Disclaimer: the same as Chapter 1.
Author's notes:
- This chapter is dedicated to the MarsmallowWizardGhostCookie: happy birthday, Alice!
- To Fan: thank you very much for your message!
- To ArianneG: hi there! Will you please give me your email address?
- Chambers is inspired from a character of the movie "Pirates of the Caribbean, At World's Ends" but his personality is of my own creation.
- The "santabárbara" (Saint Barbara in English) designs the powder magazine of a ship or fortress.
Chapter 3: Behold the enemy
Commander Bartholomew Chambers prided himself in being a courageous and loyal officer of His Royal Highness, the King of England.
However, as he was walking down the badly lit streets of Port Royal to reach the fashionable St. Paul's district, he couldn't help but being frightened. He didn't fear being the victim of an aggression by ruffians out for his golden insignias, or falling in a trap baited by a gorgeous-looking prostitute. He had a good sword at his hip, a loaded pistol hidden under his jacket and he avoided darkened alleys like the plague. He was an officer of the Royal Navy and the prestige of his uniform should be enough to earn the respect of anyone crossing his path.
Commander Chambers was on his way to a rendezvous, where he expected to receive an adequate reward for his cooperation in the capture of a pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow. But he couldn't find the courage to celebrate his success because his employer was a man who made him stand in fear.
Truth to be told, Chambers' entire career had been based on keeping an assured facade at all times. It had been convincing enough to fool his teachers at the Naval Academy, and then the different Captains he had served as a Sub-Lieutenant, Lieutenant and Lieutenant-Commander. He had reached the rank of Commander at the age of twenty-eight which high recommendations and his parents – a couple of old buzzards who had beaten the self-confidence out of him with a cane during his whole childhood – had finally been proud of him
Nine years ago, Chambers, then thirty, had been certain he would be granted a captaincy after his participation in a great military coup. The objective had been clear: total elimination of pirates gathered in the Caribbean Sea. It had looked so simple at the time, and completely risk-free.
And it had all gone to Hell.
The maelstrom battle.
The Commander shuddered at the recollection and he almost slipped on the wet cobbles. Even nine years after the facts, he still couldn't remember this fight without feeling cold shivers all over his body. He had miraculously survived the battle, but the worse had been waiting for him back in Port Royal: suspicion, disgrace and defamation. But how could these people judge him? They hadn't been present on the H.M.S. Endeavour; they hadn't seen the horrible things he had witnessed!
"It hasn't been my fault," said Commander Chambers out loud. "I've done everything I could under the circumstances. I obeyed orders to the letter. No one has the right the blame me!"
This forceful declaration made very little impression on the passerby; some of them kept a cautious distance, thinking him a lunatic, but the others just showed perfect indifference. A rat squealed in fear and disappeared in the shadows of the street.
There had been a court martial in London, and Chambers had been thoroughly ridiculed by his embarrassing testimony that included monsters and maelstroms. He had kept his rank only because of his father's influence in high places. But the old man hadn't bothered to mask his pleasure when pouring his contempt upon his son in the privacy of the family manor. Chambers had been disinherited and his mother had refused to say good-bye to "A spineless worm".
Chambers' future had looked grim, but the Navy had its own plans about this Commander and his fantastic tales: he had been sent back to Port Royal on a pen-pusher job. For the past nine years, he had done nothing but keeping accounts at Fort Charles and supervising the work of the drill sergeant who tyrannized the recruits – usually a bunch of scoundrels who had taken the King's shilling to avoid prison – until they knew how to stand, march and fire before sending them to the troublesome colonies of North America. This position was nothing but an insult and a reprimand, but what could Chambers do? If he resigned from the Navy, he would find himself penniless and thousands of leagues away from England. No civilian would offer him a job and he couldn't even dream of marrying a rich heiress.
And then, a few months ago, Chambers had met a man and he had truly thought his woes were over. But he never would have thought it would be so hard on his fragile nerves!
