At Break of Day Arising
Inspired by and based on William Shakespeare's As You Like It
"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state… haply I think on thee—and then my state, like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate." Sonnet XXIX
Nocturnal Advent
The sun cracked at break of day, arising from its underground paths to grace the sky with joy, and the world sighed its peace in the sweetness of the morning. Birds of many breeds bid each other a musical salutation in their individual tunes, harmonizing with the hushing tones of the breaking surf. As though she had slept herself, the earth was fresh and renewed in the prospects of a new day… "Ever optimistic in the face of uncertainty."
"Never a reason not to be. Except poor ones."
"No good reasons?" Master Beckett swapped his reaction for a clever sip of his brandy, a laugh in his eyes of apparent agreement as he peered over the edge of his cup. "Were I in your shoes, I'd be able to find plenty."
"Well," Weatherby Swann laughed with cheery eyes glancing briefly at the floor before returning to admire the beauty in the painted scene of the bustling harbor outside his wide window, "one must make the most of what piece of the picture he has." A knock at the door hindered the response of his guest as the governor set his glass on a clear space of his desk with a soft clink. "Yes?"
Honey-dipped locks gracing a face as soft and fair as the velvet petals of pearl tulips peered about the carefully creeping door. But the woman smiled with confidence and coy as her brown eyes twinkled. "Would I be an utter intrusion?"
"Of course not, Mary. Please, come."
"Yes, join our rendezvous," Beckett held out his hand in a welcoming motion, and the lady, stepping into the room took it graciously. "I wouldn't mind seeing an old face in the least."
"My visage may be familiar, but old it most certainly is not, Cutler," Mary bit back with a gentle laugh as she slipped her hand from his grasp and stepped into a warm embrace. "What brings you here?"
He chuckled and lightly returned the motion before she decided to slip away. "The homeland. And a family of inquisitive minds."
"Ah." His glass was confiscated as she returned beyond his reach and waltzed to the window, beside the arm of Swann. She ignored Cutler's displeased glance as she placed the glass beside the governor's drinking glass and slipped a loving hand into the grasp of Weatherby's willing counterpart.
"Tell me," Beckett inquired with a subtle smirk, "where's this vibrant blossoming flower of yours?"
A grin split vibrantly across Mary's face as a brief flash of introspective reasoning twinkled in her eyes. "Oh, she's most certainly occupied at the moment. You'll get to see her soon enough, Cutler. Have patience."
"I'll be wracked for information on her if I don't give it satisfactorily," he drawled as he reclaimed his estranged glass and gave it a habitual swirl before his swig.
Weatherby smiled gently. "I think you'll have plenty to speak of soon."
"And Mother and Father will adore the very thought of her once you're through."
Cutler replaced his emptied vessel on the mahogany desk, and gave a coy curl of the lips as he eyed and answered his sister with a rare positive note. "I look forward to it."
The governor sighed wearily, despite his pride as he exchanged a speaking glance with his fair wife, and placed a loving but heavy hand atop hers. "Well, I apologize for the sudden interjection, but a governor's work doesn't do itself on any given day." Mary grinned amiably, but dropped her eyes to the floor with an almost imperceptible sigh of her own. Not passing by unnoticed, Weatherby softly touched a hand to her chin in a motion of encouragement. She managed to keep a smile for him. "Mary. Master Beckett."
"Work well, darling."
"I'll see you at dinner," he reassured softly with a kiss to her velvet cheek.
The crunch and rumble of a carriage passing, with abnormal swiftness, swept into the room, capturing the attention of the room's occupants. It ran on the wind, it seemed, as it flew along the road with vigor, shaking rather precariously in its flight. Mary found her way to the window's threshold and frowned ponderously as she took note of the carriage colors. "I thought William was away on business."
"Perhaps there was an unexpected turn of events?" Weatherby chanced a glance out the window before placing a light hand on his wife's delicate shoulder, guiding her and her thoughts away from their present footing.
The soft click of Cutler resetting his now-empty drink in its final resting place touched the air. He swallowed away the last tangs in his mouth. "Perhaps a run with pirates?"
The governor withheld his sigh as the idea sparked his wife's interest, and she turned about to seemingly set an inquisitive set of eyes on the conversation itself. She almost gasped in her earnest speech. "I thought Admiral Stowe had them under control."
Swann opened his mouth to reply, but the bitter laugh of his wife's brother stopped his tongue. Said relative looked up from where he had been running his fingers over the cool surface of the governor's globe with interest. "Pirates?" his voice was acrid still in its hiss. "They're never under control. And until someone takes more certain action against them, they'll never come to be under control."
The woman pursed her lips for a moment, an argumentive air rising with her brazen eyebrow as she turned to her stately relative.
"Well… Not much can be done on the matter at the moment," her husband stepped in before her with an attempt at a positive step away from the subject. Pulling himself closer to his desk as he seated himself with his chair and flicking the lace of his shirt sleeve from taunting his palm, he smiled briefly and set about looking for his ink and quill—the sign that absence was needed.
Mary knew where she was needed, and took her brother's arm as the servants swept in to tidy after their socializing. Leading Cutler for the garden door without a qualm, she only smiled. "Shall we?"
"I trust your journey was well."
Cutler chuckled and patted Mary's hand as if to remember its presence. "As well as a two month drudgery across endless repetition can be, I suppose."
"Always the pessimist." She shook her head with a weary sigh, despite the large smile that refused to shrink away upon the word.
The grin was joined by her walking partner, and the breeze seemed to join with a gentle sigh from the sea. The flowers in the garden nodded to one another and the leaves of the cool-cut greenery rustled merrily. This was the Caribbean—warmth, color, life and an sense of hope that brimmed with the sun in the morning. The flowers were exotic, the birds and their calls strange, but the English were never ones to forget their homes in the face of any world. The garden was green and lush, pruned, orderly and lovely as a cheery English countryside manor in the summertime. Though beyond its borders the island trees ran wild and dark, these bounds were tamed, tranquilly reminiscent of a dream across the sea.
Ah—silence! Mary took a quick breath to speak.
