It was another festive night in Tortuga, much dancing and drinking, fighting and flirting, singing and swearing. Captain Jack Sparrow had just charmed his way out of a fight and made a quick disappearance from one of the more rowdy taverns on the island (hence, one of his favorites) when he head a woman's voice.
It was not at all uncommon to hear women on Tortuga; there were at least two or three to every man (as was often the case, though no pair stayed together long before one or both moved on to find a new mate). The wenches could often be heard sweetly crooning, tipsily laughing, lustfully beckoning, and angrily shrieking by turns. But this voice was doing none of these.
Nor was the voice in itself particularly unusual. The voice was raised in a yelp of pain, a cry for help, there was no extraordinary quality to its tone.
What stopped Jack was that he recognized the voice, and the owner was one that he hadn't seen, nor heard from in several weeks. He wouldn't expect her to be on this raucous pirate island, but he wasn't unhappy to hear her. However, something seemed wrong…
Jack moved forward, further into the shadows of the alley. He could vaguely make out the two people, the first was a heavy man, much intoxicated, with all of his rotting teeth exposed as he roared in anger, advancing upon the other. The second figure was recoiling, clutching at their face in pain. She was clothed in a worn dress of numerous faded layers, much more revealing than any other gown Jack had seen her in. But Jack abandoned his observations as the man moved closer to her, his hand ready to strike once more.
"Please, no-" she sobbed, turning away.
"Silence yeh damned wretch!" he shouted, and she was cowering before him, backed against the stone wall. Jack silently stepped forward, unseen by either, a cold resolve glittering in his dark eyes.
As the man backhanded Elizabeth, leaving a streak of blood on her cheek, Jack drew his sword. The man brought his hand back again.
"Learn yer place, filthy whore!" he growled, but froze as he felt the cold tip of a blade at his back. Jack didn't give him time enough to speak, instead just plunging the sword deeply into the man.
"Bastard!" Jack spat, and the man dropped noiselessly. Jack stepped over the body, concerned. She twisted her face away, her eyes closed.
"Lizzie?" he asked cautiously, in a much gentler tone. She wouldn't look at him, so Jack tried pulling at one of her hands.
"Are you all right then, love? He's gone, won't hurt you no more."
She slowly turned to look at him, her great brown eyes momentarily fixed on his own. Jack smiled uncertainly, and then she too fell to the floor, her thin frame slumped over. Jack hurriedly stowed away his blade, and bent over her. He hoisted her over one shoulder as gently as he could, and exclaimed at her weight.
She can't weigh more than ninety, he thought, horrified. Elizabeth, my god, what's happened to you?