Chapter 7: Truth Will Out
White hot starbursts exploded in Emma's head as metal blade met with solid wood – the shockwaves vibrating up her arms. Shaking the pain out of her hands, she leaned over and inspected the scrolls with a scowl on her face. Her fingers ran across the surface of the paper, as if the magic within could be read through her touch.
Of course the effort was futile. Her own logic was all she needed to come to the obvious conclusion: the curse had not been broken. She had seen enough curses lifted (how absurd was her life?) to know what the end of one looked like. There had been no wave of energy. No rainbow…stuff. Nothing to indicate the scrolls that lay before her were now inert.
She yanked them of the plinth and stared at them, unwilling to admit defeat.
Despite the chaos that Regina was now creating on the lower deck, the fragments of theories in Emma's mind were coming together in perfect order. The fog had cleared and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, why the dagger didn't break the spell.
In her relatively short lifetime, she had known more than her fair share of liars and cheats. Hell, she often counted herself among them. And in the last three years, she had seen evil of an epic scale. But after sacrificing his own life for the good of others, she had actually believed that their small-town pawn shop dealer was turning a new leaf. Emma chided herself for somehow being unable to detect that Mr. Gold had been spinning more than gold on that wheel of his. He had also been fabricating lies that started in his own home with the woman that he loved – pity poor Belle – and stretched across worlds to the deck of the Jolly Roger.
That little shit. Emma laid the scrolls down, reeled back and pitched the worthless piece of metal over the edge of the ship. The dagger hit the ocean with a gratifying smack and she watched as it disappeared into the cobalt depths.
Beads of nervous sweat began to form on her neck, and she started to pace the aft deck, in an effort to calm down. It wasn't the end of the world, she told herself. After all, Regina had never known about the dagger. Emma hadn't trusted her with that knowledge, or – more precisely – with the dagger itself.
Emma felt her hope flicker out; it was the death of a flame that was lit the moment Belle had entrusted her with her husband's most prized possession. She had been sustained by the knowledge that the dagger was the key to avoiding a dangerous and risky plan. To steal scrolls, deceive a god, get rid of Blackbeard and his crew, and then make off with Henry and Killian had seemed a fool's errand. But Rumpel's deceit had now left her with no other option but to set aside her disappointment and carry on as Regina was doing on the deck below her at that very moment.
Emma shook her head. There was no time to waste with agonizing over could-have-beens. This was her new reality and she had to live with it. With a renewed sense of purpose, she made way for the scrolls.
"Hey! What are you doing up there?" A lone voice from the crowd made her draw short.
She looked down on a young pirate, no more than a boy, who had taken hold of the railing and was climbing up. Damn! The scrolls were out of reach and she had no plausible explanation for being where she was at that moment.
"OI! I said what are you doing up there?!" The unfamiliar sailor continued to make his way towards her.
Inspired, she quickly turned around and doubled over the railing.
The scruffy-looking sailor drew up short. He said nothing, but given the silence, she expected he was trying to make sense of the scene.
"You expect me to believe that a mermaid is sea-sick? Not bloody likely."
Not turning around, she looked back at him briefly, widening her eyes and fervently nodding her head – motioning for him to join her at the rail. He looked down, towards his crew, and eyed her warily. However, the boy must have – unwisely – decided she posed no threat, because he casually strolled to her side, hand on his belt.
Emma whispered dramatically as he approached, "In case you didn't know, that sea witch and I are not on the best of terms. I'm pretending to be sea-sick so she-" But the pirate would never know precisely what reason she was about to give, because as soon as he was within arms-length of her, she grabbed a hold of him by his scraggly ponytail and brought his forehead down with a crack against the railing. He collapsed in a heap on the ground. She smiled to herself at the opportunity the sailor had unwittingly provided to rid herself of some of her the anger she felt towards Rumpelstiltskin.
Not wanting to waste another minute and risk their plans going off the rails, she grabbed the scrolls, shoved them in her bag, and took off down the ladder, making for the deck where Regina had come aboard.
Belle had been in the midst of shelving books when she came across an old tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice. She turned it over in her hands. Well. Maybe just a chapter before I leave, she thought, abstractedly glancing at the clock. She fanned the pages in front of her and that old familiar smell of aging leather, paper and ink met her nose. She smiled.
An hour later, ensconced in an arm-chair and engrossed in the book, she felt a presence at her side.
"Hi. Are you ready to go to dinner?"
She held up a finger, and he leaned on his cane, patiently waiting for her to place a bookmark and rise to join him. He kissed her lightly on the lips, and when they parted, he took a moment to look her in the eyes, running his fingers down her cheek.
The joy she felt in the simple gesture was swiftly supplanted by guilt. With her heart in her throat, she looked down as she brushed her skirt with her hands. Then Belle took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. "Rumpel, I have something I need to tell you."
He looked her straight in the eyes, concern in his expression, "What is it?"
"I- I gave your dagger to Emma to take with her to break the curse on those scrolls. I know it's the same metal – the same enchanted metal – as Triton's trident."