"I haven't heard from mother or father in a long while now. I was hoping you had word."
Cutler gave a soft smirk as he glanced at his inquirer out of the corner of his eye before returning it to admire the sweet shapes of a marble sculpture. "Naturally. And from Sarah."
"How is she?" Mary gripped his arm with a brief, tight squeeze of her hand in her excitement, eyes asparkle without the sun.
He was silent a moment, smiling comfortable and listening to their footsteps touching along the path in happy tandem and glancing to the face of the Governor's wife once more. She was impatient, he knew, and spoke just as her feathers began to ruffle with a clever glint in his grey eye. "Growing fast now. She'd threatened passing my shoulder when I last left."
The news was sweet to her ears, and good to her heart. She would have laughed. Or sighed, perhaps. But instead, she turned her head sharply as her hearing was met with swift footsteps and labored breathing. A messenger had come, pink-faced and sweating with his hair a skew, small portions sticking in strands to his forehead and cheeks. In his hand he clutched small piece of paper, partially crunched by his firm grip. Curiosity tickled her mind at its forefront, and she opened her mouth to question the matter, but before the words could form on her lips, the messenger has shook his head and set upon her a hard-put imploring look.
"Where's the Governor?"
She shut her mouth to stop her former questions and place her answer in proper priority. "Indoors. Why—what is it?"
It seemed the man didn't hear her or had no time to heed as he quickly set for the mansion without so much as a peep back. With the loss of his presence returned the audible peace of the garden, the birds clamoring for glory in their varying songs. The event had been forgot already, as it were never in existence in the first place, a strange hiccup in time.
Mary's brow perched with her frown. "Well… that was strange."
"He's the responsibility of the people—I suppose it should come as no surprise," Cutler reassured coolly as he lead her in continuing their steps forward. An itch tickled him at the neck and he touched at it delicately to ease it away. They came to the gate of the property, and, for a reason unspoken between themselves, stepped out and onto the common road to walk along it, somewhere else.
But Mrs. Swann chewed her lip all the same, mulling the matter over in her mind and mumbling as if to her self. "Perhaps… Still, I've never… Maybe I just don't pay enough attention to things about here." Her voice drifted away quickly, and just as her companion was about to venture to request a clearer repetition, her head snapped in his direction with sudden decisiveness. "Let's go visit Master Norrington."
They stopped walking as her brother seemed to falter for a moment, seemingly needing to repeat the suggestion to himself in his mind, due to the suddenness of its presentation. "I beg your pardon?"
She smiled, and took her brother's hands in hers as if to move his attention to her persuasion. "He's an old friend of ours you simply must meet—a warmer man you'll never know! I've been curious as to his early return from his voyage; and I find myself restless. An investigation begs to be underway."
He stared at her, for an achingly long amount of time with focused studiousness wrinkling his brow. Walking on the road was already an activity deplorable in its own sense—an activity for those too poor to afford proper transport or without civilized sense. She blinked, consciously aware of how blatantly nervous she felt as to his interpretation of her motivation, and anxious about how clearly it should show—how dearly it would affect his answer. But utterly unaware of the strange shimmer that shook his eye.
"Truly." She held her breath until his smile crept back into place and he set foot to their path once more. His words were as assuring as his actions: "In that case, I suppose I'll accompany you and meet this gentleman of yours."
Her demeanor turned serious as she pinned her brother with a sharp look. "He's not my gentleman, Cutler. I hardly know him so well. Poor man's wife died birthing his youngest son a year or two ago. He's never been quite as bright a personality since then, though a more tender soul is difficult to encounter."
"He's a father?" Cutler voiced, interested, surprised.
Mary nodded as she motioned to her brother to take a turn in their walk, away from the main road. "Yes, of two boys. Sweet boys. Well, three, actually, but the second was a stillborn."
Cutler nodded to show his listening. They walked without speaking for a moment, letting individual minds meander with thought, almost morosely. There was a brook nearby, and it watered the air with a fresh scent not entirely namable in its peculiarity. Before long their feet met a new path, and Mary gently lead the way in the correct direction. They watched the ground pass beneath their feet, the little pebbles chittering into the carriage wheel ruts now and again as given an appropriate push of foot. She turned her head and continued the conversation.
"I'm not entirely certain about the eldest—he was born before I became acquainted with the family. But, if I remember correctly, the younger is within a year of little Lizzie."
The sun was falling low in the deepening sky, the heat only allowing to linger without fuel into the night. A shadow struck the way, and drew their gazes upward to a building that would have been lovely, if not for what appeared to be a sad thought that lived in its beams. It sagged, it seemed, as if all too aware of a strange burden someone was wont to bear behind its darkly curtained windows. Cutler looked to Mrs. Swann, but never met her eye as he quickly returned his gaze to the structure.
"This is it?"
"Yes." Her eyes were pensive as they noted stillness of the trees about the manor. No breath of life seemed to waft about the grounds for any portion of a moment. Only a sigh of regret and a whisper of something else entirely. She shook her head to herself and took her skirts in hand, stepping to the gate. "Come on."
The click of their shoes on the cool, slick floors echoed ominously, wandering into halls without end as they were admitted into the entry chamber by a softspoken maidservant. Though the dark of the night was drawing closer, no lamps or candles were lit to battle its coming. The silence and darkness seemed one, and more master of the household than any other human presences within. Mary's eyes wandered eagerly over increasingly veiled portraits and sharply obscured busts until the servant girl left them before a lovely ascending staircase. "Wait here." She disappeared upward into the dark.
Cutler sighed softly as the silence heralded its return, and Mary continued her scrutiny of the room's eclipsed décor. Somewhere in or near the room there was a clock, softly clicking methodically in the deep. A door in the depths of the lower levels boomed close. Then only thought and afterthought. The shadows began to stir as the young maidservant softly descended to the first landing of the staircase, a cheery candle in hand.
"This way please."
