I've finally had a chance to edit the new chapter, but unfortunately due to a twisted ankle, which contributed to me missing a day of work and sitting on a couch all day in pain. I haven't given up on this fic, but due to the inspiration block I'm only managing to write bits and pieces that afterwards need a lot of rearranging and polishing. I'll try to hang around this site more because it's a good place for reading and writing. Thanks for reading and commenting. =)


Chapter 8

Renee was escorted up to the jail's ground level that consisted of one spacious room pierced by unpleasant draft and littered with brown bottle shards. The place was as much neglected as justice that had long deserted it. No fair trial was to be found here, only tyranny.

The man who represented power stood out in great contrast to the rest of the decay. He was dressed richly with pretence to nobility, everything but a pair of heavy boots, underneath which a large piece of glass crunched and broke down as he made a step forward when the prisoner was led in. He seemed impenetrable to feelings with the exception of despise for his surroundings demonstrated by a careless flicker of his cane as he idly pushed some junk out of his path.

"I'm glad you could join us, Miss Gray," he greeted with what could have been mistaken for cordiality had it not been for an icy, blue chill in his eyes that spoke volumes how far beneath him Renee stood.

"Thank you, my Lord." Renee didn't know yet who she was dealing with, but she recalled the title prudently used by the jailer. Her initial impression stood that this man would not tolerate any lack of respect for his station. She bowed her head submissively and observed the dirt with a seeming dullness, although her mind was racing.

It didn't take him long to make up his mind about her before he spoke, "Your absence of curiosity intrigues me. Normally, those brought before me demand to know where they are, who I am, threaten me with law, which assumingly is on their side, before hearing an answer to their previous inquiry, and make so much unnecessary noise."

"It matters not where I am, but who is in charge, and how I can be useful to them," Renee told him, discarding simpleton's pretence. A man who learned her full name so soon could not be fooled by it. "I have no desire for pain. I will cooperate with you the best I can."

"Such sincerity," he stated in monotone. The notes on indifference seemed to invade the space between them softly, like cat paws coming closer before releasing the claws. "Had I known nothing about you I might have considered your proposal. I wish I could believe you. However, Mercer has given me a very interesting characterisation of you. I'm impressed. You've done an outstanding job deceiving him. Very few can achieve that, mind you."

She didn't need to see him to feel Mercer appear behind her. On her back, she sensed the hypnotic intensity of his gaze boring into her. "I wouldn't dare lying to any of you, my Lord," Renee assured Beckett quickly.

Beckett's face changed meanly, serving as a silent command. The soldiers twisted Renee's hands behind her. She didn't resist, denying them the opportunity to strengthen their restraint until she'd be lost like a spider caught in her own web of half truths.

"Have you truly believed we wouldn't find out that a man matching the criminal's description was seen heading away from your home on the day he had been reported by your neighbour? Or, perhaps, you have forgotten that incident."

There was a silent exchange between Beckett, standing in front of her, and Mercer lurking a step behind her. Something cold pierced her side violently. A cry of pain escaped her. Renee didn't fight an anguished scream until a slap across her face put an end to it.

Mercer was hovering near. He was wiping her blood from his stiletto with a cloth. A dark, satisfied expression flickered in his eyes, meant only for Renee, missed even by Beckett.

"This is not a serious wound," Beckett stated, not the least bit perturbed by violence. "No vital organs have been touched. It will heal, most likely, without unfortunate side effects. However, it will bleed you dry very soon unless I hear absolute truth immediately."

Renee made the instinctive mistake to cradle her wound. The soldiers hardened their hold, denying her self aid. Her blood dripped freely down the folds of her dress onto the floor. She had to give in; else she would bleed to death under Beckett's heavy as a tombstone gaze. "Norrington did spend a few days at my home," she confessed urgently. "I didn't know that it was the same man when you've asked me at the tavern. The portrait was rich and sophisticated, whereas the man was all filthy. I've known him only for a few days. Few nights ago, he helped me when some thugs tried to hurt me. I suppose, I owed him one. He was sick, so I've helped him. He had only spent a few days at my place. Then, he left. When I figured out that it was him, I was afraid to tell you because I thought you'd think I've concealed him from you on purpose, but I hadn't."

"A lovely story," Beckett replied indifferently. Thin trail of blood reached his boot, and he moved his foot an inch out of the way. "I do not believe you."

The world blinked out of focus, and Renee concentrated on the blood, trying to think of a saving lie. Lies were always more believable because the world preferred them. "All right, fine, he was my man, though there isn't much to say about it. He came about once or twice a week. He was mostly drunk as a pig. But, he treated me well enough, and chased away other perverts. I liked him fine enough, as much as it's possible to like anyone in this dump, but certainly not enough to put him ahead of myself. I will sell him out to you, just don't hurt me."