Finally, he reached his destination: a two-story grand mansion with a large garden, protected by high walls and a wrought iron gate. Some of the rooms had been lightened but the garden had been left unattended, giving an impression of wildness that clashed with the house's respectable-looking architecture. Chambers walked through the entrance gate, which had been left open, and then on the garden's uneven alley to reach the front door of the house. He knocked and a nervous butler answered:
"Y-Yes, Sir?"
"Commander Chambers. I have an appointment with…"
"H-His Lordship awaits you in his study, S-Sir. Please to enter, Sir."
Chambers stepped into an entry hall that had seen better times: there were white rectangular shapes on the walls, a testimony that paintings or framed engravings had been removed, or stolen. The tiled floor was dusty, and the carpet covering the spiral staircase was threadbare. The only things that looked new were the huge gilt-framed mirror and the candles placed on the big chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
The butler took Chambers' hat and sword, handed them to a scared maid – a plump woman with deep lines on her face -, who put the belongings in a small cupboard by the front door. The Commander usually paid no attention to servants, but the couple seemed scared out of their minds and, knowing their master, he wouldn't think of blaming them for their skittishness.
"If Sir will come this way?" said the butler while motioning towards the stairs.
Chambers followed him up to the first floor, but he couldn't help but notice that a strong scent of dust and mildew floating in the air. Cobwebs appeared in every ceiling's corners and some of the windows had been hastily cleaned, leaving smudges on the glass panels. The silk wallpaper was maculated, and in some parts it was even peeling off from the walls.
It looked as if the house had fallen within the hands of a negligent owner – and Chambers knew it was the case. Years ago, this grand mansion had belonged to Governor Wetherby Swann, the late governor of Port Royal that every one remembered as a polite gentleman. After he had been "lost at sea", his only daughter had vanished, never to be seen again in Jamaica. There had been no one to claim the property and the habitants pretended Swann's spirit haunted it. The actual governor – an odious fellow named Laverty – had preferred to move into another house, located on the far side of the town. Consequently, Chambers' employer had bought the grand mansion for a song.
But obviously, the man was too busy with his schemes to spend time and money on repairs.
To hide his anxiety, Commander Chambers decided to make casual conversation with the butler. A poor audience, of course, but beggars couldn't be choosers, could they?
"What is your name?"
"H-H-Humphrey, Sir." stuttered the butler.
"And how many servants are at His Lordship's service, Humphrey?"
"O-O-Only my wife and I, S-Sir,'"
"Your wife? You mean the maid I have spotted downstairs?"
"That is c-correct, Sir. She does the c-c-cooking and she sees to the linen, and I d-do the cleaning."
"This is a big house for only one man to clean it, no?"
"Oh no, not at all, S-Sir!" exclaimed the butler. "I am q-quite capable to handle the work all by myself!"
Chambers was taken aback by the Humphrey's reaction, as if uttering a single complaint would make him the winner of a one-way ticket to the gallows! But he let the matter drop. After all, he had to gather his strength for his own rendezvous and a nervous servant couldn't distract him; he had more important things in mind.
The two men reached the first floor and stopped at the third door on the right. Humphrey knocked and a harsh "Enter!" was heard from the other side of the wood. The butler jumped in fright, and then he opened to announce:
"Commander Chambers, your Lordship."
"Let him in and get your worthless carcass away from my sight, Humph!" barked the voice.
The butler bowed and edged aside, allowing Chambers to enter, and the officer stepped inside a room that was much better kept than the rest of the house. Logs were burning in the fireplace, a grandfather's clock was ticking in a corner, and a desk was covered with papers and maps. A giant map of the world was hanging on one wall, and nearby there was an iron safe mounted in cherry wood. The thick curtains have been drawn to block the view from the windows and Chambers started to feel sweaty from the room's temperature. But maybe it was because of its tenant?
"Get in and close the door," growled a man seated in a wing chair, facing the fireplace. Apparently, the Commander's employer wouldn't bother with getting up to acknowledge his visitor.
Chambers' cheeks turned purple in anger; he wasn't a servant like Humphrey, for God's sake, he was an officer of the Royal Navy! But, too afraid to displease his "host", he obeyed nonetheless and shut the door behind him.