Bundling a good handful of skirts in one hand, Mary swift diminished the distance between her and the stairs, making quick work of her ascension, her silent sibling in slow tow. The rail was polished and cool, and Mary could feel the comforting squish of foreign rugs beneath her heels more often than not. The way up seemed to lose some of the cool that permeated the atmosphere, but not entirely too much, leaving the upper floors only warmer enough to be noticeable. The top landing of the stairs led to a long hall that seemed grandly lit with the glows peeping through the edges of a single closed door at its stretched end, when compared to the constant obscurity that had plagued the premise from the start.
The maidservant approached the light-leaking door, and the quiet duo followed willingly. They were not permitted to enter it. "Just wait till he's through with James—then you may enter." She swept passed them with a downcast face.
The Governor's bride took a moment to blink her slight surprise away, before turning to face the retreating girl. But her perplexity proved stubborn as the dark of the hall ascertained itself their only remaining companion, "Thank you…?"
Her brother did not speak.
They prepared for another lengthy wait of wafting in soundlessness and dark. But just as Mary let stoop her shoulders, she perked at the sound of heavy and anxiously swift footsteps. The darkness had taken the hall, but sharp eyes picked out the silhouette of a figure cresting the staircase with heavy breaths. "What's…?"
The person turned and bolted for their direction, and Mary soon let slip a gasp as she swift recognized the sound of her husband.
"Mary," his sigh was brief, cut off by a needed swallow of air and a wipe of his brow. "Have you seen him?"
So, he had finally received his message, and his desperation spoke of the truth to the situation he alone had been informed of. She shook her head, transfixed by her own curiosity and the surreal nature of the situation. It was bleakly dark, and she had "No. We've only just arrived. Is something wrong?"
There was a sharp intake of breath and then stillness. He did not breathe. And her slowly adapting eyes began to make out the slump of his usually proud shoulders, the bowing of his normally highly held head. "Darling?"
His head turned to face her. With another sharp breath he seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes glancing back to whatever interested him in the floor. A sigh. "Yes, Mary. Things look… very bleak."
"What is it?" for the first time in what felt like ages, Cutler spoke.
"It can't be said," Weatherby replied with clear dejection in his voice, turning his head toward his brother-in-law's direction for a brief moment. "That he's very unwell is all I was told."
"How bad is it?" Mary whispered softly, as if frightened the walls would close in around them to hear their words and betray their doings falsely to be conspiracies and ill-contempt for their master.
"I suppose we're about to find out…" He turned and reached for the door.
Mary gasped. "Darling!"
It opened.
"—ow, James. I have… every bit of faith in you." It was irrational—disrespectful… and yet, Mary could not find it in her to tear her attention away from the scene. A large bed was in plain sight, though its head and the head of the figure laying in it were obscured by the angle. The room was lit by lamps and a fireplace burnt somewhere out of sight. A small figure of a young brown-haired boy stood by the hand of the man abed, his back to the door and his head bowed, listening attentively to the soft spoken man. He spoke weakly and with a subtle strain, "Take care of your brother. He needs you more than anything at this time. Perhaps when he's older he will come to understand, but at this moment, he is too young. I am going to leave it in your charge—"
The boy's head jerked upward. "Father—"
His father spoke over him, firmly, one of his hands reaching to take his son's. "—When he's old enough, you are to give him his and help him pursue an education, assume his place in the world properly. I want a better life for him—the both of you—than what I have thus far led. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father, but—"
"James," his father sighed, pausing for a brief set of deep-chested coughs. "You need to be brave, son. I need you to be."
"But you'll get well again"; despite his courage, the boy's voice trembled and choked, "you always do."
There was a pause, and the boy's shoulders heaved with his sob. His father opened his arms to him. "Come here." The boy all but jumped into his embrace, burrowing deep as if to rid himself from the world as his father clung to him tightly, sweetly. His hands sought out his son's arms, gently guided him to sit up, and softly wiped the tears from his face. "Bring me your brother."
The door shut with a silent thmp, snapping Mary back to the reality of where it was she stood. Weatherby sent her an apologetic smile. "We shouldn't eavesdrop."
Her mind swam with the imprint left on her eyes of the weeping child in his father's arms, the sound of his meager voice, his father's weakness… She blinked it away and sought out her husband as she wet her lips. "Weatherby… Is he dying? Truly?"
He reached a hand up and straightened imaginary blemishes from his wig. "I pray not. But, if so…" With pursed lips, his brow bent in thought. He dropped his hand to meet his other, behind his back. His nerves disallowed him to stand so comfortably and he raised the hand once more to knead his fingers into his tense brow.
Cutler shifted his no-doubt weary feet. "Was he struck by some disease whilst on his voyage?"
"Perhaps, but then I would assume others would have faced the same fate."
A click cut out Cutler's reply, and the door swung up, the young boy bolting past them with stormy eyes. Mary's mournful sigh faded away, and her sympathy followed him as he disappeared into the shadows of the house.
"Oh my…"
Weatherby knocked sharply on the door with one hand on the latch. "William?"
The man's voice promptly responded. "Swann? Enter!"
Before anyone could motion to do so, a sound ahmph from Cutler drew the Swann's attention. He dropped his lightly clenched fist to his side and offered a flash of a temperate smile. "If you'll excuse me, I deem it best I not intrude on such private affairs… I hope to reengage in your acquaintances at dinner. Governor. Mary."
Quick, courteous inclines of the head toward both of them, a coy grin for his sister, and he dismissed himself for the evening. Mary was forced to shove her confusion to the back of her mind as the door swung softly open, and Weatherby stepped into the room.
As Mary followed, the worn face of a dark-haired man came into view. His stormy blue eyes were tired and heavy, but a small glimmer enlivened him as he looked on the small child sitting in his arms. Even in the ruddy light of the loving fireplace, his skin glowed with its frail whiteness, beads of sweat glimmering from where they stuck on his high brow. Only a shadow of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth suggested he still held on to more than despair, and, even then, his hope seemed to rest in the child on his lap more than anything else.
