RED SKY

The cell was small, but rather familiar feeling. Jack Sparrow had been there before, once or twice, locked away by Norrington's hand. But, this time, it was different. Lord Cutler Beckett had stumbled across the pirate and the warrior on the beach in the wake of a pirate attack. The head of the East India Trading Company had been after Jack for some time; he would not allow the pirate to slip so easily through his grasp as Governor Weatherby Swann and Commodore James Norrington had in the past.

He gave the cell a casual stroll, observing what the jailers had learned from previous mistakes. This cell lay deeper in the prison, with solid walls and no windows. The bars were thicker, stockier, and chained on both sides since Will had taught the pirate the trick with the hinges and leverage. The beds in this cell where stone platforms with hard pallets stuffed with cotton for a mattress, leaving no hope for finding tools there. Other than that, the cell remained unfurnished save the small bucket off to the side which had a rather clear, and foul purpose. It was lit by torches and lanterns kept well out of reach on the other side of the hall, across from the cell. Four armed guards, all henchmen loyal only to the East India Company, stood outside of the cell, well out of his reach. Down the hall, British soldiers in their crisp, red uniforms stood watch. He gave a nod of approval, noting how Cutler had learned in previous dealings with Jack Sparrow to never be too careful.

The pirate looked to himself, now, careful not to be too obvious. Jack scratched his head, feeling for the bone knife, but they had apparently found and taken that in the rush to get them locked up. The pirate stood tall and felt about it belt, but everything had been snatched from there, too, including, much to the pirate's displeasure, the magical compass. The pirate sat back and reached down his boot to satiate a non-existent insect bit, but came up empty handed while searching for his boot knife. They'd taken everything in such a flash, Jack hadn't realized Beckett's henchmen.

The pirate sighed and flopped back. This was only a temporary setback, Jack reminded himself. Soon, he would have them freed by some miraculous luck and small trick, and they'd go after the heart. Not long now.

Jack glanced to Sygne. The warrior sat cross-legged upon the floor, the backs of her hands resting lightly upon her knees. Somehow, damn them, Beckett's mercenaries had managed to steal away her golden talons and all of her weapons. However, they hadn't found whatever clasp of lock would release the gold mask and were forced to lock her up with it, two cells down from Jack, so that they could not conspire together. Stripped of the fur bindings about her arms and legs, Sygne looked more and more like the lithe, athletic, and graceful woman Jack had seen beneath it all. He also hadn't been expecting the tiger stripes to run all the way up and down her. They'd left her with her leather armor, much like a corset about her chest, and her browned, aged, leather pants. Despite being disarmed and practically stripped of her warrior vestiges, Sygne still looked as proud and as fierce as ever.

Things seemed hopeless when Lord Cutler Beckett strolled in, dragging a half-dead man with him. Jack and Sygne jumped to their feet. The pirate had never seen Beckett do anything of any real strength, but the head of the East India Company had been known to bandy about threats. Sygne's eyes went wide we she saw the mystical skill of her lady and her contracts wrapped about the dead body of Isaac, the bartender in the world's oldest tavern.

Beckett hurled the bartender in the center cell and slammed the door behind him, sure to lock Isaac in. "Intriguing, isn't it, that death no longer holds this man prisoner, while I do?" Beckett seemed to be asking both Sygne and Jack and neither at the same time. "Don't you think it queer?"

Jack grinned madly. "I do believe, in life, that there are many a queer thing an' a queer body." The pirate leaned against the bars before Beckett. "Ye, perhaps, could be one of 'em, for instance."

"Bullying and slander will do you no good service, Jack Sparrow. All of the cards are in my favor and in my hand." The man drew close, giving a shifting, devious glance to the warrior in the third cell as Sygne just glared with all the menace and rage of a cornered lioness. "I hold the heart of Davy Jones." The man lifted an eyebrow, sensing that Jack was bluffing that the heart held no value to him. "I have your new lady friend." A chill ran up the pirate's spin, and Beckett saw that. "And I know about your island excursion."

Jack's eyes shifted to Sygne. The warrior paced now, up and down the iron bars of her cell. Her head hung low and almost predatory. She seemed to be stalking, more and more like the tiger the woman so emulated. A dull growl seemed to be coming from her, obviously having heard the comment.

The image of her, cantering about on the black horse flooded into his mind, unbidden. He saw her, with her mask tipped down, her legs around the girth of the ebony stallion. He saw the woman as he had that one night as just the glamour of the island, a spell and a trick of the eyes. But some part of her had been there, dancing among the other warriors in an equestrian ballet, while the seemingly thousands of young girls watched on with their blue lantern light. Hel's island held not only the goddess of death and her well of souls, by so many innocents in the form of the young priestesses.

He knew then, and there, that Sygne would give her life to protect her sisters.