He drew back, sucking in his breath sharply. Then he shook his head and spoke to the ground. "Belle. You should have consulted with me first. You should have- But. It's too late for that now." Rumpel looked up at her with tears in his eyes. "That dagger you gave to her. It-it-"
She held up her hand. He didn't need to utter another word. Watching him. Seeing his reaction…had triggered a sudden and devastating shift in the world as she knew it. The horrible slipping of puzzle pieces together. And she knew. She knew where the actual dagger was. It hadn't been with her; and it was not with Emma now.
With that thought, she realized that the consequences of his deception would weigh even heavier on her friends across the realms. "You have to make this right, Rumpel. You have to find a way to go to them and make this right."
"No. I'm not leaving you again. They had a plan that didn't involve my dagger. I helped them get to where they were going. They're resourceful and powerful sorceresses. Emma and Regina will succeed without my help."
Belle shook her head angrily. "No. No. You know and I know what that dagger meant to them. If there is ever any chance of my forgiving you for this, it lies with how you choose to undo this mess that your love of power has created for Emma and her loved ones."
She stormed past him, fizzing with anger and with tears running down cheeks that only moments before were met by his loving touch.
"Wait! Let me explain! You don't understand, Belle. I did this-"
She reached the door of the library and rotated on her spiked red heel, stopping him mid-sentence. "I don't want explanations, Rumpel. I already know why you did it. But if you don't fix this – if the life of your grandson matters so little to you – then you aren't the man I believed you to be."
"BELLE! I can't! I don't know how. Wait-"
The door slammed on Rumpel, as Belle disappeared into the night.
"Let's be reasonable sea-witch. My men and I simply want to carry on with our humble lives aboard this vessel. We need Ariel if we are going to do so. Surely there is an arrangement that will work for both of us?" He had tried to maintain an air of composure despite the fact he had little to offer in the way of bargaining. But the nervous tapping of fingers on his dagger belied his true feelings. He clearly wasn't sure whether or not Triton's protection extended to this unhinged sea creature.
Regina shot a glare to the captain's left side, where the mermaid in question now stood, flanked by two sailors. "Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood for cutting deals with washed-up pirates today. This mermaid has had it coming for a long time now. I'm taking the girl." She slithered across the boat towards Emma, gesturing to the crew to step away from her soon-to-be prisoner.
Emma stood stoically in the face of her "nemesis." Apparently, however, some of the crew in her vicinity were less sanguine about their own situations. She supposed they had come to the same conclusion she had – that Blackbeard wouldn't let Ariel go without a fight. And they weren't prepared to die at the hand of the eight-legged monster rapidly gaining on them. Panicked, one of the sailors next to her tried to surreptitiously sneak away backwards, but was tripped up as the deck of the boat keeled with the force of an errant wave. As he blindly grabbed at something for purchase, his hand made contact with Emma's purse and two fellow sailors, the lot of which tumbled to the ground in a glorious mound of limbs and piratical accouterments.
Like something out of a movie-version of a crash, the whole scene played out in slow-motion; yet Emma was still not quick enough to intervene. The contents of her purse – scrolls and fake Eric ashes – spilled out onto the deck of the boat in front of everyone.
For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Their eyes were all transfixed on the objects.
Emma looked to her counterpart in this deception, who had lost her composure for a heartbeat of a moment, but quickly regained it. Knowing Regina, she already had a new strategy. Emma wondered if Regina's next steps would coincide with her own. With Killian, it only ever took a look and she knew what he was thinking. However, Regina's mind was closed to her. Entirely indecipherable.
Breaking the awkward silence, Blackbeard leaned down to pick up the parchments. With narrowed eyes he waved them under her nose. "Care to explain how these got into your purse?"
Well. Here goes nothing. Emma squared her shoulders, and spoke in defiant tones, "I saw you with them. You seemed to hold them dear…and I thought they might be important to you. I needed something – any sort of leverage – to keep you from taking me to Father."
Blackbeard turned and walked towards the starboard railing, staring at the endless horizon, which now reflected the setting sun. Emma vaguely thought how lovely it looked, as she prepared for what was to come. He gripped the wood tightly and released. Gripped and released.
"No. I don't buy it. You." He wagged his finger in her direction, as though she were a petulant child that he had to scold. "There is something you're not telling me. First with the pleading for Hook's well-being and now with the scrolls. What does he have over you? What is he promising you?"
Regina threw her arms up, shouting, "I have had ENOUGH of this spectacle. I have other pressing business to attend to that cannot wait any longer. You want a deal? Fine. Here's the only deal I will offer you, Blackbeard. You have one day to give me the girl, or I send you and this ship to Davy Jones' locker. Do you understand?"
"Aye." Blackbeard watched as she slid off the deck of the ship and turned back towards his crew, making a show of tucking the scrolls into his jacket pocket. So, Regina was giving her time to get the scrolls back, Emma thought. How the hell she was supposed to get them now was beyond her.
"Miller! You and Bulger, meet me in my quarters in ten minutes. We'll be ready for that witch when she comes back." He spun around to face Emma, and leaned close to her ear – his rancid breath hot on her face. "So. You are in league with Hook."
