Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything from PotC.
Chapter Twenty-One: "An Enemy's Eyes"
It's been known to happen.
Jack's words pounded inside of Ana's mind, refusing to pass and refusing to be silent. The eerily ominous declaration simply repeated itself over and over again as the lady stared back into the pirate's black, fathomless eyes. Staring back, she knew if she just looked long enough and hard enough she would be able to see into the man's very soul. Something was wrong in those depths. He was in turmoil and Ana could see it plain as day.
She had assured him that Prescott loved him and therefore would never betray him. Jack, in turn, had assured her that Barbossa had once loved him, and Barbossa had left him to die alone and afraid on a deserted island. No sooner had this thought crossed Ana's mind then her breath caught in her throat, threatening to choke her. Gazing still into those deep, dark eyes, the lady was nearly blinding by a startling blast of clarity. Jack had not been referring to his disloyal first mate when he'd said those words. It's been known to happen. He was talking about her brother.
Ana saw in her mind's eye the face of James Norrington. To him, Prescott had been friend, mentor, and almost brother. Despite this closeness, Prescott had manipulated him, lied to him, and, ultimately, betrayed him. James fell for it every time because he believed Prescott cared for him too deeply to hurt him. Her own brother preyed on that trust and took advantage of that love. And she had always been so impressed by his skilled deceptions. She was no better.
Was it any wonder that Jack continued to so warily guard himself when he unmistakably saw what fate laid in store for any friend of the Tarrets?
No. Ana almost shook her head. How could Jack or she see Prescott as a heartless turncoat? He was her brother for the love of God. Since she could remember, he'd been there for her, sheltering her as best as he could from the pain of her life. In the eyes of the world, she was only his step-sister. No one would have faulted him for totally disregarding a sister of mixed parentage. He could have hated her for her dark skin just as easily as most of the townspeople hated her, but he didn't. He could have hated Jack for being a pirate just as easily as the rest of the Navy hated him.
"Jack," she said, her voice thin and wavering. "He gave up his whole life to save you …" She trailed off, not knowing how to finish. Jack knew what Prescott had walked away from. He didn't need her telling him. Over two years ago, Jack had been in a prison cell waiting to die. He had resigned himself to that fate. Because of Prescott, Jack was still a free man, living on his own terms.
Ana saw his eyes moisten, something she never expected. "Aye, tha' he did, and I'm grateful till the day I die." He paused, his expression hardening. The liquid emotion in his eyes vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "But, you ask me t' trust a man who would betray 'is country?"
Ana could feel herself starting to cry, the intense heat that burned her eyes just before the tears began to fall. Jack's helpless words and tone wholly disarmed her. Lifting her chin she refused to let it happen, for if she cried, she would be telling Jack that he was justified in his mistrust. Stepping forward, she slowly but deliberately took Jack's hand in her own. Lifting it closer to her face, she squinted. After a few seconds of delicious scrutiny, she could just make out the memories of old wounds encircling his wrist. She traced the fading lines with the tip of her finger, and the pirate flinched slightly at the touch. Following the paths of those scars, Ana wondered at the fact that she could see the wounds on his heart just as easily. A life so filled with unmentionable pain she would be hesitant to wish on her worst enemy and here it had been lived by a man she loved.
Prescott, too, had seen that pain. He'd been there when they found the pirate in a Spanish prison, and he had been just as sickened by the treatment given Jack by the commandant as she. Time and time again Prescott had let the famous Captain slip through the Navy's fingers. He'd even gone so far as to knock a man of God unconscious to facilitate one of Jack's many escapes. Hell, Prescott knew Jack and Ana had been with each other, and he'd let the pirate live.
Squaring her shoulders, Ana tried to ignore the voice in her head that was reminding her of how strangely Prescott had been acting since he'd discovered Jack in her cabin. She shushed the voice that recalled days past in which Prescott had gone out of his way to earn a man's trust so that he could get close enough to capture him. Instead, she listened to the voice telling her about the day on the beach, the day her mother had died. She listened to the voice that reminded her of the perfect brother Prescott had always been. "I trust him, Jack," she said, hoping he heard conviction where she was starting to feel doubt. "What if I ask you to trust me?"
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Prescott Tarret sat in a rowboat, his gig specifically, waiting as Black Charlie Boothe rowed out towards Loyalty, his ship. To all intents and purposes, he was in control of this situation. Boothe had agreed to his terms, and soon everything would be the way it was meant to be. Despite appearances, Prescott felt like a prisoner being taken, slowly to the prison cell where he was doomed to stay for the rest of his life. This was what a steer felt moments before the slaughter.