Jack thought of Tia Dalma, what the oracle had said to him. Tia Dalma herself had been one of the sisters of that Avalon like island. The people there, the ladies of the island, they were defenseless save for the protection of their lady, Hel. Tia Dalma had asked him to protect the ladies. And Jack? He had almost promised her. But, seeing the warrior pacing so, stalking Beckett like a large predatory cat, the pirate made a silent promise to keep the girls and women of that island safe from harm.

Jack squeezed a tight fist, ready to punch Beckett if that short man came near enough. "Come again?"

"I know about the island, where even death stops to bow before a mistress," Beckett announced so very pointedly. He patted Isaac on the cracked skull through the bars with a sort of glee. "Oh, yes, I know about the island. We took so much gold off of that one, there, that no one could help but know after that." Beckett laughed. "An island of riches beyond your wildest dreams."

"You know nothing," Sygne barked, defensive of her home and her sisters.

Beckett turned on his heel and slickly stepped towards the caged warrior. "Yes, my dear, there are a few things in this world I do know nothing about." His eyes roved up and down her striking body, over the dark, ebony tattoos. "You, are one of those rare curios which I have no knowledge of. You're no citizen of Port Royal, nor the Crown, nor any crown for that matter. No one seems to know anything about you."

Sygne dipped her head slightly. "I am a ghost."

"A ghost?" The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Then, I would truly love to further our acquaintance, my dear."

"I am a shadow truth, but the faintest trace of reality," the warrior asserted proudly, standing taller and flexing her muscles. "I am merely a servant, and, as such, am below your notice."

"You bear a small fortune for a servant."

"S'just a story, a fairy tale. Nothin' real," Jack cried out, drawing Beckett's attention back upon him. He flashed a golden smile. "I know what ye want. You want to control the heart of Davy Jones and his kraken. Am I right, or am I right?"

Beckett smirked a tiny smile. "Ah, so you are keeping abreast of local events."

"Any success?" the pirate almost sang the question.

"No" the tradesman admitted. "But, I was hoping you and I could come up with an equitable agreement to solve that predicament." The man raised a suggestive eyebrow. "A trade if you will?"

"Ah trade, 'en, is it?" Jack demanded confidently.

Beckett placed his hands behind his back, trying desperately to look presentable and formal in these business affairs. "You assist in unlocking the secret of the heart of Davy Jones, and I will release your lady friend." Under a cock of Jack's head and a strange glance, the man paused and rephrased himself. "I will release you with a full pardon for so long as you remain loyal and true to the East India Trading Company."

Jack looked to Sygne as she stalked back and forth again; he thought of the heart and the unimaginable power it bore. "No deal. Sorry, mate." Jack glanced to Sygne. "Not unless she goes free first."

"No." Sygne screamed at the pirate. "You cannot do this, Jack Sparrow."

"A servant should be rarely seen and never heard," the pirate snarled, hoping the warrior would take the hint and keep her mouth shut. "What d'ye say? How's about you an' me go somewhere private, like maybe yer office, an' talk?"

Beckett turned to his men and gave a small nod. The guards took some shackles from off of the wall and held them out to Jack. The pirate sighed heavily and placed his arms out. The guards unlocked both the chains upon his cell and began to shackle Jack with the iron manacles. The pirate turned his head away as they did, but, when their hands fell away, Jack let his arm come down in a small, drooping arc, hoping there was something, anything he could pickpocket off of the henchmen. His fingers found purchase on something hard and secreted it away.

As they led him from the cell, Jack looked to Beckett for a moment. "May I just have a moment with the girl?" The pirate grinned mischievously. "She bein' me servant an' all."

"I suppose, so long as it is decent and proper."

Jack gave a small nod and stepped down the hall gingerly, on light, lilting feet. Sygne approached the front of the the cell and the captain with menace in her eyes, her teeth bared ever so slightly. But Jack just flashed that coy, devilish smirk of his and held out his arms as far as the jingling chains would allow.

"Come 'ere and give us a hug," he said devilishly. Reluctantly, Sygne did, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist and tuck the stolen item into her waist band. "Ah, that's my love." He leaned close to her, pulling Sygne in as tight as the bars would allow, drawing in the deep, rich scent of animal hide. "Thank ye, kindly."

"You are giving up your new life?" Sygne whispered. "Why?"

"I 'ave to." Jack whispered into her ear so only the warrior could hear. "Wait for me, savvy?"

xxxx

They hastily put as much distance between El Cazador and Port Royal as possible. The British Royal Navy would be hot on their heels, as well as the East India Trading Company. They were, after all, known and wanted pirates with bounties on their heads. And they had, after all, just been involved in the attack and destruction of Port Royal.

Will stood at Barbossa's side the whole time, even as the captain sent Elizabeth down below to the captain's quarters.

The older man looked to his first mate. "She did what she 'ad te do 'en."