Silence reigned for a few minutes, making Chambers feel more and more anxious. He knew this was deliberate to make him ill at ease and, damn it, it was working! Perspiration was running on his forehead and he could feel wet stains under his arms, maculating his ironed shirt under his officer's uniform.
"So, you came," said the man in the wing chair, staring at the fire and keeping his back on the visitor.
"Finally! He has talked!" thought an elated Chambers.
"Yes, Milord. I have received your message and…"
"And you came at full speed like a dog expecting to receive a bone from its master, with your tail between your legs, as usual."
"Milord!"
"You dare to talk back to me? You seem to forget I am the one who call the shots in here!"
The grand mansion's owner jumped on his feet and looked at Chambers from top to bottom, like a wealthy customer evaluating a cheap statue in an antiques' shop. He was a towering man in his mid-fifties, dressed with an embroidered deep blue cutaway cloak over a waist-length satin waistcoat, ivory-colored stockings and black velvet breeches. Above his cravat made of Parisian white silk, his prominent chin would have looked funny if not for his mouth, perpetually frozen in a disdainful grimace. His plain lined features were rigid from barely-contained fury but his eyes were the worst: ice-blue, unblinking, expressionless, and Chambers remembered those eyes too well …
"You are my minion, Commander Chambers, and don't you dare forgetting it for an instant. Until our business is done, I call you by any kind of names I choose and you will do whatever I want you to do. Only I have the power to have your disastrous record destroyed and your reputation restored; you don't want to spoil your last chance to earn the captaincy you have been whining about for years, do you? So keep your indignation on a very short leash!"
Chambers gulped and made a grimace as if he had swallowed unsweetened lemonade, wishing he were anywhere else but in this grand mansion. Five minutes in the presence of its owner and he already wanted to turn tail and run. No wonders Humphrey and his wife were so nervous!
"Very well, Milord. I apologize for my outburst and I will obey to your orders."
"Good! Then maybe you will understand that our hunting job isn't finished, far from it."
This last sentence made Chambers jump in spite of his fear: what did his host meant?
"I don't understand, Milord. We have captured Captain Sparrow, his men and his ship without any casualties. We should celebrate our great success!"
"A HALF-SUCCESS!" roared the middle-aged man, banging his fist on a console supporting a small vase of flowers. The vase fell over and crashed on the tiled floor in an explosion of porcelain. Water spattered all over on the ivory stockings. "We may have captured the Black Pearl II, but we still have no clues about how to find the Flying Dutchman!"
Chambers blanched at those words; a few months ago, his future partner-in-crime had seemed interested only in settling a personal account with Sparrow. He had never mentioned anything about the ghost ship!
"But, Milord! What on Earth do you want to do with the Flying Dutchman?"
"I want to hang its Captain alongside Sparrow's corpse, you mongrel! What do you think?"
"I'm dealing with a lunatic," thought Chambers. "An absolute lunatic, just like the other one!"
"With all due respect, Milord, you are being unreasonable. It is impossible to capture the Flying Dutchman."
"Oh? And why, pray tell, you pusillanimous and poor example of a Royal Navy officer?"
"Because it's a ghost ship!" exclaimed Chambers, finally reaching his patience's limits. "And I saw through a telescope its Captain and crew, milord; they… they were so deformed, they barely looked human! They were covered with shells and other sea debris but they were ferocious and merciless, fighting like demons. Even a maelstrom hasn't been powerful enough to destroy the Dutchman. It's an invulnerable ship filled with monsters! How do you expect us to capture those hellish creatures?"
"Lord Beckett did find a way to control the Flying Dutchman!" yelled the master of the grand mansion while taking a crumpled letter from out of his cutaway cloak and brandishing it like a war hatchet. "Just before he departed for his mission against the Brethren Court's armada aboard the ship-of-the-line H.M.S. Endeavour, he wrote in this missive about his success in submitting Jones, the Dutchman's Captain, and that he was forcing him to destroy pirate ships!"
