Part IV: Pactum Serva

The meager room Edward had rented out for his stay in Port Royal would remain empty that night.

A sign for a pub called the Glorious Salvo caught Edward's eye on his way back to the inn. He was by no means a habitual drinker; the occasional tumbler of whiskey or wine with dinner was enough to suffice. But tonight, he needed something to replace the fire in his chest, even if it was just a temporary substitute for his own fervor.

He talked to no one but the bartender and a promiscuous young woman whom he scared away with a scowl and something about how he'd sooner sleep in the gutter than with some tart off the streets.

That gained him a slap to the face, but after that, he was left mostly to himself.

The sun had been down for an hour or so before he headed towards the inn, a touch light headed. Maybe the third pint had been a bit much.

Consequently, he was unaware of the two characters that had followed him out of the Glorious Salvo and was unaware for most of the walk back. At one point, he stopped at an intersection, unable to quite recall which street it was he needed to go down.

He reached into a pocket to pull out a scrap of paper upon which a crude map was scribbled. Meandering over to a nearby street lamp, he oriented himself.

Though he was about as short sighted as a bat at noon in the middle of the Sahara Desert, Edward could still hear quite well. The soft scrape of metal on a scabbard snatched his attention away from the map. He looked up sharply from the map, trying to scour the darkness looming just outside the lamp light.

The only sounds that came back to him were that of the sea breeze and a dog barking some streets over. Nothing that sounded like a weapon being drawn, but the hairs standing up on the back of his neck and the prickling across his scalp told him otherwise.

Gradually, the dog quieted down, leaving only the thudding of his pulse in his ears. With one last glance around him, Edward looked back down at the map for the name of the street he needed.

He wasn't sure if somebody had called out or if a foot knocked something over in the darkness, but something brought his head back up to his surroundings to find a figure coming at him with a sword raised to strike.

The hilt of the weapon came whistling towards his head just as Edward dove down and into the assailant. A hundred and forty pounds of wiry admiral barreled into the man's knees; to the attacker's credit, he didn't cry out in spite of Edward feeling the man's legs crumple.

God's boons, he hadn't fought hand to hand with anyone since he punched out George Logan at a naval function eight years ago. Even so, he had gained the upper hand by surprise and was able to get to the point where he could punch the man in the nose.

He had his fist raised for the second strike when something hard connected with the side of his head. He toppled sideways off the first attacker and hit the cobblestones with the world spinning. His glasses flew off his nose, effectively rendering the entire scene a veritable blur; in the remote part of his mind not concerned with avoiding getting killed, he was glad Katherine made him attach the blasted things to his waistcoat with a little chain. She knew his propensity to set things down and forget where he put them.

It might have been the alcohol, but he was somehow able to stagger to his feet, fists up defensively and pointed in the direction of the man-shaped blurs under the street lamp. One advanced on him with something smaller than a sword in one hand. Having been in the fighting business for some time, he was able to recognize the shape as a gun in spite of being half blind.

A blur of movement indicated the man was raising the gun, and Edward felt his blood run cold.

But tonight would not be his night.

A third shape appeared out of the darkness, hefting a heavy looking something and swinging it at the fellow with the gun.

With one assailant down and the other trying to get to his feet, Edward rushed in to do…something, he wasn't sure what, but the rescuer ran at him instead, shouting to go the other way. It was a woman's voice – odd – but he skidded to a halt to turn around. They bounced off of each other and wheeled around to flee.

The woman was much younger than he and sprinted ahead into the dark of an alley.

The sharp report of gun fire sounded over his shoulder and a corresponding streak of pain slashed over his upper arm just as he reached the alley. Behind him, one of the attackers must have recovered the pistol. The shot hit him just as he ran straight into some manner of crate, but the adrenaline fueling his limbs somehow enabled him to scramble around and stay on his feet.

They fled into the night.

Edward's rescuer was indeed a young woman. She stood waiting on the corner ahead of him as he finally caught up, breathing heavily. He leaned over, hands on his knees. "Thank you, miss. I am entirely in your debt," he managed between gasps.

"You're welcome," she replied.

He straightened, wiping one hand across his brow while the other groped for his glasses. With the small spectacles in place one more, he could finally get a better look at the woman.

She was more or less dressed like an average working girl, early twenties at best. Some of her blond hair had fallen in wavy strands from her bun. Brown eyes. A bit willowy. Her smile was pleasant, so he attempted to return it but managed a wince instead.