"No. There were other options," Will said, shaking his head. "There are always other options in any situation. She did not have to have to murder him."

"It was not murder!" Barbossa cried out. "It was sacrifice."

The blacksmith looked to his captain. "Murder. by another, more colorful and choice name, is still murder. A man was killed by her hand, and, to the worse, she lied to me. And she..."

Barbossa furrowed his eyebrows for a moment. "She what?"

Will just shook his head. "Never mind."

Barbossa nodded.

xxxx

The seas spread out before him, long and dangerous, treacherous as the gods themselves. Tiny ships were tossed about here and there, amid the great continents. The winds and the waves raged as though Poseidon were upset.

"Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth fade

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange," Beckett's voice seemed to dance and alight

They were alone in that grand office of Beckett's, and his voice echoed loudly. Beckett had been sure to shoo away all of his guards and henchmen, allowing the two of them to be in peace to talk. He needed answers from Jack, honest answers.

"Sounds pretty," Jack said with a shrug, still gazing upon the great, hand painted map as the artisan gently adorned the last final details on the compass rose. He looked to the desk, noting that his compass lay closed upon the great, wooden thing. "But s'jus' pretty words."

The trader poured two brandies and offered one to the captain. "It's Shakespeare." Beckett shook his head as Jack swigged back the drink in one gulp, the chains clanking against the tiny, fragile glass. "Really, it is that quote, Act II, Scene 2, of the Tempest, that so inspired me to attain the chest of Davy Jones and take control of the Caribbean trading operations." Beckett reached his hand out towards the map, as if encircling the Caribbean Sea and squeezed it into a ball. "The very essence of such flowered language could drive a man to do anything."

"Still jus' pretty words to a pirate like me," the captain said, slamming the glass down upon the mahogany desk. "And we're not 'ere to talk pretty words." The pirate looked to the tradesman. "We're 'ere to talk business."

"But of course," Beckett replied, gesturing for Sparrow to sit across the desk from him. "What sort of business did you wish to offer?"

Jack just sat back and propped his booted feet on the desk. "Let me see it."

Lord Cutler Beckett gave a small nod, knowing what Jack spoke of. The pirate had to see it, that lump of dead flesh. The pumping, the hideous, terrible, loud, and awful beat of that damned heart pounded in his head. It would be enough to drive a sane man mad, but Jack was neither a sane man, nor a mad man. Jack was a pirate, and a drunkard at that. Instead, he listened to the thumping of the heart, watching curiously as the world seemed to beat in time with the beats.

Beckett produced a platter, covered by a hurricane glass. On it, on a white piece of parchment, sat the still beating heart. It was just as horribly beautiful as it had been the last time Jack had seen it.

"So, Mr-" The pirate raised an eyebrow at Beckett. "Captain Jack Sparrow, my apologies. What can you tell me about this heart and your ability to still draw breath despite so many reports of your untimely demise."

Jack didn't waste a second. He quickly drew upon all his strength and threw himself across the desk, grabbing Beckett. The pirate slammed the trader's head hard into the solid mahogany with a meaty thump. Beckett went limp in an instant. As soon as the pirate's strong grip released on the shirt of the other man, Beckett slumped and slipped down to the floor. Jack moved swiftly searching all of his pockets and finding the large set of keys to unlock both his shackles and the cells below. As soon as Jack was free, he made damned sure to chain Beckett to his own desk.

The heart pounded in his ear like thunder.

Jack looked to it, ever beating, ever alive, despite the fact that it should have been very much dead. There it lay, the key to getting out his contract with Hel. He could just take it and escape, return it to Hel and be done with all of this. But, in his other hand, lay the only means of salvation for Sygne.

"Bugger."

Jack snatched up the heart and wrapped it up in a handkerchief of Beckett's before stuffing the mass of meat and flesh into his shirt. The fallen man moaned slightly, obviously starting to come around and reorient himself. The pirate's time was up. Jack made damned sure to take his compass and stuff it into his pocket. He bolted out the window, into the bushes, into the gardens below.

The heart pumped against his, as some great weight.

Jack had to get rid of it. He couldn't risk bringing it back into Beckett's hands. Not now that they were so close to ending that contract of Hel's. The pirate rushed back, into the woods, to where a small stream trickled behind the fort. It had to be what fed the smaller, outlying parts of Port Royal with fresh water.

Jack scrambled across it, to where two large boulders met one another and formed a sort of lip beneath the rock. There, perhaps, the heart could fit. Harshly, Jack shoved the linen wrapped lump of flesh under the stone, giving it a punch when it didn't fit into place right away. They would be searching for Jack, but, at least now, the heart had been hidden just out of Beckett's reach. No person would expect to find that rare treasure right under their noses.

Then, he turned back, looking at the fort through the jungle.

"I'm comin' for you, Sygne."