A dull rumble shook the bed and then the entire room trembled with a great series of booms like cannon blast. An ornate mirror smashed to the floor. James reared up out of bed from a sound sleep yelling, "Beat to quarters!" and in the process elbowed Beckett in the stomach. Cutler woke up with a shout next to him. Norrington, forgetting he had gone to sleep in Beckett's bed and not on his ship, turned to Beckett and started screaming as the room continued to shake as though the walls were being battered by a broadside. Porcelain vases fell from console tables and shattered; their pieces skittering across the floor like albino cockroaches. Beckett screamed in response to Norrington's screaming and when he realized the room was shaking he threw his arms around James and screamed, "What is happening?!"

"We are under attack, let go, damn you!" James shook free of Beckett and tried to get out of the bed. The floor kept moving, not in the swell of waves and cannon fire, and Norrington understood their predicament in a rush of inspiration. "Good Lord! It's an earthquake!" he yelled as he joined Beckett back in the bed. Crawling to the center of the bed both men clung to each other as the wall facing the sea began to crack vertically. It was made even more frightening by the fact they were on the second story. "Are we going to die?" Cutler quailed. "I hope not!" James yelled, trying to be brave, but clutching just as tightly to Beckett. Plaster cracked away from the ceiling and was caught by the bed's canopy or fell to the floor.

Slowly, the ferocity of the earth's movements died down to a fervor and then a stillness and silence made more acute in the absence of sound and fury. Norrington was breathing hard; his eyes squeezed shut against Beckett's shoulder, when he felt the stillness outside the beating of his heart. He pulled back and looked at Cutler, about to drop his arms but pausing when he saw the impossibly wide eyes, bone-white face, and trembling lips. Cutler Beckett was not looking at him; he was not looking at anything, just shaking. "Beckett," James said, giving the other man a quick shake, "Beckett...?" There was no response and Norrington began to feel how cold Cutler's was and he wondering if this was the source of the palsy.

Loud footsteps jostled down the corridor, becoming louder and James tried to leap from the bed, but Beckett's hands reached out and seized him in a clawing grasp. "Let go! Someone is coming!" Norrington hissed between his crooked teeth and nearly suffered an apoplexy when the door burst open and fell off its broken hinges. It was Mercer in his nightshirt who had shouldered open the door. "Everything all right?" he asked as he approached the bed. Norrington was still trying to disentangle himself from Beckett, "No, there is something wrong with him. I think he is having some kind of fit." "Is he cold to the touch?" Mercer asked as he pressed his wrist against Cutler's forehead. "He is freezing and he shakes," James answered.

"This happens sometimes," Mercer stated with authority, "I will tend to him." Mercer frowned, "He will need Saunders as well." Mercer climbed into the bed and placed himself between Beckett and Norrington, giving the admiral a chance to escape. As Mercer soothed Beckett, James went to the window and looked out beyond the curtains. "Good God!" he exclaimed as he saw the chaos below. Fires were creeping up hither and thither and the entire port and her ships were under threat. Norrington frantically put on his clothes, ready to muster his men to restore order and put out the fires. In the last century and earthquake had nearly wiped Port Royal off the map; this time Norrington refused to let a fire finish the job on his watch.

"Will it come back?" Beckett whispered like a child. It caught James' attention and he bit back a snarky retort at seeing Cutler Beckett so shattered. "No, not like before. There may be a bit more shaking, but the worst of the quake is over. Fire is now the worst of our problems," James explained. Beckett noticed Norrington shrugging on his greatcoat and pleaded, "Come back." James stood tall and tucked his hat under his arm, "I must do my duty and see to the protection and preservation of Port Royal. Mr. Mercer, if the fires rage out of control, do not run to the ships – they too will catch fire – run to the jungle and hide." Mercer nodded and James left to restore the peace and put out the fires.


Among all the shattered pottery, powdered plaster dusted broken furnishings, broken glass, and cracked walls only the grotesque golden statue remained safe and unmoved upon the mantel; her eyes glittered in the light of the fires friscolating in the moonlit twilight beyond.