This must have been how Jack felt when his mutinous crew was heading towards an island and planning to leave him there. He too must have played out every possible scenario in his head, hoping desperately to find someway out, but knowing that events had progressed beyond his scope, knowing that fate had dealt a cruel hand and planned to call. This must have been how Jack felt. But, Prescott was not heading towards a lonely island, he was leaving one. Prescott was not awaiting death, he was threatening his former friend and colleague, James Norrington, with one of the man's own pistols. Time and time again, James had blindly followed Prescott not knowing that he was being set up and lied to, but still he went along. Prescott knew James was not gullible or foolish. He simply believed each time that Prescott would not possibly betray him again, and each time he was disappointed. The pirate resisted the urge to sigh as he sat threatening Norrington and hating himself for it.
Time was said to possess the power to heal all wounds, however, judging by the expression on James' face, Prescott knew this wound would fester until they were both old men. This was the last time Norrington would sit quietly by and allow Prescott to run the show. He had brought two pistols with him and had planned to use at least one of them on his former colleague, of that, Prescott was certain. This was the final time that he could count on James' friendship. If he managed to live through tonight, he would forever be an enemy of England. Because of this final betrayal, Norrington would come at Prescott, guns drawn, and he would never again listen to any explanation, truth or not. Now, he did sigh, softly. Why hadn't he just killed Boothe why he had the chance?
Why? Prescott almost laughed at the preposterous question. He hadn't run his sword straight through Boothe's cold, shriveled heart because that man had nearly driven him mad with pain. Black Charlie Boothe was the reason Prescott was facing life as a cripple. In the hold of that monster's ship, Prescott had cried out for mercy and begged for death. He had been hurt and humiliated nearly beyond what he could bear. Prescott didn't kill Boothe in that small cave, because he did not want death for him. He wanted that vile son of a bitch completely dismantled and destroyed.
James Norrington would not understand.
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He did understand.
Captain Prescott Tarret had never been the kind of officer that James had wanted to be. But from Prescott, he had learned things that no one else had bothered to teach. Hard life lessons from an increasingly cynical Captain. From a trick question given during a lieutenant's examination, James and understood the art and importance of deception. In his life, he would never be as successfully manipulative as Prescott, but he could generally spot his enemies in a lie. In a way, Prescott's tutelage on that subject was the very reason that James had been suspicious of Black Charlie's crew.
Feeling a twinge in his chest, Norrington remembered the memorial service of an officer taken long before his time. Mr. Midshipman Findley Tarret had been one year younger than James. A splinter from the mainmast had broken off and impaled the young man leaving him to bleed to death in his brother's arms. The church had been filled with mourners, Navy men, and friends, for everyone in Kingston knew the charismatic Lieutenant Tarret or his father the physician, so everyone wished to offer their support when the young man was called home. James recalled Dr. Tarret standing, back hunched and tears running down his cheeks, as he grieved for his lost son only two years after burying his wife, Anamaria's mother. After losing her, Dr. Tarret had lived vicariously and almost happily through his children. After losing Findley, he'd never quite recovered, following his wife and child less than a year later. James could still remember, with alarming clarity, that portrait of a broken man. He recalled just as clearly the stoically strong Lieutenant who held his little sister's hand and offered his arm to support his father. That day, Norrington had discovered the importance of being an example to those who look to you for one.
Later in life, when Prescott allowed the death of one of England's allies and the escape of one of her enemies, James had said he could not comprehend the other officer's rationale. Granted, the ally was an immoral Spaniard and the enemy, a pirate, had been acting to protect Anamaria, but Prescott's behavior had been completely in contrast to every Naval policy and guideline. But, James had understood, for the first time, that duty could not always be paramount in a man's life.
From Prescott, James had learned everything except how to cope with a friend's betrayal, time after time.
James respected Prescott Tarret as he respected few men in this life. Most of the time he stood in awe of Prescott's varied talents, just as he'd been awed by his strength when he stood bloodied and beaten on the deck of Boothe's ship. The agony he must have felt saying that one word. James' heart had ripped in two as he'd held the shivering body of his friend, colleague and teacher, as he'd looked into eyes so clouded by fear, horrific pain, and the slightest hint of madness.
Yes, James Norrington understood Prescott. James respected him, even as he hated him. And James would fear, love, respect, and hate Prescott Tarret when he killed him.
