Hours after Jack made his grand exit, Joanna was struggling to alter that hindrance of a skirt, for a few reasons. First, she was rapidly losing daylight. Second, it was damn difficult to alter something one was wearing. Third, William was making a ridiculous racket.

She stormed from the bedroom, tawny hair springing from its pins. "You have no orders to fill, and even if you did, there is an entire armada of metalwork in this room," she hollered over the ruckus of Will's hammer.

He paused to look at her. "I thought you were going to be up late with that dress. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Well I can't bloody focus," she complained, dropping to sit on a spare crate. "Do you know how difficult it is to alter clothes while you're wearing them, William? Do you?"

"No," he replied patiently. He set down his hammer and faced her, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. They sat briefly in silence as Will studied her. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Joanna roughly began pulling her hair free, raking it into clumps behind her ears. Her careful reply was at odds with her harsh gestures. "We condemned a man to the gallows, today, Will."

"Not a 'man'. A pirate."

"Mm." But Joanna didn't do any more to contradict him, well aware of his opinion of the piratical race. Will's mother had died via a pirate raid and pirates had destroyed the ship that Will accompanied on the crossing from England. In other words, everyone he cared for from his old life was dead because of piracy. Society generally had a bleak outlook on piracy, but Will saved a special, hateful place for them in his heart.

Joanna didn't have his circumstances, so she didn't have his prejudice. She said, looking at her hands, "Someone will die, tomorrow, regardless."

That someone being Jack bloody Sparrow. Joanna spent most of her time doing three things: sewing, avoiding her father, and reading. And many of her favorite stories involved the swashbuckling adventures of pirates. Some of those stories starred Jack.

Will didn't reply, so Joanna filled the silence. "I wish we'd at least gotten some of the credit for capturing him." She muttered, kicking the dusty floor forlornly. "Especially you," she added vehemently. "Brown does nothing but shove you around and take credit for your accomplishments."

Will shifted awkwardly, gaze fixed on the floor between them. It mystified Joanna, but William was even less inclined than her to hear criticism of her own father. "I owe him a lot, Jo." Will replied cautiously.

"Like hell," Joanna replied without heat. It was a well-beaten horse of a conversation. She sighed and glanced up, offering Will a wan smile. "I'll leave you alone if you quit banging on that thing."

Will glanced at the rod he'd been working on. Over the course of their discussion, the heat had drained from the metal. "You're not bothering me," he said kindly, hands going to the tie on his apron. "But I'll turn in for the night, just for you."

Joanna stood, extending a hand. "You're so kind, dear William." Will obliging gave her the apron, which she hung absentmindedly as they meandered toward the bedrooms. "In return, just for you, I shall not snore tonight."

William's mouth opened to deliver a witty remark, but he paused, head cocked to the street. Joanna stopped too, meaning to ask what the hell was wrong, but then she felt it, too.

Something is about to happen, Joanna wanted to say, but the words felt silly on her tongue. She and William stared at each other, at an impasse, until the first shower of cannon fire rained down on Port Royal.

"Are we at war?" Joanna asked in a rush as they both bolted for the swords. "I think I'd remember if we were at war."

"We're not," Will replied, tossing a familiar rapier in her direction. She managed to catch it without losing a finger.

"Then who --?" Joanna demanded as Will grabbed an ax, then a long cutlass.

Will spared a fierce glance in her direction. "Pirates."

"Oh. Woah, wait -- we're going out there?"

"I am," Will said, spinning to regard her gravely. "You're staying here to protect the smithy and Brown."

Joanna considered arguing with him, smarting at the suggestion she couldn't take care of herself, but she knew Will was right. "I guess I am," she said grudgingly. "Will, wait!"

He turned for the final time, looking impatient. "Be careful," she asked him quietly.

Will smiled. "When am I not?" He asked, and then he was gone.

Joanna stood stock-still, facing the door, heart in her throat. Will was gifted with a blade, she reminded herself sternly. He was gifted in most things, at that. Smithing, singing, friendship. He would be fine.

"Joanna?"

She roused and turned to behold her father. He was standing in the mouth of the back hall, looking lucid. "I guess you heard the cannon fire," she said awkwardly.

"What're you doin' with that?" He asked gruffly, gesturing to the rapier, held in Joanna's white-knuckled grip.

"I'm protecting the smithy, in case the pirates stop by," she replied, nervously tapping the flat of the blade against her leg.

His bleary eyes rested on the sword, brow furrowed in faint, familiar disapproval. "D'you think they will?"

"I don't know. Probably." The noise was growing outside -- the fort was staging a defense, sending volleys of fire over the screaming town. "Let's hope not," she said, and tried for a smile.

He nodded. After a long moment, he turned to stumble back down the hall to the bedrooms. Joanna released a breath she hadn't been conscious of holding.