"That may have been true, but the only ones who knew about Lord Beckett's hold on Jones were his clerk, Mercer, and the few Marines left aboard the Dutchman. None of them have returned from the ghost ship; Heavens knows what had happened to them!"
"What happened to them is quite obvious! Mercer and the soldiers failed at their duty and they let themselves being overpowered. You testified in London that the Flying Dutchman was attacking the Black Pearl minutes before the maelstrom, and then both ships got caught in a huge whirlpool. The darkened sky and the pouring rain made it impossible for you imbecile to see how the battle between these two ships was faring. After the tempest had calmed down, it appeared that only the Pearl had survived…"
"… Until the Flying Dutchman resurfaced…" completed Chambers.
"… And then, the Black Pearl and the Dutchman joined forces to catch the Endeavour in a swift pincer movement and destroy it in a hail of cannonballs. The only logical explanation is that Captain Jones regained the command of his ship one way or another, and then allied himself with Sparrow to murder your rightful leader." finished the man bitterly.
The Commander was sweating profusely as despair and fear filled his being. His employer didn't ask him to come to the grand mansion to hand him out his reward. He could say good-bye to his Captain's insignias, if they had even existed in the first place.
"Milord, I can assure you…"
"YOU LEFT HIM THERE!" roared the gray-haired man while grabbing Chambers by the front of his uniform's jacket. "YOU RAN AWAY AND YOU LEFT LORD BECKETT ALONE ON THE ENDEAVOUR!"
"That's not true!" exclaimed the disgraced Commander, wetting his breeches in the panic. "I've told you that before, just like I've told the judges in London. Before we could realize what was happening, we were entrapped between the Flying Dutchman and the Black Pearl. I kept on asking Lord Beckett for orders, but he wouldn't answer! He was in shock, repeating: "It's just good business…" all the time! And when the pirates opened fire, it was too late to organize a defense. I gave my subordinates the order to abandon ship but half the men were already killed or injured. I tried to grab Lord Beckett but he just descended the main deck's stairs, apparently oblivious of the cannonballs flying everywhere. I reached the ship's rail when the twin broadside guns fired at the Endeavour's santabárbara, and the blast of the explosion made me fall into the water. I barely escaped with my life!"
The host's snarling face was very close to Chambers'. The Royal Navy officer thought for a moment the man was going to bite him like a rabid dog, but suddenly he was flung away and his bottom collided violently with the floor's hard stones. He would have protested against this blatant disregard of his uniform, but one look at his soiled white breeches made him change his mind. It was hard to keep a dignified facade when smelling like a privy!
Chambers got on his feet, and then he moved promptly to place the wing chair between him and the gray-haired man. It would hide the accident in his pants and also shield him from violent outbursts. He hastily mopped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief before saying:
"Milord, all this is pointless. The Flying Dutchman is out of our reach so instead of aiming for the moon, we should concentrate on more urgent matters – namely, the trial and hanging of Captain Sparrow and his men. Every citizen of Port Royal is talking about the capture and they expect a public execution in a few days. After those scoundrels' necks will be broken, we'll be heroes and Governor Laverty will grant us anything we want!"
"Don't count your chickens before they are hatched, Chambers! Sparrow isn't hanged yet."
This time, Chambers gasped in surprise.
"W-What do you mean, milord? He is locked up in the jail over Port Royal Bay; it's the strongest detention centre in Jamaica, he cannot escape!"
"I don't trust this prison or the mutts guarding it! In the past, Sparrow has managed to escape and he's likely to relapse. He isn't the kind to sit tight and wait until his appointment with the noose comes up. Besides, soldiers can be bribed or Sparrow can call for outside help. I want to make absolutely sure he won't escape his punishment, unlike the time he fooled the former Governor. But I know exactly what kind of cage would be strong enough to keep this peculiar bird under lock and key."
The disgraced Commander blinked incomprehensibly, as he couldn't understand why his host wanted to improve that which was already perfect. To his eyes, Port Royal's prison was secure enough to keep Sparrow in. The small-framed pirate captain couldn't be slim enough to pass through the bars of his cell!