"Oh, you've been hurt," she said, smile fading as she noticed the red beginning to stain his jacket sleeve.

He looked at the injury, putting a hand to stem the flow. "Well, look at that." There was a fair sized goose egg beginning to form near his temple, as well.

She reached out to him. "Here. Let me help. I have some supplies at home."

While it was odd for Edward to be accepting help from a woman who had been out roaming around at night and didn't even balk at striking a man with a gun, he wasn't about to turn down a helping hand.

It was a few minute's walk to a small apartment above a bakery. The woman led him up some creaky stairs at the side of the building. They entered what looked to be a two-room abode. The dark shape of a table took up most of this one; he imagined something similar to a bedroom was next door. Light from a candle entered the dark room as the woman shut the door, and a second woman stuck her head into the room. She was somewhat shorter and rounder than the first.

"Miss Elizabeth?" she queried in a hushed tone, eyes on the stranger that had entered.

"Here, Estrella," the young woman replied, crossing the room swiftly to enter the adjoining room. "Just a minute."

The other woman, Estrella, waited in the door, looking suspiciously at Edward. Edward looked right back, feeling the scrutiny from his toes to his eyebrows. Eventually, Elizabeth returned to the room with another candle. She smiled at the two of them. "It's all right, dear. There was an altercation, and he's been hurt."

Estrella shot one final look of judgment towards Edward, who shuffled awkwardly next to the table. "Very well. Let him make a move, though, and I'll…"

He didn't hear the rest of the threat as Elizabeth had turned Estrella around and shooed her back into the other room. She shut the door before speaking. "A close friend of mine," she explained with an apologetic wince. "After I found myself alone, she offered to let me stay with her." She pointed to a seat at the table before walking over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. "If you will."

Edward sat down. The after effects of adrenaline had left him a bit shaky and hadn't helped at all with the alcohol buzz that still made him feel light headed. "She seems very…protective," he said, pulling a bit at his sleeve to better see the injury.

"She is, but don't mind her. Her bark is worse than her bite, I assure you," came the muffled reply from inside the cabinet. Elizabeth reemerged with a pitcher of water and some shreds of cloth. Her eyes were on his arm. "You'll have to remove your jacket."

He did so, wincing when the fabric pulled at the dried blood. A bullet score, indeed. The slash was a few inches long and about as wide as a pistol ball. Nothing too serious than what he'd seen or experienced before, but he had been sailing a desk for some years since his promotion. Luckily, it was low enough on his bicep for his sleeve to roll up past.

Elizabeth pulled a chair over closer to him and dipped one of the cloths into the pitcher. She peered curiously at the odd scars running up his arm. "What happened?" she asked. Edward glanced down at them.

"Oh. I got caught up in some rigging when I was very much younger and took a bad fall. Just about de-gloved myself, if you will."

Elizabeth grimaced. "That sounds awful."

"It certainly wasn't very pleasant, but, live and learn."

She nodded in acquiescence and proceeded to clean the cut. Edward winced. "So you know my name," she stated, not looking up. "May I know yours?"

He hesitated a moment. Not exactly an expert at being discrete, he knew his own carelessness had probably brought on the ambush in the first place. But, she didn't seem malicious. And even though it still stung, her touch was gentle.

"Edward Norrington," he replied, leaning forward slightly to rest his other elbow on the table. Her careful ministrations paused for a second before continuing.

"What brings you to Port Royal, Mr. Norrington? From your sunburn and manner, you aren't exactly of Caribbean stock." She glanced up at him. "With all due respect, of course."

Edward regarded her for a moment, one eyebrow arched. "Of course," he said after a beat. Her question, though, took some of the confidence out of his posture and he deflated slightly. "My son…died not long ago, and Port Royal was the last place he lived. I'm here to close some of his affairs."

She stopped completely at this point and stared up at him. Her expression struck him as odd, a mix between slight shock and maybe…dread? "What was his name?" she murmured.

Elizabeth. James spoke of an Elizabeth. The one who had turned down a commodore for a blacksmith. But he was under the impression that that particular Elizabeth was the daughter of the governor, not an average working class girl.

"James. His name was James." Her hands fell slowly away from him. He was half afraid to ask the question in the forefront of his mind. "Did you know him?"

"I did."

"Elizabeth Swann." He turned in his chair to face her, expression earnest and pleading as he took her hands. "Miss Swann, please, you're the only person left alive in the Caribbean who can help me. Nobody can or will tell me what happened. Please!"