'Already he's a ghost…'
She tore her eyes from his visage, a deep knot of ice having fallen and formed in the depths of her belly, and took note of his happy bundle. The boy was young, no older than two, and had a surprising thick set of hair that surpassed his father's in dark hue. But his father's was wavy and limp, and boy's taut with wild curls atop his crown and at the nape of his neck. His eyes were dark and surprisingly deepset with concentration for one so young, as his fingers prodded at whatever small object he held that won his curiosity. Still, with all the differences, Mary could easily find a wide range of similarities. He had his father's mouth and nose, and a very similar cut to his face might come of him when he became a man.
She looked back to the father, William, and jumped a little to find his eyes set fast open her, clearer than he were before. He smiled, out of amusement, it seemed, and nodded his head to her in greeting before setting his attentions to the child.
"Son, Papa's got to talk with the grown-ups, aye? Go play." His voice with deep and thick as if with gravel but rich with warmth, and his son flashed a grin at his chance to use his legs as he scooted to the edge of the large bed. Mary made to help the boy, but he turned over onto his belly and slid his body to ease his tiny toes to the ground, his hands clutching the blankets and trinket as he did so. Safely on the ground, he tottered off with all bouncing grace of his age to a corner of the room, where he began to pry and whatever it that he clutched in fingers. Mary turned back to William, whose proud eyes were misted over by some dream. They cleared and he looked to his governor. "How are you, Weatherby? Mary?"
The Lady Swann was surprised to find a flicker of fire in her husband's eyes as he snarled his return,"I would ask the same of you. What's this nonsense?" He none-too-gently threw crumpled paper Mary had not noticed he had been clutching in his hand onto his friend's lap, whose face seemed passive as he gazed at it for a time.
William set a cool gaze on his incensed visitor. "Ask the apothecary. Perhaps it'll ease the shock."
Weatherby's brow pinched as he shut his fallen-open mouth. "Don't be ridiculous—" he sputtered.
But William wouldn't have a word of whatever it was he wished to tirade. From against the mound of pillows which propped him up against the headboard, William leaned forward, a new life igniting a burning blaze in his own gaze as he spoke, loud and strong, "Weatherby Swann, you think I deem it my desire to leave my—" His strength failed him, and his lungs heaved their rebellion against his attempts with a violent fit of coughs. He instinctively leaned forward in the effort, his body shaking as he wheezed and burst forth with the most unearthly guttural sounds to ever have touch Mary's ears. He choked and gasped, and the fit began to seem as if it would never end as his face began to redden and tears pricked his tightly clenched eyes.
She almost panicked, fear clawing at her breast as she watched the horrible scene, wishing she could end it all, but lacking the slightest clue as to what could be done. Finally her eyes set on a glass and pitcher of water on the small table beside the bed. She filled it as quickly as she could and, grabbing one of William's tightly clenched hands, placed it in his firm grasp. "Here."
He drank, slowly at first, struggling to keep his breathing in check, but as he managed to swallow more waves of cool liquid, he began to swallow as if lost in a desert. The glass finished he dropped his hands.
"Thank you, Ma—" He began to cough once more, though it was much less alarming and wracked with torment than before. He fell back in the deep pool of pillows at his back with a sigh, succumbing to the awful fatigue left on him after what energy he had left was robbed from his body. With eyes slipped shut, he drunk of air now, deeply. Mary chanced a glance at the child in the corner, the trinket still clutched in his hand, but his body frozen and eyes wide with the fear of ignorance as to what it was that persecuted his father so.
William kept his sight shut against the world that had cursed him so as spoke again, stretched, weary, a whisper in the wind, "These… smiles and high spirits are reserved for my boys, but I can't keep it long. You heed my words when I say my end has come and you would do well to be wary should yours waylay you at unawares."
"What means this twaddle?" Weatherby's voice had softened, but what he had sacrificed in violence he supplanted with bitterness. His friend cracked his eyes open for a open, just to chance a glance of a hurt expression in his direction; and it was enough. The governor's proud shoulders fell with the weight of grief and shame as he turned his eyes to the light of the fire crackling indifferently in the hearth. None of them spoke, mulling over thoughts of their own make, as the burning wood popped and cracked, and the young boy returned to his interests, pounding the object in his hands against the wooden floor. The shadows flickered and laughed as they danced on the walls and ceiling, and a single star managed to wink its way through a crack in the tightly shut curtains.
Swann broke the silence with a world-weary sigh, and set mournful eyes on his fading comrade. "How long?"
The question seemed vague, but William understood its meaning as he gave an effort for a half shrug. "Maybe… two days. I didn't ask, but I overheard some such time by another…" He faded away as his eyes drifted to the boy in the corner. He was standing now and tapping the object in his hand against the wall as if it were alive and dancing, as his tiny voice carried the sound of muttered character-voices to their portion of the room. Though it couldn't be said what he was saying, it sounded an awful lot like an improvised song.
William smiled. His friends eyed him warily, sharing a concerned glance with one another, as he seemed to drift further and further away with dreams and thought, plucking at his last threads of life, unnaturally nonchalantly. Perhaps he understood their worry. Perhaps his train of thought just ran along theirs by pure coincidence. For whatever reason, his words were surprising when he spoke—comforting and disquieting all at once.
"I have no desire that this too, too solid flesh should melt away… But what choice have I from hence onward?" he muttered, as if to himself. Mary shifted her feet as she bit back the superfluous urge in her to argue otherwise. He had a choice! He had a choice to live!... Once. But no more. "There's the cruelty in murder most foul, even beyond the death itself. At least, for myself."
Her throat tightened on itself and a stone dropped into her belly as her eyes began to burn, despite her will to keep face. "Oh, Bill…"
But William shook his head against her sympathy, settling his own teary gaze to the boy in the corner, laying on his belly as he bounced the object in his hand before his face in a walking motion, whispering a song in rhythm with its tapping. He breathed, attempting to calm his failing nerves with a deep inhalation. But it shuddered ominously as he gasped, and a despondent sob escaped his parched lips:
"What's going to happen to my sons?"
