When the guard brought water one day to the cell, the prisoner lay motionless. Desperate in isolation, the woman had always reacted emotionally to the opening door. She would grab the water and address him with pleas and questions, regardless that he had never responded, but this time she showed no signs of life even when he negligently dropped the mug beside her, splashing half of the water out onto her arm.
Joe Smith grew concerned, and nudged the woman with his rifle. His orders were to keep the prisoner barely alive at a little expense, but alive nonetheless on the given finances a good half of which he frequently pocketed. Lord Beckett would skin him alive, and make him envy the fate of a white bear skin that lay by his fireplace, for failing to follow those orders.
Wrinkling his nose from the horrible stench, Joe set the oily lantern onto the ground and knelt by the prisoner. "Wake up," he urged, pouring remaining water over her face.
The woman turned her head away and released a low moan. "James, is that you?" she asked.
Satisfied that she was alive, Joe decided to leave when the next words stopped him in his tracks.
"I must tell you about the gold," the woman confessed, "a hundred thousa…" she moaned again and went still.
The guard lifted the lantern to illumine her gaunt face, searching for signs of trickery. Joe Smith thought that he had the worst job in the world, guarding an isolated prisoner at Tortuga where nobody had a shred of respect for the uniform. If anything, it has gotten him plenty of outward hostility and numerous taunts from the locals. He never understood why he had been left off the ship and ordered to guard this woman, whereas all his comrades have been called away. Now, he suspected he knew. The gold might have been the reason why Lord Beckett had imprisoned her. She must have been stupidly stubborn by refusing to share when she easily could have bought her freedom. Her loss was his gain. He could trick her into revealing where she hid the gold, which he could pocket, and have a nice retirement from the hardly cherished military service.
Muttering curses under his nose, Joe picked up the prisoner by the armpits and dragged her up to the ground level where he poured some water into her mouth and slapped her face.
The woman twitched convulsively and half opened her eyes. She didn't seem fully coherent. "James?" she asked again.
"Yes, it's me," Joe agreed. "You were saying about the gold."
"Don't let them have it."
"I won't," Joe promised, leaning closer to hear the barely coherent muttering. "Tell me where it is."
The woman breathed in convulsively and appeared to be slipping into unconsciousness once more. "We need a boat," she informed him like there was no pause after he nudged her.
Joe considered that it might be a trick, but the woman had been too genuine in grovelling and snivelling to be capable of even thinking about an escape. Besides, she was so starved she could hardly lift an arm. He'd catch her easily if she tried to run. Grumbling about a stupid prisoner who couldn't walk on her own, Joe slung the rifle across his back and dragged the woman up, supporting her weight with his shoulder.
"I hope it doesn't rain," he grumbled under the inconvenient weight, glumly staggering towards the doc along the muddy street where lanterns and fires dimly danced after sundown. Joe hated getting wet; especially when his weapons got wet because then he had to dry them. Hopefully, there was enough gold, so he wouldn't worry about keeping his uniform and weapons clean ever again.
Thus, daydreaming and occasionally cursing, Joe reached the sea where disregarding the ownership, he dumped the woman into the nearest rowing boat and climbed into it as well. Unaware, he turned his back on the prisoner to cast them off when two feet connected with his rear. The shove was weak, but the precarious balance and the wobbling boat did their job at sending him to the fishes. Joe had never been the best swimmer. He trashed in the water, pulled down by the rifle's weight, meanwhile the woman tried to guide the boat away. However, she was too weak to row effectively, thus remaining within his reach until Joe clumsily grabbed the stern. "Stop! Stop or face the law!" he yelled. The boat tilted heavily as he unsuccessfully kept trying to climb aboard. Renee threw her weight onto the opposite end desperately, sure that she'd drown if the boat turned over.
A shot from the doc put an end to their struggle. Joe's mouth opened wide in surprise that such a calamity would befall him. Limply, he went under. Only a stirring boat told a short tale that once there lived Joe Smith.
A man, standing several feet away, shoved a pistol back into his sash. "Bloody law," he spat. "There ain't any place a free man can go without running into the bilge rats who force it down your throat." He tossed his rum bottle into the water right at the spot where the soldier had sunk, and then swaying heavily staggered away.
Renee grabbed the rope's end and secured the boat, realising that she wouldn't be able to row back to shore if the boat was carried away by the current. The deed cost her remaining strength; she sunk into a graceless heap. First rain drops hit the water. Renee leaned her head onto the only bench in the flimsy vessel, and stared at the low, filled with the clouds sky.
She escaped. This unexpected freedom she owed to James Norrington. In her world, dealing with men in power meant obedience and negotiation when they allowed. It was the law. If someone is beating you, fight back. If you cannot fight back, endure. If you cannot endure, die. So, she endured. Renee was a master at enduring. And then she learned other ways. In her visions people gambled their lives on the chances slimmer than one toss of the dice, and miraculously won and lived on. She betrayed her instincts only through inspiration drawn from the daring actions that filled her visions.
The rain intensified. It drummed steady rhythm on earth, along with the beating of her heart. Greedily, Renee sought out the drops, relishing their feel on her face and chest. "Thank you," she repeated over and over again, closing her eyes, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." In the tapping raindrops she heard a chant.