"Milord…"
"Listen to me, Chambers. Tomorrow morning, you will gather your ragtag troops and you will get Sparrow and his men out of Port Royal prison to march them off to their new holding premises. It's a jail I have prepared especially for them, and for anyone who has ever associated with pirates."
"What? But… but I wasn't aware there was a new detention building in town. Where is it located?"
"I will tell you tomorrow morning!" snapped the older man. "I don't want any leaks until Sparrow and the others are locked up in the new place. I have hand-picked its guards and I can assure you they are far more suited for this role than the usual drunken scumbags that you try to pass as soldiers. Sparrow will remain in this new jail until he is hanged for the murder of Lord Beckett."
"What about his trial, Milord? His death warrant must be signed by a judge, and countersigned by the Governor. That's the law!"
"To Hell with the law! Sparrow doesn't deserve a trial, anyway. I have made the necessary arrangements with Governor Laverty. He will sign any document as long as he gets under-the-table payments, the greedy pig. However, I've just learnt that Judge Benedict Carr has a liking for young boys… His cooperation won't cost me a penny. And do you honestly think the citizens of this stinking town will ask questions about the civil rights of a bunch of pirates? The only thing they care about is the display of swaying corpses at the end of a rope!"
Chambers wiped the sweat from his brow again, not even trying to hide the movement this time. Things were getting out of control: in his obsession of revenge against Sparrow, his employer had decided to lock up the pirates in his private prison and to take the law within his own hands, while bribing the Governor and exert pressure on a judge. What would be next? Would he form his own militia, seize power in Jamaica and become the true authority behind the throne's representatives?
"Milord, I don't think…"
"That's right, Chambers: don't think, and content yourself with obeying. After Sparrow is hanged, I will take the necessary dispositions and you will get your promotion. And then, we will leave and search for the Flying Dutchman until we bring Captain Jones back to Port Royal in chains, monster or not. I won't let the other killer of Lord Beckett roam freely on the oceans while his accomplice's tar-covered body is displayed for the public to see. I am not interested in a half-success so WE WILL FIND IT! I will spend every penny I have, I will put the Caribbean to fire and the sword, we will travel around the globe if needed but we will find the Flying Dutchman! Lord Beckett will be avenged, do you hear me?"
"But, Milord, the Dutchman is a phantom vessel!"
"A phantom vessel that can shoot real cannonballs? You moron, it is made of solid wood just like any other ship, so it can be destroyed! If you had used your brains during the maelstrom battle instead of gawking around, you wouldn't have waited for orders to open fire on the Dutchman and Lord Beckett would still be amongst us. As for the so-called monsters, it would have taken only a few inches of British steel to send them to the depths. But you got frightened like a cabin boy and ran away! Now get out of my house, clean your breeches and you'd better be bright and ready tomorrow morning when we transfer the prisoners. We will march at dawn!"
And with a dismissing gesture, the older man sank back in the wing chair, still clutching Lord Beckett's letter in his hand. A very dismayed Chambers retreated to the door like a kicked dog; but as he walked down the staircase, ignoring Humphrey's rounded eyes, he was seething with anger. The old bastard had humiliated him for the last time; Chambers would plunge his sword right into his belly, decapitate him and hang the head from one of his ship's yard-arms, he would, he would….
… Remain at his orders until Captain's insignias are sewed on his jacket's sleeves.
Chambers sighed heavily and he didn't even notice Mrs. Humphrey handing him his hat and his sword. Getting mad was useless; his employer had all the winning cards in hand for the moment and the disgraced Commander had learned long ago the virtues of patience. Things would be better after Sparrow's hanging: Chambers would get his deserved rank, a brand-new ship and if the revenge-obsessed man wanted to come along, so be it. Accidents happened frequently when sailing on the open sea, in the lines of a sudden wave sweeping everything on its path, or a mysterious disappearance in the middle of the night…
"Like it happened with Swann," thought Chambers, and that souvenir gave him shivers. He had accidentally witnessed Mercer, Lord Beckett's assistant, killing the debonair governor on the Endeavour's main deck and then throwing the body overboard while the sailors were sleeping below. Chambers hadn't uttered a word about this, too aware of Beckett's policy towards people outliving their usefulness. Later, during his court martial, he had been tempted to name the culprits responsible for Swann's murder but he had quickly renounced to this idea; he was already suspected of cowardice so it would have been pointless to tarnish the reputation of the "maelstrom martyr", as bigwigs in London called Lord Beckett.