"You pray for a little compassion in the world, and someone stabs another between the shoulder blades." Cutler shook his head to himself as he looked past the globe his fingers absently twirled about. The Americas turned and let Europe pass as Asia pulled into view… "I only wish I knew the man. It can't be said I understand the loss with such crippling disassociation." He stopped the spinning globe and turned it in the opposite direction.
Neither of the Swanns commented in return. A heaviness hung in the air and upon their backs as the kept to their own dismal musings. Dinner had been hollow and silent, the food lacking savor to their unhappy tongues as they prodded more than ate. Eventually, the food had become too cold for further pretense, and they silently agreed to continue their heavy silence in Weatherby's office. Cutler, naturally of slightly higher optimism than his visited family, suggested a round of drinks in an attempt to help raise their spirits. But the drinks proved as fruitless in joy as had been their dinner, and they each turned to their own musings. Master Beckett continued to amuse himself with the turning globe, Mary slouched herself in the large-backed chair, a half-touch glass clutched idly in one hand, and Swann had his back to them, as he gazed out into the darkness wafting outside his window.
Suddenly Mary stood, setting her glass on the large desk and peck her husband on the cheek. "I'm to bed," she stated wearily as she wandered for the door.
"It's hardly evening—" Weatherby seemed less than inclined to let his wife slip to sleep without him on this night, and he frowned. "I had thought you'd want to wait for the word."
She scoffed softly in return as gave her husband a look of gentle reproach. "Dismal word. I know what's to be said, and my head aches enough as it is." She shook her head and then softened her gaze as she glanced one last time at her beloved, and then put her foot out the door. "Good night, darling."
"Shall I send for Sarah?" Swann called after her.
"I'm well enough on my own. A quick sleep will do me good—that's all." Her footsteps could be heard as she made for the staircase.
"If you're certain."
"Mm."
"Mary?" Cutler called out, and she paused. He waited for a moment as well, fiddling with the lace of his cuff. "Should we wake you when we receive word?
She seemed to be thinking, as pure stillness was his only answer for a moment, and his brow began to perch in perplexity. Finally she sighed once more—as she had done often this day—and returned to her ascension of their grand staircase. "As you will, Cutler." And she disappeared into the night.
Cutler waited—for nothing, he was certain—and then turned observant eyes to the governor with the pad of his thumb rubbing absent against the side of his first finger. "She seems shaken by the circumstances."
Weatherby's eyes were clouded over with remembrance as he nodded. "He was kind to her. To all, rather."
"How long have you known master William?" Cutler rounded about the desk and took the seat that Mary had left vacant, turning it about to observe the different titles that donned the spacious bookshelves of the room.
Weatherby shook his head at something and turned his gaze back to the black window. There was no moon out tonight, and the city below seemed an additional constellation in the sky, as most of its lights were dimmed with its citizen's hearts at the loss of one of their most beloved citizens. "Years… Almost longer than Mary."
"And how feel you, sir?"
"Hm?" Weatherby turned, an expression torn between surprise and curiosity piquing his features.
"On the matter," his brother-in-law clarified with an absent wave of his delicate ringed handed. He waited patiently, placing his thumb under his chin and his finger against his upper lip, as he observed the young governor contemplate a question that the asker didn't need to be taken so seriously.
Still, Swann mulled, and eventually responded with a simple shrug. "How can any man help feeling at the loss of a friend?" Then he dropped his head to match his drooping shoulders. "The world is wearying enough as it is."
A figure appeared in the doorway, clasping his hands in front of him and bowing his head respectfully. "Sir?" The governor looked up and squared a solid gaze on the messenger, earnest sorrow mingling deeply with a soft glow of hope. "It's done."
The hope died, and the governor's face fell. He stared at nothing for a moment, his hands loosely clenched at his side and his eyes roving over his own thoughts until he sighed from the depths of despair, and dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand. "Very well."
A courteous bow of the head, and the messenger took his leave. "Good night."
Silence again. Through the open window, the creatures of the island seemed to understand the sorrow of the news and stilled their nightly gossiping, and the sea seemed stir with a bitter turn of sadness in her voice. Weatherby Swann had naught else to say on the matter, when its fate had been so harshly sealed of its own will. Naught of importance. His heart was heavy. So leaned against the window and mourned with the night.
Beckett brushed his chin in a thoughtful motion before taking a sharp breath of air and raising him from his sitting place. There was nothing else to wait for this night. He made for the door, in pursuit of his own bed.
"Don't wake Mary," Weatherby noted softly as Cutler's foot met the cool marble of their lovely entryway. Master Beckett looked to the governor, with his wig sadly propped to one side on his head as he leaned head against the cool wood of the window's frame. He hesitated for a moment, though he wasn't certain why.
"Would it offend my lord if I took my leave of him?"
Swann merely shook his head, never taking his eyes off the murky horizon. "No. Go. I've much to consider. Forgive my negligence."
His guest nodded, and left him to his silence. "Understandable, sir. Good evening."
The echo of his footsteps reverberated for what seemed forever after in the depths of the governor's mind. But time had left him now, and all sense he ever had of it. He chose to not know much of life at all, for a moment. Only the beat of the waves on the not-so-distant shore below.
"Weatherby Swann, I'm presumin'?"
He blinked, and was thoroughly surprised to find a very dark pair of eyes stair up at him from the windowsill with amusement dazzling from within. And those eyes belonged to face—a face that would have been handsome if it were so filthy and foreign. His eyes were darkly lined as would a whore's, his beard was scruffy and braided into to plaits with beads on the ends, his hair was a more horribly braided, beaded, bandana-ed nightmare, he had sores along his jaw, and his colorful array of teeth stank along with the rankness of his breath. It struck a foul chord with th gentry man—he was obviously riff-raff.
"I'm not entirely sure I would like to confirm such presumption. On whose authority are you here?" he snapped coldly, the reason he bore the title he did become quickly evident with the way he lifted his nose in the air.
The man did not respond to him directly. He grinned cheekily and turned to something directly beside him, but out of the window's range of vision. "Where'd you put it?" he murmured lowly, his face falling from audacity to discontent.
After a brief pause a growling gruff voice replied, "I didn' put it anywhere."
