A/N: Wow! I had such a blast reading all your reviews and seeing your opinions about Beckett commandeering a ship, hahaha. And I'm glad to see that I've managed to make Beckett a somewhat likeable character to those of you that hate his guts (lol!), even better to know that I did it while keeping him in character... Anyways, best of all thanks to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers: ninjalover13, Mistress Beckett, Countcresent, Miss Cuttlefish, and Lady Elizabeth Beckett. Now, on with chapter fourteen!
Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.
Warnings: Nothing really. A bit of blood, the usual vulgar language.
Chapter Fourteen
Commandeer.
Cutler Beckett let out a long, drawn-out breath as he headed through the darkened alleyway. Poor, homeless sops were strung about in the derelict street, all reeking with the signature smell of the unclean. He picked his way through them, making sure not to touch any one of them nor their ilk, and made it to the fresh air past the alleyway. Maiara, wearing a cloak with the hood up, came to his side.
They stood on a white-sanded shore, side-by-side. A pier was laid out before them, with a great many ships of all different sizes, from grand pirate vessels to humble fishers' boats. The clear blue Caribbean water rippled and danced, tossing around smoothed shells and pearly stones.
"This is the place?" Beckett inquired, looking out to the pier.
"Even a man as picky as you should find a ship he loves here," Maiara responded with a smart smile. "They are not royal navy ships, but they are just as hardy and might even handle better."
He sighed. "I'm beginning to find myself uncomfortable with this notion. I will be regarded as a pirate hereon."
She grinned. "I doubt one act of piracy can demean your entire career as Chairman of the Company."
"You'd be surprised with how easily credibility and integrity can be lost in the world of powers," he said softly. Then, in a more amplified voice, he said, "Regardless. As I said before, we cannot commandeer a ship alone... where are these other people of yours?"
"They are already at the pier, disguised as regular sailors. When we pick a ship to commandeer, they will follow," Maiara responded tautly as the two of them sauntered towards the pier. "I will recommend to you a fast vessel, but not too large. It's not as though we need to carry a lot of cargo."
"Of course," Beckett drawled. "Port Royal is only so far off." He looked left, right. But he saw no ship that took him in particular, although there was a very nice ship that looked like it was built for speed, and rather lightweight. He nodded his head towards that one, and Maiara smiled.
"The Storm Wader. But of course. I should have expected it," she said as the two of them approached the ship, looking it over. A bunch of sailors were preparing the ship for a voyage. Beckett put his hands behind his back, kneading his fingers together.
"Now what?" he muttered. "We stroll onto there and announce ourselves?"
Maiara laughed. "Even thieves have brains, Cutler."
"Lord Beckett," he corrected tersely.
She merely grinned at that, and then removed her hood. At this gesture, one of the sailors on the boat suddenly "fell" off the edge of the boat, hollering. The other sailors, panicking, quickly grabbed a rope and attempted to save him from a watery fate (assuming he didn't know how to swim).
Beckett looked at Maiara, confused. "And just what sort of staged act is this, Ms. Maiara?"
"One that works. Now go!" she said as she shoved him onto the plank. Stumbling, Beckett scrambled up the plank until he was on the deck. She hastily followed after him. "Now push them off," she whispered to him as she waved her hand in the air, calling the rest of her secret sailors to her aid.
"Push them off?" Beckett repeated incredulously, but there was no time to think nor argue. Exhaling loudly, he headed over to where the sailors were throwing around the rope and promptly gave one of them a good shove. The other sailors followed suite, bound together by the same rope. Beckett stepped over to the edge and looked down at them as they splashed around helplessly in the water.
"Damn you!" One of the sailors cried as he started flapping towards shore.
Beckett sighed. "My apologies," he mumbled under his breath, but it wasn't as though they could hear it. He turned and found a group of raggedy looking pirates—no, sorry, sailors—standing before him. Trying to suppress a grimace, he stepped over towards them and surveyed each one as they stood in a row.