Elizabeth's visage grew very pained, and she looked away for a minute before being able to speak. "Mr. Norrington…I don't know how to say this."

"Say what? What do you know?"

"More than I would ever care to, but…" Instead of lying limp in his grasp, her hands returned the pressure. "I don't think you would believe me."

"Child, I'm at the end of my rope. My son is dead, and there isn't a soul, living or dead, who has been able to tell me how it happened. He was in the employ of the East India Company at the time, an admiral, and do you want to know what the Company told me when I inquired about the circumstances?"

She looked mutely back at him, eyes wide.

"They lied to me. They told me he didn't even exist in their records when I had seen with my own eyes the signature of Cutler Beckett on his commission." Edward felt a vacuum trying to close over his throat and something struggling to engulf the heart in his chest. "They forced another man into silence with threats of violence. I'm willing to bet my life that the two men who accosted me there in the street were Company men, ordered to do the same." Speaking was almost getting to be difficult. He managed a deep breath before continuing. His voice was much quieter. "At this point, you could tell me anything and it would be better than nothing at all."

Elizabeth released his hands and sat back in her chair, looking away for a moment as if to find an appropriate place to start.

"I know bare facts, miss," Edward offered. "But not much more than that. Start after he resigned his commission."

Their eyes met, and after a moment, Elizabeth took a steadying breath. Then she spoke. She continued binding his wound as she did; it seemed to help.

The story spilled out event by event, mostly in accordance with Edward already knew.

As it turned out, his hunch about the one-day delay that ultimately sunk the Dauntless was right – James had delayed a day on purpose in order to save the man Elizabeth loved and the one who had saved her life.

Also, Elizabeth had been right.

Cutler Beckett, the Flying Dutchmen, Davy Jones, a Kraken, Davy Jones's Locker, Pirate Lords…

He didn't believe it.

As Elizabeth neared the end of the tale, a mix of emotion flashed across her face. "I thought he was dead. Jones's crew was merciless; they would have killed him once they caught him. But he got away. Sao Feng's ship was captured by the Flying Dutchman the night I was taken on board. A crewmember and I made it up to the deck before being caught, and there he was." Some anger burned like embers in her voice. "Commanding the boarding party in a Company uniform."

She paused here, clasping her hands together in something of a guilty manner. "As it was, I knew then he had escaped with the heart. Beckett would've arrested him if he hadn't. We...exchanged some heated words, then, as we were on very different sides at the time."

It took her a moment before she could continue. "He came to the brig some time later and set us free. I asked what he was doing, and he said he was choosing a side." A swallow. "The Empress was being towed behind the Dutchman. He took us to where the lines were connected and directed us to get back to the Empress. It would have been successful, but ...

"I was hard on him, then. I was past the point of forgiving him, but it seems that you're not the only one the Company has lied to, Mr. Norrington. They had killed my father, something James had not known about but I still blamed him for." She released a shaky breath. "I told him to come with us, but …one of Jones's men caught us from the quarterdeck.

"He told me to go and that he would follow, but, you see, he must have forgotten that I'd known him for quite some time. He is…was really an awful liar." Elizabeth grew quiet and placed her fingers over her mouth. "But then Jones's man showed up. I started across and got a short distance away before looking back. James was still on the Dutchman, so I started going back to help, as the crewmember was advancing. He pulled a pistol, but instead of shooting at the threat he shot the line to free the Empress."

She frowned.

"I missed the next few seconds, as I had hit the water but…once I recovered, I saw that …the crewmember had stabbed James. He fell to the deck, and I could see no more."

A very profound silence cast a pall over the room. A pulsing pain had started up behind Edward's eyes. He must have looked exceedingly troubled as Elizabeth looked at him with concern, taking one of his hands. "Mr. Norrington, this must be a lot for you…"

He pulled away from her grasp.

"A lot for me?" He stood up suddenly, which he immediately regretted. Blood rushed to his head and edges of his vision blurred for a second, but he stayed upright in spite of swaying in an alarming manner.

"A lot for me?" he asked again. "That has to be the most outlandish story I've ever heard of!"

"I said you probably wouldn't believe me."

"Even so!" He grabbed up his jacket. "Mrs. Turner, Swann, whatever, I'm afraid you are right. This is a bit much. Do forgive me, but I must step out."

Only his age and sense of professionalism enabled him to get that out, for as soon as his arm was through the second sleeve, Edward walked out the door.