His brow slapped low with disappointment and he began slapping random parts of his body where pockets seemed to be, though the darkness made it difficult to be quite certain. "Then, where… Ah. Right." His eyes lit up and he withdrew a folded piece of parchment from within the folds of his coat, a contented smirk snarking his features as he presented it to the governor through the window with an exaggerated incline of his heavily ornamented head. "A friend's."
Swann eyed the parchment dubiously, cautiously, as if it would combust into flames without reason at any given moment. The man waved it a bit, insisting he take it, an impatient look sweeping over his dark features. Finally, curiosity won out in the prim and proper man—what friend of his associated with such tomfoolery?—and reaching a wary had to the oddly delivered letter, took it for his keeping.
He turned it over in his hands, and when his eyes met the seal, his heart jumped into his throat! It couldn't be! His fingers frantically worked to break the seal and unfold the parchment to its capricious contents. The hand was familiar! It could not be! And his eyes roved over the page:
When last we spoke, I had told you my end had come, and that you would do well to be wary should your own end waylay you at unawares. You had questioned me, but in my troublesome state I failed to answer. My conscience would permit silence no longer.
There is much concerning what I was before you knew me that you know nothing of. In a fashion, it is better that way. Just know I have not, despite what I may have said in the past, always been what I am.
Weatherby, 'tis the ides of March, and, though I am dead, here stands your warning of treasonous action: It is not some anomalous illness in obscurity that has befallen me, but poison—and my assassin draws near your door. Watch carefully, and trust my messenger—he's an ally and old friend.
William
Thrice he read it through, uncertain if he read it correctly, and yet unable to slow down in excitement. The excitement faded and died however, as, with each reading, he began to realize the letter meant nothing for the life of his friend. The letter had been for this moment, but written before he passed. William.
His sigh was stopped by his suspicion, as he eyed the man now chewing on his filthy fingernails. Why would William entrust such to a soul such as this? "Why are you here?"
The far too eccentric man pulled his finger from his mouth and smiled whimsically, spreading his arms as if the answer obvious to be seen. "For your benefit, Gov'nor. Well," his head bobbed ridiculously as he spoke and he flashed a quick, laughing grin, "for my own as well, but… We've come to offer you a couple o' helpin' han's."
If it were possible, Weatherby narrowed his eyes further in his increased distrust, the letter clutched firmly in his right hand. "What does this help warrant?"
The riffraff shrugged nonchalantly and set a smelly elbow on the windowsill. "A choice: you can stay an' attempt t'confront your attacker now, or you can come wif us and withdraw from 'is sigh' until the momen' mos' opportune."
The governor's brows shot upward. The man smelt of rum and the sea. He must have been one of those wretched pirates—and somehow he knew the contents of the letter. He snarled and crumpled the parchment. "And you would help me, just for the sake of a passing friend?" he questioned without withholding the skepticism from his voice.
A second figure, perhaps the man that the first had been speaking to, made his way beside his friend, within the sight of the governor. He was a shorter, sturdier fellow than his lanky counterpart, with a square head and graying lambchop sideburns dominating the sides of his face. He was grimy but cleaner this his neighbor and had a warm, smiling aspect to the wrinkles about his eyes. When he spoke, he knew it was the same second individual from before, as his voice was distinctly deep and rough. "Well, we've our own separate reasons in addition to't. But were the situation bein' as it is, with naught else but your concerns on the matter, then…" He grinned good-naturedly. "Perhaps."
His suspicion was replaced with confusion. Confusion at their open frankness. Perplexity at their lack of attempts at dishonesty… "Who are you?"
The dark, odd one rolled his eyes dramatically. "Load of profound statements, this one," muttered without silence to his neighbor, then turned back to the governor, his right hand fishing for something on his belt. "Deeply sorry, mate, but this pursuit of knowledge will have to wait—for the moment… your carriage awaits." The shorter man spotted something and wandered from the governor's view.
"Now?!" Swann gasped, surprised. What was this?! Some disguised kidnapping?!
"Ah… yes? Preferably sooner, if possible?" The man's grin was comically strained. Or would have been comical, had the situation not been so oddly dire. This man did intend to take him away! He was working for the attacker, not for William!
Well, he wouldn't let on that he had discovered their secret—though he certainly wouldn't mask his despair! "No—I can't! My wife! My daughter!" He clutched the sill and leaned towards him through the window.
"Sir," the stout man appeared once more, his jovial expressions exchanged for ones of urgent alarm as he hissed, "they're on to us. It's now or no tomorrow!"
The beaded man's eyebrows disappeared under the red bandana tied over his forehead. He turned the governor and doffed the leather tricorn set squint atop his hair head. "My most profound apologies once more, sir, but for all our sakes—this will hurt for only a second—" He lifted his right hand and, before Swann could say anything on the matter brought the butt of his pistol down on his beautifully wigged head. The dark pirate caught the slumped unconscious form in his hands to help ease his fall from the window.
"Jack!"
The beaded pirate nodded to his friend, signifying his awareness of the situation. He took both limp arms of the sleeping gentleman and heaved upward in an attempt to lift him up onto his back. He only managed to earn a grunt out of his own mouth. He shot a look at his stocky friend. "Help me lift 'im!"
As the man called Jacked remained with the governor's arms in his clutches, his friend manned his legs and, together, with a count, they lifted the man off the ground between the two of them, and began to shuffle away from the mansion through the net of trees that led to the sea. The way was often steep and a long way to the shore, riddled with many foul curses uttered under harsh breaths concerning the unnecessarily large diet of the rich. About halfway along, when Jack called for their umpteenth rest, they dropped the man's body entirely, allowing themselves the liberty to wipe their brows and stand up straight, to ease their backs of their uncomfortable arches. Finally after a few minutes of pacing, and a couple of swigs from a secret flask or two, the returned their attentions to the man splayed haphazardly on the floor of their small clearing.
Jack stretched his arms and flexed his fingers, but as he bent to reach for the governor's hands a distinct click broke the silence of the night. He froze.