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Black Charlie Boothe grinned as he watched two men who had once been friends facing off in the stern of the rowboat. One held a gun, the other held years of built up anger. The confrontation, when it inevitably happened, would be quite a spectacle. Who came out on top was of little or no significance. If James Norrington ended up the victor, he would be so distraught at having killed a friend, he wouldn't care two cents about Boothe. If Prescott won, which Charles figured was more likely, then their accord would progress as planned.
Boothe was so contented by his current position, that he did not even mind being forced to row. As captive, the wearying task should have fallen to Norrington, but Charles was so interested in the ever thickening tension in the rear of the craft that he was willing to forgive the oversight. Besides, if he appeared to be completely engrossed in rowing, he could observe without being noticed.
He was most keenly interested in his recent ally, Captain Prescott Tarret. Days earlier, Tarret had been a broken, miserable excuse for a man. Not that Charles could blame him, seeing as most men he'd tortured had no hope of holding out as long as the former Navy officer. Driving a heated iron spike through a man's shoulder tended to squelch the last glimmer of hope from a man's eyes. Not Tarret. He'd asked for mercy, in a voice that hated having to ask. He'd invited death. He had prayed to the Almighty for strength. Boothe grunted a laugh, perhaps the Lord did answer prayers, for only divine aid could facilitate such a speedy recovery. Clearly, Prescott was in pain, that was written across his face, but that pain wasn't stopping the former officer. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that he'd been nothing short of completely shocked when Tarret appeared in that cave. He thought he was a dead man, certain sure, but again Tarret had surprised him by proposing a plan beneficial to both of them.
Charles shrugged inwardly. Prescott Tarret was no longer a Royal Navy officer. He was a pirate, through and through. He would look out for himself, and everyone else be damned. Boothe was beginning to like the man.
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"Captain Norrington? James?" Admiral Shane Delaney growled into the darkness. "You're sure he went this way?"
"Positive, Sir," Lieutenant Billings replied, as he followed the Admiral and Sir George up a particularly uneven rise.
Shane scowled, pausing on a somewhat flat outcropping. The stone was barely large enough for himself and Captain Williams, which left Norrington's lieutenant perched precariously on the poor excuse for a path they had been following. Delaney felt little sympathy for the younger man, just contempt. Not because Billings had done anything untoward, but simply because Shane was angry and it was easier to be angry at a mere lieutenant than at Sir George. On top of that, it was much easier to be angry at anyone but the one person who really deserved that resentment: himself. He had let this fiasco of a plan go on for far too long, and he alone was to blame for his present predicament.
Massaging his temples, Shane sighed a deep, self-loathing sigh. He had personally signed the papers that made Prescott Tarret, an enemy of the Crown, a commissioned privateer. In effect, he had assured that the lying bastard was practically above the law. Because of this major tactical blunder, Captain James Norrington, a subordinate, had done everything but curse Delaney for a fool. Norrington had since gone off by himself to find Tarret and disappeared. Jack Sparrow, the other pirate who'd been hiding aboard James' ship was also missing. That left Shane with Sir George, a man who knew the Admiral well enough to know that he thought himself derelict of his duties, and a lieutenant who claimed to know which way Norrington had gone. To make matters worse, he learned only hours ago that Anamaria Tarret was also somehow involved. She was on this very island either as a captive or traipsing around with her miscreant brother, for the love of all things holy.
"You say he went to the next ledge then passed out of your sight?" Sir George was asking Billings, who nodded in response. The Captain turned back to Delaney. "Then, Sir, we should find him before long. After all, the island is not so large." Shane only glared in response. Captain Williams took the Admiral's foul humor in stride. "We will find Miss Tarret, as well, Sir," he said.
"You forget your place, Williams," Shane replied dismissively.
"I forget nothing, Sir. I merely noticed your anxiety for the lady." Sir George answered Shane's sharpening glare with a cool, calmness of a man who knew he would find no real trouble by being a mite bold with his superior officer.
"I doubt you need to worry about her, Sir," Billings added confidently.
Delaney's glare shifted suddenly to the lieutenant. "What would make you say such a thing?" he demanded. "Do you know Miss Tarret?"
The younger officer shrugged. "Met her would be closer to the truth," he smiled. "But, with all do respect to the lady, it only takes once to know that she isn't one that needs looking after." Billings made a face that added if you know what I mean to his words. Shane was positive that the comment had been disrespectful and rude, but he indisputably did know what Billings meant. Anamaria Tarret could take care of herself and that was precisely why Shane was so worried.
