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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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Elizabeth blanches, imagining the horror of the sight all too easily.

"Was it a plague of some kind?"

She shivers imperceptibly.

"Thank Heaven, no. They simply miscalculated how much in the way of food and drink they needed. Though we didn't know that at first. No, we all looked, with a face much as yours is now. The captain, seeing no threat from a distance, gave the order that we move close enough to call over. And being a man of some breeding, he of course spoke French." Gibbs tries to sound a bit contemptuous of such things, but clearly has a certain respect for this captain.

"One of the mates replied, and told a sorry tale of starvation and thirst. And the captain was left facing a terrible choice."

"Take them on board or leave what food and water your ship could spare," Elizabeth guesses. "Either way, you'd be accepting some risk."

Or they could have been left to die, she thinks with a wince, wondering which course she would have chosen.

"Or do nothing. Which many a captain would do. We weren't exactly at war with France at that time - I think the term the captain used was 'a state of hostility under a truce' - but no one cared much for the French then as now.

"Still, the captain was not one to stand by and let them die. So, over the objections of his officers, he ordered a rowboat be filled with supply enough to allow the French ship a fighting chance. He maintained that you might be allowed to kill them in combat, but that this was different. He was a man of honor, I suppose." One that Gibbs clearly admired some.

"We even kept an eye on them as they tossed their dead overboard, as they followed in our wake around the cape."

...was not one to stand by and let them die.

A man of honor...

"Good of your captain," she comments a bit stiffly. His admiration of this faceless, unknown man feels like a condemnation to Elizabeth, though Gibbs could have no idea why. "Do you ever wish you hadn't left the Navy?"

His change in careers is something about which she has long wondered.

Gibbs makes a face is this a touch more thoughtful than he intended. "Rarely. It was - and is, I'd guess - a harsh and unforgiving master. Men like myself suffer in the face of fops and martinets. And get sent to die in pointless fights when other men give the orders. And men like the captain...his reward for showing mercy to the French was a stiff reprimand and loss of command. He of course resigned his commission, and word has it that he went to France to serve as a privateer.

"Whatever glory the navy offered, it lost its charms for me long ago. And it's clear that there are many routes to the sea."

"Indeed."

Elizabeth takes a moment to contemplate how she herself has arrived on this present route.

"I wonder what our course would be if James had made a similar choice," she says quietly.

"Ex-Commodore Norrington? I doubt things would be that different. And surely he wouldn't be helping with anything regarding Jack." There is a perhaps a hint of respect in his voice for his final naval commander.

"He went back to Port Royal," Elizabeth states dully. "Cutler Beckett had a warrant for his arrest, as he was aware. Why would he return, unless he had leverage?"

There's no doubt in her mind that Norrington gave the heart to Beckett; saying it aloud, however, leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

"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."

"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.

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