"I sugges' you turn around slowly, Sparrow—your very near future may very well depend upon it." The voice was thick with the accent of the Scots, and would have been lovely, had it not belonged to so cruel a countenance.
Jack Sparrow raised his hands away from any place weapons could be hidden upon his person, without the need of being told to do so, as he turned slowly to face the crotchety, cloaked man with the pistol in question. "Davy darlin', didn' you remember?" His eyes narrowed with hateful recognition, though he smiled coyly at his newly appeared adversary, as if the gun were inexistent. "My very near future's all I think about!"
The man was stony-faced, for a moment, before he gave into lack of understanding. "Wha—"
A thud, and the man fell to the ground, the result of an elderly bearded individual with a colorful parrot on his shoulder and a solid tree branch in hand. His face was inexpressive as a little bald man, half the size of any normal individual, took hold of the fallen man and began to drag him off.
"Cotton. Marty." Jack tipped his hat and nodded his head to his formerly hidden allies, a dazzling grin of gratitude illuminating his sharp features.
"Where shall we put him, Captain?" the dwarf, Marty, hissed through the darkness, wary of the possibility that the attacking man was not alone.
Jack seemed indifferent to prospect of impending danger of the moment and wrinkled his nose good-naturedly as he looked around the clearing and motioned to a place in the shadows. "Oh… bind him to the tree—just tight enough to prove a pickle for a time. But quickly, boys: we've got a boat to catch and a villain's minions to beat it to!"
"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" the parrot squawked as a stoic Cotton joined Marty in taking and binding the temporarily subdued threat to a nearby tree with some chords they'd made not to bring along—thanks be to Fortune.
Jack's grin glowed in the darkness as he laughed to himself, enjoying the sight of their ambusher coming to, bound. "Give 'im a scarf t'chew on with his thoughts." Marty complied happily, pulling a dirty kerchief from his pock and stuffing it firmly into the man's mouth. Satisfied, Jack nodded and motioned toward the still body of the yet-silent governor. "Le's back to the ship, boys."
"Ready, and heave!" The lambchopped partner of Sparrow grunted as each man took a limb, and the four began to make quick work of the rest of the descent to the sea. "Where we be takin' this powdered prim anyways, Cap'n?"
"Nearest port to the horizon, o' course, Gibbs. What else?" came the grunted return.
"Dilusco?"
"Shh!" Jack hissed angrily, his eyes flashing. "You bleedin' lummox—now's not the time to lose care. We're still in range of the hornet's nest."
Parrot screeched suddenly, "Anchors away!"
Jack shot a look over his shoulder and grit his teeth in a curse. "S'teeth! Move-move-move move-move-MOVE! I mean stop!" His men stumbled and bumped into each other in their attempt to follow their confused orders as a group of armed soldiers passed their shadowy spot on the road crossing their pass a few feet before them. When the sound of their united footsteps seemed far enough for safety, Jack heaved a sigh and began to hiss orders once more, "Okay, now move… quietly."
They crossed the road, passed through the remaining thick of trees and emerged into a small stretch of beach, where a dinghy had been shoved into the sand and a large dark ship was anchored just beyond the shallows.
The four men stumbled through the sand and laid the governor in the dinghy as best as they could, Marty hopping eagerly into his own seat once his part was done. As Gibbs shoved the boat toward the low, lapping waves on the edge of the ocean, Jack hung back and caught the elbow of his most aged comrade.
"Cotton? C'mere, mate." He drew him back to the edge of the trees, smiling apologetically to his friend but with an imploring gleam in his eye. "I'm goin' to need you t'do me a favor, as I do you one of my own."
Cotton's visage remained unmoved as his parrot answered on his behalf. "Blow me down."
Jack grinned, laughing silently to himself before withdrawing from the depths of one his a pocket another piece of parchment. "You do well, mate. Take this; do as it says." He placed the parchment in his old and weathered hand. Delving back into another pocket, Jack managed to produce a decent-sized sack, weighted and jingling. "And this…" He placed the pouch in Cotton's hand with the parchment, "do with it as you will."
"Where's my grog?"
"Take care, Cotton. And parrot." Jack smiled fondly toward his friend as he reached an arm for the beautiful bird to switch his perch to. Cotton nodded in understanding—for this new job, an exotic animal would do no good to help him. The bird ruffled its feathers unhappily, but also comprehended the need in the situation and grudgingly stepped on to the captain's arm, nipping his master's ear affectionately as he was withdrawn.
The bird stood for his master's voice one last time as Jack began to make for the small boat, crying, "Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!"
Jack paused, and sent a flash of a gentle smile over his broad shoulder. "May yours be filled as well, mate. Happy travels!"
Cotton sent a small salute; the parrot stretched its neck, straining to keep an eye the lifelong partner he had never been parted from once. With a final glance and grin, Jack settled himself into the dinghy and set his sights on their goal.
"Ship off, boys! For the Pearl and the sun's berth!"
"You let them go?"
The man who had been bound to the tree the night before stood before him, his face stoic as he willed himself to keep his head held high. "Yes, sir."
Beckett masked a flash in his eyes as he grit his jaw and turned his back to the man, stiff with disappointment. "Dare I venture to ask why?"
The man chewed on his cheek for a moment before opting for humor in the face of his embarrassment. He approached Beckett so as to be able to lower his voice. "Would my claim that I was somewhat tied up at the moment suffice for your lordship?"
"Perhaps." He turned about and struck the man across the face violently with the back of his ringed right hand. The force of it stung the man's face and left in shocked, but he kept his dignity and did not motion against it. Still, Beckett had not finished with his accomplice. He was in a rage and spat harshly in his face. "If you hadn't managed to be such an incompetent, heavy-handed idiot!"
The man took the chance to reach and wipe a drop of blood from the corner of his lip with a kerchief, his eyes never leaving those of his superior."Sir?"
"How could you let it go wrong?!" Beckett hissed.
"I—?"
Beckett grasped the lapels of his coat firmly in his hands, fire and lightning in his eyes and thunder in his voice. "My sister—my sister, you false and dull-eyed fool! She received the wrong glass… and now my sister perishes for your mistake."