Officially, Governor Swann had been "lost at sea" with many other men after the battle; retrospectively, keeping silence about this murder had been a wise move from Chambers. His employer wouldn't have appreciated accusations towards Lord Beckett…
The Commander exited the grand mansion, not even bothering to mask the accident in his pants. The night's shadows would be enough to cover this testimony of his nervousness until he reached Fort Charles… or so he hoped.
Meanwhile, in the cells of Port Royal's prison…
"Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me! We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot, drink up me hearties, yo ho! We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot…"
"ENOUGH!" roared a pot-bellied red-coated marine named Tobias, banging his fist against the bars of a cell. "I don't want to hear this stupid song any longer!"
"Oh, pooh! You're no fun, Tubby Toby!"
The other prisoners laughed out loud at those words, disturbing the night's silence. Half-dozens of captives had been crammed into tiny dank cells, making it impossible for them to stand, sit or lay down without bumping into someone. Those living conditions, added with awful food and a gloomy doom, would have driven the men to madness or despair; but one prisoner, who had been granted a cell all for himself, seemed to consider it his duty to raise his companions in misfortune' spirits by endlessly making fun of their guardian. Tobias, his face purple in humiliation, had a dangerous movement towards the keys hanging from his belt.
"I'm coming in and I'll bash your brains out, you little..!"
"Tsk, tsk," answered the singer, remaining hidden in his cell's shadows. "You wouldn't want to displease your betters, now, would you? It would be quite hazardous to your health."
"What the Hell do you mean?"
"I mean, you obtuse obese, that dragging a bruise-covered prisoner from out of jail to the gallows makes a bad effect on the audience. Citizens of this good city expect a good show from executions; do you think they will enjoy seeing a man being hanged while he can barely stand up? My battered appearance could even raise some cries for mercy and it would displease Chambers and his boss, especially after I would publicly name my tormentors. Chambers could punish you like ordering to go on a diet. The horror, the horror!"
Another row of laughter and the other prisoners grabbed some straw from out of their cells to throw it in the general direction of the guard. Tobias wished for the thousandth time he hadn't volunteered for prison duty. At the time, it had seemed a good plan to drink wine and play cards all day along without being disturbed, while wretched souls rotted alive in their cells. But since that last batch of prisoners had arrived a few days ago, his life had taken a turn for the worse – and all because of that troublemaker!
"Enjoy it while you can, you scum! That won't stop your neck from being broken. He who laughs last laughs the best!"
"My, a philosopher!" exclaimed the solitary prisoner. "I didn't expect that from you, I have to admit it. You are showing an admirable stoicism, even though you are currently showered with straw and sporting a red face, all this making you look like an overfed rooster. Since you are in such admirable spirits, I will resume my singing: We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack, drink up me hearties, yo ho! Maraud and embezzle and even high-jack…"
"NO! ENOUGH!" yelled Tobias, getting worried about having a riot on his hands. He had to find a way out of this situation, otherwise the other captives would start singing too and it would raise embarrassing questions. Heck, Chambers might think it an open mockery of his authority!
"Aw, why do you want to miss an occasion to brighten your otherwise lamentable life by refusing to listen to the melodious sound of my voice?"
"NO! Please, I'd give you anything you want if you stop that horrible noise!"
"Anything?"
"Yes!"
The boisterous prisoner climbed down his hard stone seat to come closer to the gate of his cell. The dungeons were poorly lit so Tobias couldn't see the man's features. Only a pair of dark, shining eyes was visible and they unnerved the fat soldier: it looked like the gaze of a leprechaun hiding in the shadows while planning a dirty trick.
"In that case, Tubby Toby, how about bringing me a flagon of rum?"
TBC…