"No. I swear it. I'm not."
"Do you remember the condition he was in when last you saw him? Do you honestly think there is anything he can do for you? Did he make some sort of deal with you? Because – let me enlighten you, milady – he's playing a hand he doesn't have." He paused and then looked back at his crew and smacked his leg in mirth. They all followed suit, laughing at his pun, and he turned back to her in good spirits. "Get it?" He pulled the sleeve of his jacket down over his hand and lifted the "hand-less" arm up. "HA!"
She mumbled, "You're a regular Groucho Marx."
"What?"
She didn't answer him. Blackbeard shrugged and motioned to a short man with sun-leathered skin who was nearby, and whispered in his ear. The two men laughed for a moment and then nodded.
Taking Emma roughly by the arm, the man marched her below-decks. "Ye like the pirate so much, ee's your new cellmate, fishy."
"Really? Can't you people think of better insults? The fish thing is starting to get a little old, you know? I don't even have a tail anymore."
Grunting, he opened the door near the galley, dragged her across the dark and musty room and threw her to the floor, painfully.
"There. Chat 'im up. See what good it does ye."
In the dim light provided by a lantern on the far wall, she watched the sailor grab Killian roughly by the hair to show her his battered face, and then he let his head drop back down to his chest. She could feel her magic sizzling beneath her clenched fists and it took all that she had to control her temper, lest she give herself away.
Clamping an iron over her arm, the man left her chained next to the limp form of the man she loved, blew out the lantern, and slammed the door. She heard the turn of a lock and retreating footsteps in the hall.
Her eyes adjusted to the light, and she turned her attentions to Killian, who was, she discovered, still breathing, albeit irregularly. With tentative fingers, she gently touched his forehead and lifted the hair from his eyes. The skin at his temples was cold and clammy. That couldn't be a good sign.
"Killian." She whispered again, "Killian, it's me, Emma." No response.
She needed to be able to see him more clearly. After a couple of tries, she managed to use magic to re-light the lantern across the room. As the glow lit his face, Emma's heart fell. He was even worse than before – lacerations on his neck and more bruising. What were they doing to him down here?
With her manacle clinking against Killian's, she laced her fingers with his. Her free hand stroked the unbruised length of skin on his face gently. "I'm here. Killian. I'm with you now." A tear rolled down her cheek. "Don't leave me, okay? Stay with me."
He had managed to survive giants, evil queens, the dark one and Neverland. She had – naively – believed he was invincible. Until this moment. His situation here in the bowels of his own boat was grim. Back in her world, these injuries would have landed him in the ICU. In this world, there were no doctors, and she was woefully untrained in medical care.
She stared at the lantern light, with a faint glimmer of pride at how easily that bit of magic came to her now. And then it hit her: magic. Magic can fix this. She'd seen Regina mend wounds before. Emma knew it could be done. She released his hand and turned to face him.
Looking at the fresh gash on Killian's neck, Emma decided that was probably as good a place to attempt magical first aid as any. She opened the gate to the flood of emotions that had sparked her magic moments ago, and felt her power fizz in the tips of her fingers. Focusing her thoughts on the wound, she directed the light of her magic towards him.
To her unbelieving surprise, it worked. The gash mended itself, leaving behind smooth, unbroken skin. Encouraged by her triumph, she decided to move to his face, and then his body. Minutes passed – perhaps even an hour – by the time she felt she had fixed all the injuries she could see.
But, in Emma's haste to mend all of his visible wounds, she had overlooked the fact that Killian's breathing had become almost imperceptible. It was his lips turning blue that first drew her attention.
"Oh! Oh God. Killian." She shook him. "Do you hear me? Wake up!"
Images of Graham and Neal drifted into her mind. Desperation. Pain. Regret. She refused to let him leave her like that. She had been able to move past those losses. However, losing Killian would be different. She wasn't sure it was a loss she could survive.
Rolling him onto his side, she pulled up his shirt to try and locate the injury that was slowly draining the life from him. After a few agonizing minutes, she found a puncture wound over his left ribcage.
His lung was collapsing! Why hadn't she figured that out before?! Why the hell didn't she take that first aid class down at the Storybrooke Hospital that her mother had been telling her about? Healing skin was one thing. Healing organs? She wasn't so sure if her ability stretched to that particular area of magical medical care.
Setting aside her self-reproach and doubt, she summoned her magic once again and focused all that she had within her on that one horrible injury. She watched as the skin healed, leaving no trace of a wound.
But was the underlying injury to his lung fixed? She had no way of knowing.
Leaving what was left of his shirt bunched around his neck, she watched his ribcage rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, for what felt like an eternity. She rolled him onto his back and saw that the color had indeed returned to his face, and his lips were a healthy pink.
She sat back and looked to the decking above her, breathing deep the mildewed air, and releasing it, along with all the anxiety of the last hours. In a state of emotional and physical exhaustion, she leaned down to him, carefully wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her head next to his heart, and wept until she drifted into sleep.