

"I wished for something extraordinary to happen on the passage from England, when I was young. Anything to speed the journey, for I was very excited to see the Caribbean, to finally see our new home. And then one day, we came upon Will and his ravaged ship." She looks over the port rail. "That was the first time I saw the Black Pearl, sailing silently through the mists like a ghost ship. I just knew it had to be magic."

"Right. Well. Hold still a minute."

Nymphadora draws out her wand and steps back a few paces, looking Mal up and down critically.

Then she begins muttering spells, waving her wand this way and that. Mal's clothing begins to shift to varying shades of brown, so that -- in the twilight, especially -- he starts to blend in with the planking of the ship. The details of his clothes shift and disappear until it's all as non-descript as can be.

The holster makes her frown in concentration. Eventually she pokes at it until it turns into a wide leather belt.

"There," she says at length, looking him over again. "Is that all right? You can stick whatever weapons you like into that belt, and it looks a bit more... historically accurate than your holster."

Mal looks down.

Inara would not approve.

"Fine by me, so long as I'll be able to get it all back later."

At least he's still got his orange.

At Elizabeth's words, Tonks shivers involuntarily. It's not a bad shiver, necessarily; just a moment when the universe reminds you who's in charge.

She's not used to those moments, yet, for all her time in the bar. Tonks reckons that's a good thing.

"Sounds like magic to me," she murmurs. "Even if it's not magic I can do with a wand."

"Oh, sure. I'll change you back when we meet up again."

A stern look. 'Dora points a finger at him, an inch or so from his nose.

"And we will."

"You're the boss, boss."

Mal salutes again, peeling off a bit of orange rind finally, as he heads back to Will below deck.

Tonks watches him go. When he disappears into the hatch she leans on the railing, slowly eating the sections of orange still left in her hand.

Letting a small nod serve as her agreement, Elizabeth continues, "The ship and all the pirates upon it were cursed by the Aztec gold they had stolen. Little did they know that the secret to their freedom was now lying at my feet. He had been wearing one of the gold medallions around his neck. I took it, worried that my father and James would think him a pirate."

She smiles at the memory, aware that she's probably told most of this to Tonks before, but... it's a long journey.

"I think I was the only one to see the Pearl." A wave toward Gibbs, standing just out of earshot. "Mr. Gibbs was there. Has he mentioned he used to be in the Navy?"

'Dora's eyebrows quirk. "No, I don't think he has. I have a hard time imagining it, and yet... well he's still quite polite, isn't he? I mean, for a pirate." She laughs.

"He is," she smirks, "though he whispers behind our backs that he still thinks it's bad luck to have women on board."

Of course he doesn't notice.

"Right," Will says, distant at first, before he pulls his focus back. "Right, let's go."

"Leverage?" It takes a moment for the implication of what that means to sink in. "You mean...saints preserve us!" Gibbs looks quite worried now. "That would mean that Beckett...dear lord."

"Good evening, Captain." Gibbs moves closer, and gets out a hip flask he took charge of when they took this ship.

"Why, getting to Singapore of course."

Is the response as he walks away at his usual slow, measured, limping pace. Or did she expect a clearer answer from him?

Elizabeth has ceased to expect any form of clarity from him. It irks her all the same, and she scowls at his retreating back before moving up and out, seeking fresh air.

Will left without saying goodbye.

Yes, she's going to be sulking about that for a while.

"Exactly."

Frowning, she absently taps her boot against a wooden plank.

"There's more at stake than just Jack."

Gibbs gives the stakes some thought. Beckett controlling Jones, and the Kraken. He turns ever more pale at the thought. "That's what has Barbossa makin' his plans. Plans, I should note, that he's been vague about. But now I think I understand more."

Elizabeth isn't sure how much Barbossa knows about Norrington and the heart, but she nods anyway, exhaling heavily at the thought of what their captain is keeping from them.

"I wouldn't presume to know what happens in his head," she remarks, "but the dangers are real."

Restless, she stands and looks to the stairs.

"I think I'll stretch my legs after all. Good night, Mr. Gibbs."

"Good night, Miss Swann." And Gibbs resumes his own pacing, fairly sure he's not likely to sleep well tonight.

"Good evening yourself," Mal returns not unkindly. "What was that you were singin'?"

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