OK, I'm feeling guilty about the fact that I left this for a while, so I'm uploading the next (short) chapter tonight, rather than tomorrow. BUT I'll leave everyone in suspense as to what this chapter leads up to... (And now I feel even more guilty... great...)
"Pirates" is, sadly, not mine. Nor, much to your chagrin, yours either.
9. The Black Book
Elizabeth woke with a ray of golden Caribbean sun falling across her face. Yawning, she sat up and stretched, feeling rather stiff and irritable. She really was sick of being pregnant, and was greatly looking forward to the day when she would be able to at least swordfight again. Not that there was any swordfighting to be done on this island. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes, wondering for the umpteenth time why she had decided to relocate to such a small, quiet island – she really could do with some excitement.
Elizabeth threw open the shutters of her window completely and gazed out for a minute. The sun skipped in blinding white arcs across the faces of the waves, a soft breeze rustled the flower-adorned grass that lay in the stretch between Elizabeth's small but well-kept house and the cliffs. She lived a few miles outside of the town, perfectly happy to stay as far as possible from the local villagers, who did nothing but point and whisper about the mysterious woman with no husband who had turned up a few months prior wearing strange Chinese clothes. Elizabeth had even heard that some of the village children believed she could control the seas, and that the sword she kept hanging over her mantelpiece had been given to her by a sea god. The stories only amused her – they were closer to the truth than the local gossips could ever imagine. Still, she did get lonely not having anyone to talk to. Jack was most likely off on some ambitious quest to gain fame and glory, and could not be relied upon in any case; her former crew had returned to Singapore and did not speak English all that fluently in the first place; she had no idea where Barbossa was, but was not sure she would want him to turn up on her doorstep; and the rest of the sailors aboard the Black Pearl were no doubt either with Jack or Barbossa, or else off on Tortuga getting uproariously drunk on rum. And Will… Elizabeth willed herself not to cry. Nine years and three-and-a-half months. It was far too long a time. Until then, she could count herself cut off from everything and everyone she knew.
Except James. Elizabeth knew that the dreams in which he appeared could very well be just a part of her overly emotional imagination – how often had she become overwhelmed by a haunting sense of guilt just thinking about him? – but for some reason, the James she talked to in her dreams acted far too normally, quite unlike the figures who popped up in her other dreams. (Jack in particular was usually doing something ridiculously stupid when he turned up in a dream… or, more ridiculously stupid than in real life, Elizabeth supposed was more accurate.) It was really quite nice to be able to see him again… dead, albeit, but still as charmingly awkward as ever. Elizabeth smiled at the thought – from a distance she had never seen him act so awkward, and it seemed he only acted that way around her.
Elizabeth changed out of her nightgown and was on her way out the door to go to the village market when she realized she had left her purse on her bed stand. Sighing, she went back inside to get it… and discovered a small book bound in black leather lying on the stand next to it. Curious as to how it had gotten there, Elizabeth picked it up, the weight of it familiar in her hand. Seating herself at the table near the window, Elizabeth flipped it open.
The first few pages had been torn out of the book, and a name was scratched out of the inside cover. The remaining pages were covered in a firm, flowing script. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered James's last words to her in her dream the night before, and she began to read.