The man under verbal attack was not so far without pride as to be pinned with the title of scapegoat. A vein was touched, and his eyes flashed in return, those his voice was tempered and cool. "There would not be a mistake if it were not for your conspiracy."
"Enough!" Cutler thrust him backwards with his spat, and he shook as he went to the window to gaze through its panes to calm his nerves. But the view did little to soothe him, only aiding in locking his anger away for another day. The maid had brought the girl out to play in the grass, she tottered around, bewildered, at the change in her surroundings—and perhaps at the prolonged lack of her parent's presence. "I will have no more of your blunders; I want him found. I want him found, and I want him brought to me, in one piece, by two week's sunrise!"
"I already know to where they take him, sir," came the calm reply. "But I deem it futile to pursue."
Beckett scoffed and set a dubious expression for his partner's sake. "And why on this wide world would that be, Mister Mercer?"
"They fly to Dilusco."
That caught his attention. Mister Mercer chewed on his cheek as he watched Beckett, unable to read the reaction that had come over his eyes. Eventually, his grey shielded eyes wandered back out the window to watch as the young Swann girl tripped over the hem of her skirts and fell in her pursuit of some flying bug that had caught her interest, and a peculiar smile began to creep over his visage.
"Truly."
Hearts were hard and heavy the dawn of the next day, as if the dawn had never come in the first place, and night had begun to drift onward without end. The household had been wrought with grief they hadn't believed could be surmounted—especially so soon. But as they rose from their beds, it soon became apparent that they had lost their governor somewhere in time. And when their curiosity as to why their mistress had not yet risen for the day was set about to be satisfied, the grief only became despair as the reason tore at their hearts. She had passed away in the night.
The duties of the island had fallen to the responsibility of Cutler Beckett. Rumors spread like wildfire on what it was that could have happened that would have caused the end of Master Norrington and the Swann's in the same night. But word really was not spread at all, when compared to the day that the letter reached Port Royal…
Lord Beckett,
I shan't waste unwanted time and precious words on matters dwelling in depths of the past—words do little to change deeds of any ill shade. What matters is the present and future; not my own, which may as well be utterly wasted in its bleak circumstances, but the present and impending future of my daughter.
I hear your demands, and, as much as it pains me to commit to such, I shall obey—so long as your promises are met. My daughter shall remain safe, and raised as well as your own, or I will have reason to fly for the Crown. Whether it is in vain or not shall trouble me not; but let her live, and let her live well, and I will be meek.
In conclusion, I have one final condition by which my lips shall be sealed, and the lips of mine help as well. I know you held no fondness for William Norrington, as I've come better acquainted with your previously hushed encounters with him, and that you have reason to hold little love for his issue as well. But, as that man of self-proclaimed justice you stand, I implore you, sir, with thoughts of my beloved Mary, do them no harm. Make one thing right of her death and let them live without salt in their unhappy wounds.
Elsewise, I do as you like it;
Author's Notes:
I know. I know. I am writing a million stories at once, but I'm working on all of that too. That's part of the problem. Concerning Knife... it's coming along. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Unacceptably slowly. But I have not abandoned it. I'm just trudging through mud with that one. Gosh. And I'm working as well on Beyond the Horizon. I've come up with some sweet ideas for both of those.
Meanwhile, I found that too many plotbunnies weren't letting me progress in those stories until I got at least part of this one out of my system. And, the third movie did nothing to stop new ideas from coming. Man...
This should be the only one that has Will and Elizabeth as the focus of it... The only intentional romance I'm writing, in other words. I may do more in the future, but I prefer to write stories that encompass more ascpects than just Will and Elizabeth's relationship--the action, Jack's awesomeness, the magic... You know?
Anyway. At Break of Day Arising. There are two reasons I came up with this one. There is a serious lack of Will/Elizabeth stories on here--and most of the Will/Elizabeth stories on here are very similar. I wanted something different. Additionally, when people take a famous tale and then sub in the PotC characters into it, it's always the same stories. Cinderella and Romeo & Juliet stand out in particular. Again, I wanted something different. Especially when it comes to Romeo & Juliet. I am a Shakespearean freak. But I hate Romeo & Juliet. So, I chose a different work of the Bard. And I set myself on As You Like It.
For those who have read it, I hope you enjoy what I have done with the play. I have taken some serious liberties with it, but I hope it honors the original work. I hope the changes are to your liking and that it brings both Shakespeare's work and the world of Pirates to coincide at least decently.
For those who haven't read it. You may, if you like. However, you might enjoy my story more if you don't know what's going to happen. But I do encourage you to read As You Like It--if only after you've read my story.Shakespeare is magnificent.
Finally, at the end of every story, I will be posting a cast list of who's appeared in the plot so far, and who they are playing the part of, if it has been revealed in the plot so far. It's listed in alphabetical order, by PotC Characters. Some character will play themselves. And some of it may not make sense now, but it will all come together in the end. Have a great read!
Cutler Beckett—Duke Frederick
The brother-in-law of Weatherby Swann and the usurper of his governing power.
David Mercer—??
A mercenary and assistant to Cutler Beckett.
Governor Weatherby Swann—Duke Senior
The father of Elizabeth and the rightful ruler of the "governor-ship" in which the tale is first set. Having been banished by his usurping brother-in-law, Cutler Beckett, Governor Swann now lives in exile on Dilusco.
James Norrington—Oliver de Bois
The oldest son of William Norrington and sole inheritor of the Norrington estate.
Jack Sparrow—??
A pirate andgood friend of William Norrington in secret.
Joshamee Gibbs—??
A pirate and friend of Jack and William Norrington.
Mister Cotton—??
A pirate.
William Turner I—Sir Roland de Bois
The father of Will and James, friend of Weatherby and Jack, and enemy of Cutler Beckett. Upon William's death, the majority of his estate was handed over to James according to custom of primogeniture. Known as William Norrington.
William Turner II – Orlando de Bois
The youngest son of William Turner and the younger brother of James.
Cheers,
Jack E.