"Well? You are not impressed?" said Maiara as she came over to him.
Beckett sniffed the air, scenting the familiar whiff of unbathed body odor. He cringed. "Perhaps I neglected to mention that I am difficult to impress."
Chuckling, Maiara turned to the sailors. "Don't mind him, he's just a little shy," she announced. "Now go and get working. If our passage to Port Royal is good enough, I might add something extra to your payment." She winked as the sailors dispersed, getting to work.
"Why aren't the other ships trying to stop us?" Beckett inquired as he leaned over the rail, gazing out at the other boats. "Is it not merely community service to stop criminal acts of piracy and commandeering?"
"Welcome to Port Faith," Maiara responded smartly.
"A lawless cesspool." Beckett said in a low voice. "I do hope we get to Port Royal soon. I would hate to stay with these cretins any longer than necessary."
Days had passed, and sailing had been smooth. A good wind sent them quickly towards Port Royal's direction, and Beckett was finally just beginning to feel satisfied once more. He was sitting quaintly on deck, sipping tea, when suddenly a group of sailors approached him. Arching his brows, he looked at them and said, "Yes?"
The angered sailor responded by knocking the teapot onto the table with a quick sweep of the hand. It shattered on the floorboards, and pieces of porcelain flew about as the hot tea sizzled on the wood.
Beckett sighed and put down his teacup. "You oughtn't waste things in such reckless manner."
"It doesn't matter. It's not ours," said one of the sailors in the front. "What does matter is the way you have been treating us sailors."
"Oh?" Beckett inquired, brows lifting.
"Yeah," said another sailor. "I don't know who you are or where you're from, but what Maiara thinks of you must be totally wrong. All you do is sit here and loaf around while we work our arses off."
"Ah," Beckett responded, settling back into his chair. "So you've come here to file a complaint about my supposed lack of activity."
"... 'File a complaint'? 'Supposed lack of activity'? Just who in the hell do you think you are?" the sailor spat.
Beckett scoffed. "Someone who at least has a sense of common propriety," he said as he glowered at the blob of spit on the deck.
"We think you've been treating us unfairly," one sailor cut in. "You seem to be the rich type to me, but in this kind of society, every man carries his own weight. You're not doing your part."
"Do you really intend on scolding me?" Beckett responded, a smile playing his lips. Annoyed as he was, he still found the sailors' remarkable stupidity to be somewhat amusing.
"Oh, no," the sailor responded seriously. "We just wanted to let you know upfront why we're about to commit this mutiny."
The smile was instantly wiped off of Beckett's face, his eyes widening. "You're mad," he managed to hiss out. His eyes scanned each of the surrounding sailor's faces, searching for some sign of doubt or humor. There was none.
"Get him," the mutineer said as his comrades hoisted Beckett up off his chair.
"What are you doing?" Beckett heard Maiara yell as the sailors dragged him over to the edge. He struggled a bit, but he knew it was useless and didn't attempt to make a pathetic show of himself.
"Quick! Toss him over!" A mutineer exclaimed. "Before Maiara gets over here!"
They scrambled to throw him, but then Maiara, who had been cooking something, tossed a knife at them. The mutineer in the weapon's path ducked, and the blade slid over Beckett's stomach, slicing flesh and spilling blood. Beckett bit back a cry as he winced; fresh pain flared through him, and a crimson rose bloomed on his waistcoat.
"Cutler!" Maiara screamed just as the mutineers threw Beckett overboard.
Everything seemed to go slow-motion as his body fell towards the waves. "Bloody hell," he managed to hiss out, cringing. Then he hit the water with a splash, the sea enveloping him instantly. Agony washed through him as the salty ocean burned away at his wound. He felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears furiously as red blood flowed freely from his cut, his own heart pumping his precious life from his body. And then he lost the struggle to stay conscious.