Joanna stationed herself in a strategic position beside the door -- she'd be just out of sight if anyone barged through looking for trouble. She clutched the rapier tightly to her chest, wishing absently for a baldric like Will's, so she could sling the sword smoothly into a sheath at her hip. I could look for one, she mused. Will likely had a spare. Her gaze flickered around the smithy. There certainly weren't any lying about in plain sight.

She was considering abandoning her post to search through the cupboards and drawers when the door slammed open, nearly flattening her against the wall. Joanna dove away with a gasp, rolling to her feet and raising the sword reflexively.

Two pirates faced her, looking as surprised as she was. The first carried a colossal mallet and stared at Joanna with dull blue eyes. Straw-like hair framed his face, flattened by his scruffy tricorn hat. The second was taller and openly sneered at Joanna, his greasy hair tied back in a short queue. An enormous hatchet hung at his side.

Joanna was, frankly, terrified. Her sword wouldn't hold up against either heavy weapon. Still, she stood firm, tightening shaking fingers around the hilt of the rapier.

The taller pirate snorted a laugh and jostled his companion, jerking his head in the direction of the sword racks. As if Joanna wasn't there, they marched toward the culmination of Will's hard work.

"Excuse me?" Joanna imparted. She charged forward, implanting herself between the criminals and the metalwork. "These don't come free, gentlemen."

"Yeah?" One of them challenged, hefting his weapon. "Bet we can persuade you."

"Bet you can't!" Joanna insisted, giving her rapier a twirl. It was a neat trick that gave the appearance of skill. "Show me your coin or beat it."

The hatchet found a home beneath her chin, tilting it gently to the ceiling. Joanna swallowed and glared daggers at the pirate. "Last chance, lady," he jeered.

She curled her lip and brought her heel down on his toes.

He jerked away with a surprised yelp; Joanna dodged the ensuing swing of the heavy mallet. She guarded herself behind the rack, swinging at the nearest pirate's head and darting away as the hatchet returned fire.

While Joanna had drawn their attention away from the goods, she had unfortunately brought their ire onto herself. Inspired, she practiced the same tactic she'd observed Jack execute earlier in the day: attack, followed by clever evasions. The pirates' heavy weapons were dangerous but slow, and Joanna, a woman of slight stature, was spindly and quick. She brainstormed as she danced around them, wondering how she could lead them out of the smithy.

The front entrance would bring her directly into the streets, which ran with blood and chaos. She could hear it, vaguely, as she performed a twisted gavotte around the smithy -- screams and explosions and manic laughter. The back way would pass by the fire and her father.

A well-timed swing of the hatchet caught the flare of Joanna's skirt. The fabric slit with a sigh and fell open, making an already cumbersome garment even more so.

Joanna eyed her combatants shrewdly, aware her time was running out. She could only keep up this cat-and-mouse for so long, especially while tripping over her skirt.

She made a haphazard decision, leading the pirates to the front. They growled and snarled and jibed at her, chasing after her with glinting eyes. She stumbled backward up the stairs, hoisting her skirt with one hand and parrying their blows with the other, praying they wouldn't take off one of her limbs.

Her back collided with the door. Now or never, Joanna figured, and kicked it open, edging outside. The chill of the night raised the hair on her neck.

A swing of the mallet landed at her feet, sending up a cloud of dust. Joanna dodged another blow from the hatchet and tripped on her skirt. She fell ass-over-teakettle, landing so hard that the breath wheezed out of her.

Laughter cut through the clammering noise of the street. Joanna struggled to sit up, winded, and saw the pirates grin one last time before they swung the door shut.

"No!" Joanna cried, pulling herself to her feet. She threw herself at the door, rattled the hinges, but it wouldn't budge.

"Looks like yer persuadable after all!" Came a giggle from within. Joanna snarled and aimed a mighty kick at the door. Her toes screamed a protest, but she hardly noticed, filled with adrenaline and fury and shame.

There was no getting back in. The back door was locked from the inside, too. Joanna fisted her free hand in her hair, turning to face the street in dismay.

Bodies lay everywhere. The wooden buildings surrounding the stone-and-mortar blacksmith's were shattered and aflame. Splintered boxes and crates, leftover from careless looting, lined the gutters. Shards of glass dappled the cobble stone, catching the white moonlight.

The people alive and uninjured ran amidst the chaos, screaming and looking for shelter. A few pirates ran past, cackling and leering, chasing a mother in her nighty.

Lovely, Joanna thought. She set off at a brisk pace, frantically searching the mayhem for somewhere to hide. Her eyes caught on an alleyway that was blocked by several fractured crates and cabinets. Gathering up her skirt, she sprinted the meters separating her from sanctuary.

The looted boxes would give the impression that anything of note had already been taken from the alley, Joanna expected, and she hoped the dirt-smeared into her clothes and skin would hide her in the shadows.

Joanna fit herself into a secluded corner, folding her arms around her knees. She sat there shaking and riddled with guilt, praying that Will wasn't lying somewhere with a sword in his back. She glanced to the sky and hoped the same thing for her father.