The soldiers released her, and she pitched face first into the ground. A cloth was dropped in front of her. Renee snatched it and pressed it against her wound, observing her tormentor though a curtain of uncombed hair.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Beckett murmured in satisfaction. "All the encouragement you've needed was a bit of pain. Pain always brings the truth." As his musings seemed to elicit no response, Beckett pushed Renee's hair out of her face with his cane. He looked straight into her eyes. "Tell me everything you know about Norrington, like your life depends on it. Everything he said, did, and even breathed."

If only she had the slightest clue what this man wanted to hear, but he gave away nothing, not even through questions. "Would you attach yourself to a whore so much so as to share your secrets with her or even think twice about her once you've parted," she questioned.

"I wouldn't. But, Mr Norrington is a different matter. Quite a noble one, he is, or at least he was. As far as I know, he might think he must marry you now that he had you."

Beckett allowed a short laugh, and the guards dutifully laughed as well. Indignation that they would befoul the only noble man she had known in years sparked her hate. Renee said nothing, but something must have reflected in her eyes because Beckett remarked coldly.

"Do keep lowly opinions to yourself. I ask one last time how you can be of use to me."

Renee desperately wrecked her mind for something believable that this man wouldn't be able to check even with his net of inquisitors. His pupils retracted to a pin point. Beckett was close to giving an order to kill her. Renee latched onto the nearest legend. "Jack Sparrow," she said quickly, and saw that she hit the mark. Beckett might have seen all her reactions by being so close, but she too could observe him. "It was truly vague because my man was all drunk. He was mumbling something about some object and going north. I've gotten an impression that this Jack isn't a friend of his."

"You're useless," Beckett stated, moving away from her. Renee was not fooled. Something in what she told him had given this man a plan. "I'm afraid I have bad news for the both of us," he informed her. "Obviously, you know nothing of significance. However, I cannot kill you because he might come back for you. You will have a long and miserable life in jail.

"I understand," she muttered, subdued yet relieved. Miserable life or not, Renee didn't want to die. Jails were not impenetrable. Perhaps, she could find an escape. Beckett seemed to read her thoughts. Negligently, he offered one last remark over his shoulder, "Place her into the isolated cell."

Mercer threw her a grim, but satisfied look and followed his employer out. It was her price to pay for deceiving them.

The soldiers manhandled Renee once more. They marched the prisoner past the ground cells towards a far corner of the jail where they unlocked a cellar door. Crumbling stairway beyond led into a narrow tunnel. Even her jailers shuddered involuntarily at the cold darkness and a stale, foul air that made breathing difficult.

Renee walked first. The dim lantern carried behind her hardly illumined the rough, slippery floor. After another sharp turn, she nearly bumped into another door. Thick and heavy, it was forced open by one of the soldiers with a mournful creak. In spite of old age and poor state, the reinforced with the iron door was strong enough to hold off several heavily armed men. The soldiers pushed Renee into a windowless cell no bigger than a coffin, and the door slammed shut, sinking her world into pitch darkness.

Renee lay on the ground with her heart beating madly. Only her blood warmed the tips of her fingers, which continued to flow even after she had been given the cloth to stop it. She wished she could blame James for her predicament, but all she felt was a savage pleasure that Beckett had never caught him. It was sad that she still thought about a man who had only appeared for a few days in her life, leaving a deep mark nonetheless; a man who most likely wouldn't think about her ever again.

A soft, tingling sensation travelled up her arm. Green light filled the darkness, coming forth from her ring. Vague at first, it grew brighter. In its shine the cell faded. A sunlit beach with four people standing around a chest, swords drawn for an impeding fight, appeared before her. Renee jumped upon hearing a voice she would never mistake for another that came to her like an echo to contradict her earlier thoughts.

"So sorry, I can't let you do that either. There is a promise I've made to someone, and their life might as well depend on my success."

The swords clashed violently, and the vision faded.

It was just like the previous dream with every word clear, and even some of the emotions felt like they were her own. Agitated, and no longer comfortable curled up into a ball, Renee tried to rise. Her head pressed against the low ceiling. She could only stand if she bent her body almost in half. She sat down once more as comfortably as the walls allowed, trying to understand what happened, fingering her ring in the darkness as if the touch could provide her with answers. The glow may have been imagined due to the blood loss. But, her earlier vision prior to questioning had been most real. She was there, observing a fragment of another man's life. Possibly, the ring had a magical power to show her the future or maybe it simply weaved an illusion to comfort her just as her grandmother had promised. In the upper world where she heard gunshots and crude laughter, Renee would have never considered it, but buried so far below ground where not even the hove beats of the horses running along the street above penetrated the grave silence, her imagination began to grasp at straws. She was far more willing to believe in magic and miracles, for it seemed that only a miracle could save her now.