"Part of the ship."
"Part of the crew."
"Part of the ship."
"Part of the crew."
Reason escaped Bill Turner. Only a direct command from the ship had the power to cease the mad rambling.
"I wish to return the Heart to Davy Jones in exchange for the fulfillment of my terms," James declared.
The chant stopped abruptly. Compelled by a silent command, Bill Turner staggered back.
The delay was all James needed. A short lived joy lit hit heart that Elizabeth cared enough to attempt to return for him, but this time she was not to have what she wanted. He could never allow her the absurdity to set her foot again on the Flying Dutchman. His arm held steady as he fired at the clasps connecting the ships. Taken out of the stupor by the deception, Turner struck. The firing posture had to be too open and rigid to hit the mark. James could see, but he couldn't avoid the immediate attack, which fell short of the target. The spar hit the deck, snapped in half by the Captain's claw, emerging from the wall to intercept the deadly blow. Black as the pools of the octopus ink eyes arrested James, seeking out the slightest hint of indecisiveness.
"Is it not presumptuous to trade that which you do not have?" the ferryman questioned.
It was too late to go back on his word, although he had planned to negotiate only when he was in a position to be as unyielding in his demands as the Captain. "I have access to every cabin controlled by the East Trading Company," James stated boldly, refusing to look away first. "I can dismiss the soldiers and take the Chest into my possession."
"You stand to lose everything. You will be marked as a traitor by your people. Why should I trust that you will fulfill your end of the bargain so disadvantageous to you?"
"Clearly, I expect to gain something of a greater value to compensate my loss," James stated.
The Captain withdrew from him unnerved. He took out his pipe and held it to his mouth in contemplation. The Admiral was the only man on his ship he held a minor regard for, but Jones didn't like him. The Captain always relied on fear and intimidation to forward his cause. This man had no fear he could be controlled by.
"State your terms," Jones allowed. He had no doubt that this man would do exactly what he promised. With the same directness he would expect to receive what he deserved. Norrington didn't hesitate to dictate his terms to the sea man who obeyed no human laws.
"You must take the men I command to the location of my choice without harming them, and then return to your ferryman's duties without seeking revenge on the living."
A ripple of anger rushed the ship stern to bow. "You are giving me one favour," Jones decreed, barely supressing his anger that his right to vengence should be denied. "Why should I exchange it for two? Choose one of your conditions, Admiral."
"My only condition is that to protect innocent lives, which includes all men whether aboard this ship or any other ship sailing the seas. I've merely rephrased how it may be accomplished. You should never have taken sides in the upper world conflict. The people must solve their fight for power alone."
"You must choose at once, either the lives of your crew or my leave," the Captain repeated. "Else, I resume current duties."
Abruptly, he turned and peered at the curtain of fog where the stern lights of the Empress were drifting out of sight. "Prisoners escaped," he stated, and the ship stirred. Several crewmen crowded their Captain, amid rapid tapping of crab feet and the splurging sleaze. "Set pursuit course. Roll out the guns."
"Belay that!" James commanded. "You are forgetting who is in charge."
"The man who has the key to the Chest is in charge - Mercer. I believe he will agree with me that pursuit and obliteration are necessary."
"Mercer will never surrender the Heart to you. You're bargaining your Heart against my desire to protect innocent people. Sink that ship and you will have nothing I'd want sure enough to forgive you that action."
The sailors waited. They surrounded James in a semicircle, whispering and throwing hostile looks at him, ready to thwart his orders at Davy Jones' command.
"You have one hour to decide which one condition you want fulfilled, else I will tell your people that you are a traitor and sink the Empress." Jones decreed. He gestured the crew to disappear, being the last one to take his leave not without a last, trying look into the Admiral's eyes. If he didn't like what he saw there, Jones didn't show it. Dull thuds from his shell encrusted leg sunk into the darkness as he disappeared into the hidden quarters of the Flying Dutchman.
Not a single man alive had seen their confrontation. James returned to the deck where Beckett's men kept watch. "Lieutenant, summon Mercer to my cabin immediately," he ordered. Although the assassin was not his subordinate, James trusted that he will come, compelled to find out what the man he had never trusted wanted.
The dripping water and creaking floorboards were almost lulling as James stepped into a cabin where very little said it belonged to him. The Flying Dutchman was a treasury for artefacts and grime covered things that filled many corners, lying forgotten and decaying like all the living and dead aboard.
James reloaded the pistol. His wait was short. Mercer hadn't been sleeping either. He arrived alone, clad in the unchanging black outfit where he kept hidden weapons and keys.
"I want you to tell me what you think about this map," James stated abruptly with a curt nod at a table where haphazardly lay several documents. He purposely didn't flick the door lock shut to raise less suspicions as Mercer entered the room. The assassin partially turned his back on James just for an instant as he stepped deeper inside. James threw an arm around Mercer's throat and pressed the pistol to the back of his head.
"I'm looking for a woman," James spoke to the man who cold-bloodedly listened without a twitch or a sign of nerves. "Her name is Renee Ash or Renee Gray. You've arrested her on Tortuga two months ago. Tell me where she is in exchange for your life."