Warnings: none


"What about pistols?" Elizabeth asked him. "Are there any down there as well?"

Barbossa thought for a moment, looking slightly alarmed. After pondering briefly, he shook his head.

"Not a one of the crew would willin'ly put their pistol in the hold. They keep their weapons on 'em e'en as they sleep. Does Beckett have a pistol?"

Elizabeth hesitated before answering.

"I don't believe so, or else he probably would have used it on me this morning. The only place I am not sure about is in his boots, but he'd be walking oddly if there had been a pistol stashed in there."

"What about 'is outer garments? Where be they?"

"Ah! I had two of the crew grab them as they deposited Beckett in the brig after the flogging. I will have to ask them where they put the clothing."

"Well, when ye get back his clothin', check fer a gun on 'em. More'n likely a pistol'd be in 'is frockcoat pocket."

He gave her a slight nod of the head, and moved out of the way so that she could proceed to the deck.

The two men she had had perform the task were sitting with several members of the Pearl's crew, lackadaisically playing a card game.

She tapped the two men on the shoulders, causing them to jump in unison. They turned around hesitantly.

"I told you to retrieve Beckett's clothing. Where did you put it?"

"Ah," Murtogg replied. "I be usin' it as a blanket fer the time bein'… matey."

She looked confused at his awkward dialogue.

"Can you retrieve it for me?"

Murtogg and Mullroy stood up simultaneously, each shoving the other to get to the clothes first, and thus prevent further conversation.

"Only one of you needs to get it. I didn't mean to disturb your card game."

Mullroy made a move forward, but Murtogg pulled him back. Elizabeth was becoming annoyed. She pointed at Murtogg.

"You—what's your name? You look familiar."

He looked taken aback, and his knees shook. He was going to be discovered! "Ggotrum," he said hastily, having flipped his name around to render what seemed to be a statement. He immediately felt stupid.

"No, I haven't got any rum at the moment," she replied. "There should be some in the—in Jack's cabin," she said, catching herself before saying 'hold'. No need to have Beckett found out already. "I know I've seen you before, but I can't remember your name. What did you say it was?"

"Smith," he spat.

"Smith."

"Aye, Smith be me name…. John… Smith." She looked confused. "Arrr," he said weakly.

"It doesn't ring a bell, but oh well. Mr. Smith, can you fetch me Beckett's clothing?"

"Aye aye… Mrs. Turner," he said, grasping desperately for words.

He sped off without another word, leaving Mullroy to stand in front of Elizabeth.

"Wait—you look familiar too," she said. "But I can't recall your name either."

"It's Hawkins," he said, already prepared for questions. "Jim Hawkins."

She looked at him with slight suspicion.

"Have you been aboard the Pearl for long? I don't recall seeing you around."

He was slightly more quick-thinking than Murtogg, and responded as normally as possible.

"I joined the crew when the ship made port in Tortuga," he replied. "I haven't been here more than a week or so."

"Ah, that explains it then. I've probably seen you around Tortuga then."

"Aye, I frequent the tavern there," he said.

"That explains it."

Suddenly her attention was diverted to Gibbs at the helm, who had directed his attention to Jim Hawkins. Jack was wandering around the quarterdeck, staggering as if drunk.

She left the oddly familiar pirate behind, and ascended to the quarterdeck. Gibbs stopped looking at the man and turned to look at her.

"He seems familiar, don't he?" he asked her.

"Apparently he frequents Tortuga taverns, and joined our crew in Tortuga," she said. "Wait – don't you remember picking him up?"

"He was not on the longboat, that I do recall. It may be possible that he stowed away when no one be payin' any attention."

"That's totally possible," she said, "being as the Black Pearl is now the flagship of the Pirate Armada against our enemies."

It was settled. Murtogg and Mullroy's presence on the ship had been reasonably explained.

Within minutes, Murtogg returned with Beckett's waistcoat and frockcoat, which were wrinkled but dry. He handed it to Elizabeth on the quarterdeck, bowed his head, and took off back down the companionway without another word, returning to Mullroy's side once again at the card table.

Immediately Elizabeth fished around in the pockets of Beckett's frockcoat, discovering a tiny pistol with an intricately carved ivory stock, and a barrel about the length of an index finger.

She placed the pistol in the pocket of her waistcoat, and continued to search the articles of clothing to no avail.

"Apparently this is the only weapon he's got," she said.

"A rather puny thing, eh?" Gibbs said, chuckling. Elizabeth emptied the gun of bullets, placing the bullets in one pocket of her waistcoat, and the pistol in another.

She was met with a strange look from Gibbs, and explained her actions.

"I'm going to stow away the pistol in my cabin, separately from the bullets. It's rather cute; wouldn't you agree?" She giggled at the thought of Lord Cutler Beckett's gun as being no more than cute. Whatever the case, it's now mine, and a potential killing machine. She laughed aloud at the thought.

Jack ignored her all the while she conversed with Gibbs. She found it rather odd, but was relieved that she would not have to revisit the argument from the night before.

He can ignore me as long as he wishes, she mused. It certainly makes things easier on me.

She stuffed the clothing under a cannon on the quarterdeck, where they would stay well-hidden but accessible, just in case Beckett's newfound goodness remained.


A couple of eventless hours went by, as the Pearl shortened the distance between herself and the island of Curaçao. They would be reaching the island by nightfall, and had already prepared the lanterns to be extinguished at precisely sunset, bathing the black ship and its black sails in complete darkness.

