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The governor's mansion sits on a hill above Port Royal like a silent, authoritative sentinel.

In her former life as lady of the house, Elizabeth had rarely appreciated just how high that hill could seem traveling on foot and not in a fine carriage, especially when one's movements are, out of necessity, furtive. Twilight saw Elizabeth, Tai Huang and a small group of pirates moving through town like shadows, and after their lengthy, tense climb, they arrive at the wall to the side of the house slightly out of breath, momentarily safe in the growing darkness. The herb garden on the other side smells achingly familiar. Elizabeth closes her eyes and breathes in the scent, then issues a sharp order and motions to her second in command.

Silently, the pair moves several paces to the left and scales the wall with the help of a tree and its low hanging branches. She'd often studied the tree and plotted how it might be of use; never had Elizabeth considered that she might one day use it to gain entry, not escape.

A large, dark and rectangular object is passed easily between them, as if they've practiced the maneuver, and Elizabeth presses it into her companion’s hands with a meaningful look before leading the way toward the house, the soft soles of her boots quiet on the garden path.

It's absurdly easy. A wave of resentment washes over Elizabeth at the need to sneak into her own home. She knows the schedule, knows the movements of the staff who still live here -- she presumes -- and there's an arrogant, angry tilt to her head as they approach the northwest corner of the house. Raising a hand to halt Tai Huang, she peers around a tall hedge; dying, she notes absently. "Wait here. I'll get what I need from the study first," she whispers, knowing they'll have better access to the second floor from another point of entry.

Someone is obviously in residence, judging by the number of lamps lit. Elizabeth ponders who that might be, while darting like a ghost along the side of the building to the wide double doors and the study beyond -- her father's study, or perhaps already the study of another Company agent. The thought bolsters her resolve as she slips into the room and crosses to the heavy desk. Allowing herself a quick glance at the remembered bookshelves, paintings and maps, Elizabeth quietly opens a desk drawer and begins searching for the first item she means to repossess.

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Commodore Lyon listens attentively as she speaks. One corner of his mouth twitches when she mentions Jack Sparrow, but that is his only visible reaction until she finishes speaking...when, at her question and statement, he lets out a low huff of breath.

'Nothing quite so theatrical as that.' He gives Elizabeth a formal little bow, as if newly introducing himself to her. 'I am merely an officer of the East India Company, who also happens to be the first and oldest of a race of immortals -- Old Ones, as we call ourselves. And in that capacity, I have very definite interest in ensuring that the future as I know it will come to pass.'

He takes a few steps towards her, and as he comes closer to the candlelight the bright glitter in his gaze seems to have an ancient and yet somehow ageless radiance. Cold and judgmental, perhaps, but it is clear enough that Elizabeth Turner has not been found wanting.

'There is a good deal more to it, of course,' he adds as he holds out her husband's official pardon, 'but you are no doubt pressed for time.'

Mesmerized, Elizabeth doesn't blink and fails to breathe until she manages, "The future as you know it?"

Her large, dark eyes are bright with interest. She rests her fingers on the document, but does not yet take it from his hand.

"My man is outside, and currently in possession of something very dear to me," she reveals, voice low, suspecting he is at least peripherally aware of this. "I would not want him to think I've been forcibly delayed."

Slowly, she takes the pardon and lifts her chin.

"Nor do I wish to depart at this moment. There are things I wish to collect." A shrewd glance. "And things yet to say, perhaps."

'Without divulging the complete details, it may interest you to know that the Honourable East India Company will soon lose a great deal of the autonomy that allowed individuals like the late Lord Beckett to operate with impunity, outside the control of the Crown.' The thought prompts a hint of a smile, though his gaze has slid out of focus, fixed somewhere in the middle distance on something only he can see. 'And that loss of autonomy will play a crucial part in events to come -- events which, in a manner of speaking, will turn the world upside-down.'

He clasps his hands behind him once again, and the change in posture brings his gaze back into the present and restores his brisk, professional manner: Acting Governor Lyon addressing a matter of official business.

'Once you have spoken to your man, you may have the leave of the house and as much time as you need to collect that which is yours. Your rooms were searched at some point in the past few months, and not with the most care for your possessions. To the best of my knowledge, nothing was taken, and they have not been disturbed since I have been here. For that matter, you may of course look around and see if there is anything else here that you would not wish to leave behind for my eventual successor -- anything that belonged to your father, for instance.'

He's keenly aware that Elizabeth is in an awkward position here, as an uninvited guest in the house that had once been her home. And so his tone is a little less professional and a little more cordial as he adds:

'I was wondering, perhaps, if you might do me the honour of dining with me this evening? The staff know that I am accustomed to keeping odd hours, and a late supper is simple enough to arrange.'

"It interests me very much," she tells him, expression solemn as his mention of a world turned upside down brings to mind her return from the Locker.

He's given her much to think about, but it's more than that. It's more than information or peace of mind, or even the time to retrieve her things.

Gaze wandering, Elizabeth takes in the wood paneling and comfortable furnishings in the warm, classic colors and patterns her father had preferred. There's the chair where she would sometimes read while her father conducted his correspondence, and there's the freestanding globe he'd often used to illustrate his stories or their discussions of current events. Mounted on the wall is her grandfather's sword, not far from a modest portrait of her mother's profile. All around are the books and maps her father had collected in his lifetime.

Merriman Lyon has given her much to think about, yes, but he's also offered her the chance to say goodbye.

"I will," Elizabeth answers at last. "If you'll allow me to direct my men" -and there's a faint smile at the plural- "to the kitchen?"

Without waiting for an answer, she starts out the garden door, but hesitates long enough to add: "You've been kind to me, Commodore, when you needn't have been. Thank you."

'Any small kindness I am able to do goes some way towards setting things right, Mrs Turner.' He inclines his head to her. 'It is the least that I can do.'

Once she has left the room, moving silently over the grounds, he crosses to the desk and picks up James Norrington's pardon. He traces the royal seal with the tip of his finger, then slips the folded parchment back into his coat.

Murmured quietly, to himself:

'The very least that I can do.'