"Worry not, Ms. Hall. We're nearly there," Captain Valor announced as he stepped up onto the deck.
Elizabeth smiled, nodding. "That's wonderful to hear," she said breathlessly. The trip had been excellent so far; the crew was friendly, Valor was so generous, and there was no Cutler Beckett around to order her about!
Leaning over the ship rail, she rested her elbows on it and propped up her head in her hands, staring out towards the sea, marveling at the gorgeous, fiery sunset that reflected off the calm waves. The ocean could be so romantically breathtaking, she thought to herself. She could see how men like Davy Jones had fallen in love with it.
But then an object floating on the sea caught her eye. It appeared to be a… piece of flotsam of some sort—that is, until she squinted and took a closer look.
Her throat locked and her body froze as she realized who it was: Cutler Beckett. Unconscious and pale. Possibly even dead, but she couldn't be sure from so far away. Though with Calypso being the goddess of the sea, and very vengeful, Elizabeth doubted that Beckett was still alive while floating so gently in the tranquil water. It was probably just a corpse that Calypso was sending to her as a gift and proof of his passing.
But there really was no way to be absolutely, positively sure. Unless…
"What is it, Ms. Hall? You look as though you've seen a ghost," Valor said, concerned, as he stepped over to Elizabeth.
She glanced at him momentarily to verify his presence before gesturing towards the flotsam. "Look!" she exclaimed.
Valor blinked and scrutinized the waves. Then, his eyes widened to saucers. "Bloody hell. Is that—?"
"Yes, it is!" she called out. "Quick! Bring him in!" But the moment those words left her lips, she flushed, turning a vivid shade of scarlet.
He looked at her incredulously. "Erm, I'm sorry, Ms. Hall. But did you just…?" His voice trailed off with his hesitance.
Her blush intensified as she snapped, "Just haul him in. I need to see if he's still alive."
Valor's brows scrunched together as he ordered his crew to bring the body in. Within moments, they hauled the probably-a-corpse up onto the deck.
Elizabeth raced over and knelt by him, then shook him furiously. "Beckett! Lord Cutler Beckett!" As the name exited her mouth, there was much murmuring among the crew. But Beckett did not move. She felt her heart skip a beat, and then quickly shook her head. Why am I so worried? Why do I care? He's the enemy, for God's sake!
"We ought'a just shoot him an' make sure he's dead," the midshipman suggested.
Elizabeth's venomous glare silenced him, though. Then Captain Valor came over, a bit apprehensive. "Ms. Hall, is this really wise?" he said in a low voice. "This is Cutler Beckett, after all."
"I know who this is," Elizabeth hissed under her breath, indignant. Then, to the sailors, she said, "Take him to the brig." But then she blinked when she saw the blood all over his shirt. "Wait!" she yelled, and the crew, about to carry him, halted. They gazed at her as she managed to say, "He's injured. Take him to… my room."
Valor, astonished, turned his head to Elizabeth as his sailors carried Beckett away. Taking out his pipe and lighting the tobacco inside, he said, "I thought that, just a moment ago, you were more than fine with leaving him to die."
She stuttered a bit, and then admitted, "I don't know. I just…I suppose that leaving him to die is a rather different thing from watching him die."
Valor sighed. "I see…. Well, just don't tell me later that I'd not warned you. You may come to regret this decision in the future."
Elizabeth chewed her lip a bit, her eyes filled with a turmoil of thought. "It's too late now," she said. "At least I've saved a life rather than condemn it."
Cocking a brow, he said, "That may be so." Pausing, he added, "But keep in mind that the life you've saved is that of a murderer's. Granted, it is one with rather clean hands, but a killer nonetheless. A killer that utilizes capital punishment and termination by extreme prejudice rather than more personal means, such as cannonade and cutlass."