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Anamaria slumped down in the high back chair behind Prescott's desk. Jack had snuck out and gone into his own cabin, to find a pistol. That was the reason he gave, anyway. Running and hiding from Ana's direct appeal for his trust was more like it. She let out a long, slow sigh. She wanted to sit in her brother's cabin and fume about the fact that Jack could doubt his loyalty. She wanted her brain to be overflowing with perfectly logical reasons for Prescott's recent change in attitude. She couldn't. What she could do was come up with a hundred different signs and pieces of evidence that supported quite the opposite line of thinking.
She clenched her hand into a fist and barely contained the urge to slam it down on the desk, a loud enough noise to bring Jack and Black Charlie's meager crew rushing in upon her. She should do it. Maybe if she did the completely unexpected, she would ruin Prescott's well planned treachery, and he would be forced to rescue her and Jack. Leaning her elbows on the desktop, she held her head in her hands. Who was she kidding? Prescott wouldn't be able to formulate any sort of a rescue. He was days out of a sickbed, and he only had one bloody arm left. Perhaps that was what prompted this betrayal. Anger towards Jack for bringing him back into contact with Charles Boothe, anger at Jack for endangering Ana, or anger at Jack for sleeping with Ana. There were easily a dozen other reasons that Prescott could have for being furious with the pirate. Jack knew it, and so did she.
But why? Why would Prescott betray a man he'd given up so much to save? Why not let Jack hang years ago when the opportunity had presented itself? Did he have to spend almost three years earning the pirate's friendship only to cut him down in the end? Running her hands through her long black hair, Ana sighed again. Prescott was supposed to be a master tactician. If there was a way to get out of this without stabbing Jack in the back, Prescott could have found it.
Ana closed her eyes. Her brother could have found away, if he had looked hard enough. Maybe, he simply didn't want to.
So lost in thought had she been that when the door to the cabin began to open she was almost caught off guard. Almost. Practically flying across the small room, Ana concealed herself behind the door, gripping the dueling sword tightly in her hand. "One step further and I send you to the devil," she hissed, poking the sword into the back of the intruder.
"I've 'eard even he doesn't want me, love," Jack's voice answered.
Feeling supremely foolish, Ana lowered the sword and carefully closed the door. Jack still stood in the middle of the room, both hands in the air. "Stop it," Ana whispered. "I wasn't expecting you back so fast."
"It's me own cabin, darling," Jack, grinning for the first time since they'd set foot on Loyalty, turned to face Ana. "No' like I had t' search high and low."
Ana's eyes traveled to the pirate's waist, where a loaded pistol was shoved into his belt. Armed now with sword and gun, Jack looked every inch the dangerous pirate, worthy of his reputation.
"No one saw you?"
Jack shook his head.
"What now, then?"
The pirate perched on the edge of Prescott's dark wood desk and began inspecting the pistol he'd found in his cabin. "Now, we wait," he replied calmly. Jack became instantly focused on cleaning his gun, and promptly ignored Ana's scowl.
For better or worse, the pair did not have to wait for long. Seconds later, the cabin door was flung open revealing the indignant face of James Norrington. Jack was on his feet without delay, still holding the dismantled weapon in his hands.
"James!" Ana exclaimed, totally surprised by his appearance. She was poised, ready to act, but she had no idea what she should be ready for. At the very best, she had been expecting to see Prescott come to their aid. At worst, Charles Boothe would have entered and they would have to negotiate with the vile creature. Norrington had not been part of either plan.
The loud click of a pistol being brought to bear immediately drew the lady's attention back to Jack. However, instead of seeing the pirate training his weapon on the intruder, Ana saw the barrel of a gun pressed against his neck. Black Charlie Boothe, who must have entered from the balcony, ominously emerged from the shadows. He was wearing the sickening grin of a man who undoubtedly had the upper hand. Ana's mind whirled. How in the name of heaven had Boothe known to expect company in the Captain's cabin? How did he know to come in through the balcony?
"I do hope you weren't waiting on us long," Ana heard Prescott's voice greet, amiably.
The lady once again gaped in the direction of the doorway. James had entered the cabin, prodded no doubt, by the weapon in her eldest brother's hand. And, suddenly everything made sense. Jack had been right all along. Prescott had every intention of betraying the pirate to assure his own safety. Ana's brows came together angrily as she regarded Prescott through eyes unclouded by naiveté or wishful thinking. She saw her dear, loving brother for the cheating turncoat that he truly was. She saw his disloyalty and his manipulation. Anamaria looked at her brother through an enemy's eyes.
TBC
Well, my dear faithful reviewers I hope things are starting to get really interesting now!