"An ingenious idea, says I, to use nightfall to its full advantage," Jack stated loudly, sitting on the steps of the companionway to the quarterdeck. Gibbs, standing above him near the helm, nodded wholeheartedly. Jack continued his speech.

"I wouldn't believe th' weather could be any more favourable, 'cept if there was one more aspect included in th' perception o' said weather."

Gibbs fell silent.

"Do you know wot that would be, Mr. Gibbs?" Jack said, turning back around to face the direction of his First Mate.

"I'm afeard I don't, cap'n," he gruffly replied.

"Why, that would be rum, o' course," Jack said. Gibbs made a move away from the helm to get the substance. Jack held him back with an upheld hand.

"Nah, you stay put, mate; I'll go down to th' hold an' get it," Jack replied, gesturing for Gibbs to stay where he was.

Elizabeth was leaning against the gunwale of the ship, using the telescope she had borrowed from Barbossa to identify a land mass far off in the distance.

She turned to see Jack descending below deck, and immediately thought of Beckett in the hold. Jack'll shoot him first and ask questions later, she mused, realizing no one save Barbossa knew about their busy captive.

"Where are you going, Jack?" she called out, following his steps. He was too far away to hear her.

Oh, God. Expect the gunshot anytime now, she told herself, wincing at the thought.

She caught Jack on the gun deck, as he picked up an empty bottle of rum from the dusty floor.

"What are you doing?" she asked the captain. He gave her a look of confusion.

"Who wants t' know?" he said, looking suspicious. "Is Barbossa plannin' 'is second mutiny already, an' is jus' itchin' for th' chance?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. "I'm just curious."

"I'm goin' down to th' hold," he said matter-of-factly. "It seems that we are currently out o' rum above deck."

"I'll fetch some for you," she offered, a little too excitedly.

The look he gave her reflected deeper suspicion.

"Why would you want t' do that, luv?" he asked her. "Ye've been avoidin' me all bloody day, an' now you're offerin' t' carry me rum?"

"Yes," she stated. She began stammering for words, realizing how weird and bad that had sounded. "I'm headed down there anyway." He still didn't look convinced, apparently expecting more of an explanation. She continued her rant. "To tell the truth, I felt guilty for ignoring you, being as you had only good intentions last night."

"Ah, right," he said, remembering the argument. "Wot ended up happenin' las' night? So where did you end up stayin'?"

She looked lost for words.

"Did you end up in the forecastle?" he said, searching her face.

"No," was the curt response.

"Th' gun deck? Th' main deck? At th' helm?"

"No."

"Th' hold?"

She shuddered at the thought of what was presently in the hold.

"No."

"The brig."

"No, I slept in my cabin, thank you very much," she finally stated. His face paled somewhat.

"—But wasn't Beckett—"

"Yes."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish's but no words came out. After several seconds of gaping at her in this way he finally found his voice.

"So you're tellin' me you slept wiv Beckett," he said, voice wavering only slightly.

"More or less, yes," she replied, crossing her arms.

The color returned to his face, which was soon flooded with redness.

"Why th' bloody hell would you do somethin' like that? He's our bloody captive, Lizzie! You're supposed t' be punishin' him, not coddlin' him!"

"For your information, he was unconscious, so he was not aware of my presence."

"Ha!" Jack snapped. "That's wot you think. Many a time I recall feigning that sort o' state t' overstay my welcome in th' beds o' respectable women! An' they never suspected!"

"He was unconscious. In that state I daresay my greatest enemy is even more trustworthy than you are."

His face was shaking. "How dare you!" he squawked, his voice like that of an irritated rooster. "How dare you infringe upon th' honour o' a man who ne'er goes back on 'is word! An' then to sleep wiv th' enemy, yours as well as mine!"

"It's your fault," she replied coolly. "If you had only agreed to allow me to sleep somewhere not directly next to you, I would have stayed in your cabin."

He seemed to calm a bit, and began muttering to himself.

"'Course, it's perfectly fine to sleep directly nex' to Beckett," he mumbled, not out of earshot of Elizabeth.

"He was practically dead!" she replied. "What sort of state is any more harmless than a comatose one?"

Jack sighed, the red leaving his face.

"Has he awoken?"

She sighed in turn.

"Yes."

"An' how'd that come about?"

"I spilled rum on his wounds."

Jack winced.

"Purposely?"

She didn't want to rehash this strange instinct she had felt to actually help her captive, and decided to fib to Jack as she had done to Barbossa earlier in the day.

"Yes."

Jack grinned slightly, shaking his finger at her.

"Jus' when I think I am learnin' your motives, you go an' do somethin' like that. An enigma, you are."

He began to move past her, but was stopped by her grabbing his shirt.

"I'll get it."

"'s alright, luv. Th' amount that I would like to fetch is much more than you could carry."

"I insist."

He gave her a look of confusion, and now curiosity, and tried once more to move past her. She's bein' awfully insistent. Is there somethin' she's hidin'?

"You don't want to go down there," she barked at him, pulling him back towards her.

"An' why not?" he demanded, yanking away from her grasp on his shirt.

She thought fast.

"Because it's absolutely a disaster down there," she said. "Everything is strewn everywhere. You'll be able to find naught but a barrel—"

"I'm well aware o' that," was the reply. She didn't have time to stop his advancement this time.

She scoffed indignantly as he pushed past her forcefully, descending the ladder to the hold. Upon setting foot in the hold behind Jack, her heart practically stopped.


Opinions? Comments? Suggestions? Viewpoints? Criticism? Questions?

I actually laughed aloud writing a section of this chapter. I guess it's pretty sad to laugh at one's own jokes… Ah well…