"He can change," Elizabeth countered adamantly, her drive suddenly coming back to her. "Just like everyone else can." Jack immediately sprung to mind. Of course, she had thought of him initially as some dirty pirate. And he genuinely was, at first. He was always so hesitant of saving anyone else's skin but his own. But she knew. Even if it took him a while, he came through in the end. And that was all that really mattered. He could change. If he, a filthy scallywag, could change, then what was stopping the proper British gentleman from changing?
The captain smirked, bemused. "Of all the years I'd worked for him, he'd never changed. Even when I met him now, after all that time, he hasn't changed. He's always been the same power-hungry bastard. What makes you think he'd change now?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "He's never tried to. No one else has ever tried to make him change. That's why it'll be different now." Getting up to her feet, she dusted off her dress and began to head towards her room. "I'm going to try. I'm going to change him for the better."
He woke up feeling crusty and disgusting, his stomach wound burning with unnatural pain. Groaning, Beckett sat up slowly, and just as his body began to right itself, a searing, ripping agony tore at his abdomen, forcing him back onto the bedsheets. His chest heaved with heavy, labored breathing as he pulled up the blankets on the bed—
…Wait… bed?
Beckett reached up to his brow and felt a damp towel on his head, cold against his flushed flesh. Eyes widening, he looked down at his stomach and saw that his waistcoat had been unbuttoned open. Fresh bandages were wrapped around the deep cut, stained bright red with his blood.
Furrowing his brows, he hastily scanned the room. Beckett felt the familiar, rhythmic rocking of a ship, so he deduced that he must be at sea. And he appeared to be in a bedroom, of sorts. A rather nice, tidy one as well. It couldn't be a pirate ship; it was too clean and well-maintained.
Finally, he settled back down, a bit more relaxed. A ship must have spotted his floating, bloody body, and hauled him out of the sea. That was it. He'd call himself some random crockpot name and find a way to get to Port Royal and regain his honorable position and title. Either that, or this was a British ship that had indeed recognized him as Lord Cutler Beckett. Those were the only two possible scenarios.
Just as Beckett was running these jolly conclusions through his mind, though, the doorknob turned and began to open. He quickly shut his eyes and attempted to appear asleep while whoever had just entered began to walk towards the bed.
Light, dainty footsteps that barely creaked the floorboards, Beckett observed. A woman's…..Wait—he knew that gait from somewhere….No! It couldn't be. It was impossible—
"Lord Beckett?" said none other than the very Elizabeth Swann.
"So where are we heading?" Jack asked cheerfully as he dumped another bottle of rum down his guzzle.
Amadi glanced at Teague before answering. "One of Jocard's bases in Tortuga."
Jack grinned. "Lovely! I love Tortuga!"
"We aren't going there to buy you more rum, Jackie," Captain Teague scolded gruffly.
"Exactly!" Jack exclaimed, brightening up. "Why buy rum when you can just pilfer from some unlucky sod?"
"We are supposed to lie low, no?" Amadi cut in irritably. "How is stealing being discreet?"
"Oh come on, mate. It's Tortuga! You're supposed to steal! Now, not committing any heinous crimes in Tortuga—that's what you call stickin' out like a sore thumb. Pretty bloody sensical, don't y'think?" Jack said as he took another swig of rum.
Amadi sighed, shaking his head. "Idiot," he mumbled under his breath. Stalking over to the wheel, he began to navigate it with more care as the ship closed in on Tortuga.
Teague's eyes wandered over to the Tortuga port, and then he squinted. "Wait," he told Amadi in a rough, weary tone. "Don't go any closer to that port."
"Why not?" Amadi asked, trying not to sound snappy out of respect for Teague.
Teague motioned out towards the Tortuga pier. "Because the Company has taken Tortuga."
A/N: Lawl, my updates are taking sooo long now! I'm really, REALLY sorry. I'm on vacation right now, by the way—I'll be back around Wednesday or Thursday of this week. But don't worry guys, just because updates are getting slower doesn't mean I'll ditch this story. I promise I'll finish it! (Really!) So anyway, leave a review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!