BlackMary47: Of course I can't tell you what Pres may or may not have in store, but I'm going to try not to disappoint! I'm so happy to hear that you love Billings. He's becoming more intriguing the more I write abot him.I hope you all find it believable and realistic that he would let slip a few little white lies to protect Prescott. I just think that's how he would react. I don't mean to keep putting Pres up on a pedistal, but he was a British hero. He was promoted to Admiral at a very young age, and I think he must have done some pretty amazing things to earn that promotion. I guess I kind of look at Prescott as resembling JFK. Let me explain. So many Americans loved the man whether or not they agreed with his politics, because he was young, handsome and charismatic. The whole nation mourned his loss, no matter who they voted for when he was elected. That's how I see Prescott. Charming, witty, and pretty damn good at his job. So, when he up and disappeared, the people who knew him or just read about him in the Gazette would have mourned his loss. So, when coming face to face with Pres, I think Billings would have little trouble justifying his lies.
Rose of England: I'm so glad to see that no one minded Will's little cameo. I'm interested by the possibility that Will could have met Pres, and maybe even Jack, before the movie. I'll be working that into a story at some point, I can assure you. Also happy to see another Billings fan. And I'm very sorry to tug on your Norry loving heartstrings. He does get the short end of the deal all too often where Prescott is concerned, maybe this is why he's so quick to want Jack dead when they meet in the movie?
SylviaD:Well, I know I had promised to clear up some of the confusion with this chappy. Sorry, I don't think I really delivered on that promise. I was writing what I thought was going to be this chapter, but then the muse struck and I completely changed my mind about how this story is going to end. So, I apologize for giving you false hope, but you're going to have to wait a bit longer for all to be explained. Please, blame the muse, not me! One thing I can promise, and I won't go back on this one, is that Scotty will have a genuinely good explanation for everything that he's done thus far. He isn't hurting people needlessly, I swear!
Yuna-Flowering: You do have to feel bad for James, don't you. He does get caught in the middle more times than not. I don't know why I torture him so, but it just seems to fit with his character. I don't think he could've been fooled so easily by Jack at the end of the movie, if he didn't have a habit of falling for pirate schemes in the past. Besides that, we hurt the ones we love, and it's hard not to love Norry. Also, glad to hear you liked spotting Will.
An-Angel-In-Hell: First, I have to answer a completely unrelated question that you asked in your last review for "Kindling" I think Phantom was supposed to be in AZ until July 3rd. I don't remember the name of the theater, but it's somewhere in Tempe (right outside of Phoenix) So, move your plans up a day and get there in time! I'm always happy to hear that I share obsessions besides PotC with my reviewers! Anyway, about this story, I can't possibly reveal what Pres is up to, but stay tuned it's bound to be very interesting. Also, I'm happy to see that you liked seeing Will show up here.
Freak87: I'm glad to hear that you're questioning Pres a little bit. He's a good guy, but he certainly isn't squeaky clean by any means. I'm very happy to keep everyone guessing concerning what he will finally do. As for Delaney not asking why Ana was on the island, I think he knows better. I mean, Ana is not the typical prim and proper lady that Delaney is used to. She does so many things that he cannot possibly understand, so I think he's probably given up trying to understand why she is the way she is! The curving twisted road is straightening just a bit, if only because the gang is all together now. Expect fireworks next chappy, b/c the road isn't finished twisting.
Cal: My dear Cal, I do hate to make my reviewers suffer, but I'm kind of happy that you were scared/worried for Jack when he was just frozen on the balcony before stepping into Prescott's cabin. That's exactly the feeling I was trying to convey. I think someone who's whole life and freedom is the sea would be very attune to the way a ship feels. And, when Jack finds that something has drastically changed about the ship (ie. the whole crew is dead and who knows what Pres is up to) he would be frightened by that fact. And I'm sorry for the last line of that little section, but while I'm tugging on your heartstrings concerning Jack's painfilled life, why not tear them outcompletely by having the pirate say something so terribly sad. On the same note, I know the Pres section was also pretty painful to read, cause it was hard to write. But, I'm so happy that Pres is on equal ground with Jack and Ana. From the first time I wrote Pres in the story, I just felt the need to make him more than just a nameless/faceless OC who passes in and out without being noticed. I've grown to love him, and I'm so happy that I'm not the only one! I also really liked writing Pres, imitating Jack. I think after sailing with Jack for more than two years, Prescott would have seen time and time again how Jack's personality just disarms people. In the cave, Pres is trying to make both Norry and Boothe believe that this is exactly what he'd planned to happen. So, if he acts like Jack, maybe they will concentrate on that rather than the fact that the sword in his hand is shaking like a leaf.
Thanks for all of the reviews. I love hearing everyone's thoughts, so please keep them coming!