Chapter 50

The janus head

The images in the bowl were swirling, as the small streaks of red dissipated into nothingness, but she had seen enough. The power of the blood focus was waning, as she had felt, but she would not need it any more.

The girl had grown. And she was, now, leaving her own traces in untouched snow.

The pattern was forming, becoming clearer through the mist.

She smiled.

A visitor was coming. Just as she expected.

"No."

She wedged the word out between thoughts, between possibilities, a new, thin thread adding up to the tapestry. The pattern was evolving, slowly, the dance gaining momentum, the subjects finding their own step.

It was hard to acknowledge, that she, who had come to her, did not understand yet, when it was so obvious.

"What do you mean, no?"

The voice was fierce, defiant, a song of the proud, another charm in the making, a powerful token, just like the dreams of the man she was now standing up for.

She caught the thought by her finger to preserve it for later, to tug it together with the strand of that jet black hair of hers, that she was keeping.

"He was there doing what you told him to do!"

She picked up a shell, carefully, anchoring thought to matter, another voice in the song. The visitor was woven, without knowing.

"Yes", she stated the obvious, maybe to gain time, maybe just because there was nothing else to say.

"And...?"

The voice was tingled with impatience. She could not see that her visitor was leaning forward to glare at her, and the glare was lost, because she did not acknowledge it.

But she did not need it to feel the posture.

Stubborn... proud... strong charms they were. She appreciated it and appreciated their power. Without this song, the rhythm would surely falter.

"Susannah", she said, by way of explanation."

"Yeah, I would very much like to know where she is, actually. I would have thought she was interested in the outcome too!"

She felt a vague tingle of annoyance. Annoyance, for having to explain the obvious, for, unlike herself, they would not see the pattern, like a child, peeping through the window at a large tapestry, but seeing only a fragment of it.

"She is in Tortuga."

She forced herself to withdraw, to see, instead of watching, to take in the presence of her visitor, a fierce woman of mulatto origin, dark eyes flashing in anger, and, right before her eyes, first in confusion, then in something, that remotely resembled acceptance.

Such an open display... she marveled at it.

"Tortuga", she echoed, doubtfully.

The witch woman smiled.

"The most peculiar of towns, isn't it?"


It had all the makings of a true nightmare.

Jack Sparrow blinked away the pouring rain, trying to discern something beyond the island, but it was to no avail. Black clouds were looming all around him, and a sharp wind, turning every few minutes, blew through his clothes, as if there were nothing to hinder it.

He had been stuck on this island for two days straight now and was, on the whole, thoroughly fed up with it. Not, that it was the first time, that he found himself in this position.

Barbossa, wherever his wretched soul might be now, had been kind enough to abandon him not only once, but twice, on the same charming little island – charming meaning that it had been used as a storage place for a couple of rum smugglers. That had made his stay there much more pleasant than the one on this island, where, to his extreme misfortune, not a single drop of rum was to be found.

The weather was worse, in addition to that.

The storm had raged on with untamed power, and after a thorough expedition over the small island he had to admit, that it was, indeed all around him, seemingly even worse out on the sea than here with him.

Half a day into his imprisonment, he saw the shadow moving for the first time. Something was stirring in the towering clouds outside the island, now north, then south, never coming close enough to be discernible, but Jack, even though he loathed to admit it, was quite certain about what it was, that was lurking just outside his view.

The hounds of Crystabella Halvery were still on his track.

And for lack of a better idea, he really hoped, that Tia Dalma, who usually left a few tricks unsaid, had something up her sleeve for a situation like this one. He was, at least at the moment, not sure how he would sort himself out of this particular fix.

And there was another point that made this imprisonment, compared to those he had endured before, infinitely more annoying – there was the matter of his companion.

Last time, that he had found himself on an island with a young woman, he had, on the whole, rather enjoyed it – Elizabeth Swann, if anything, made up for interesting company - but this time was totally different.

Ever since he had reached land, Leonora Halvery had remained in a state of unresponsive silence, asleep, apparently, deeply, beyond all of his efforts to wake her. And he had tried, first out of concern, then, out of boredom, and last, out of fear, because he was running out of ideas to sort himself out of this situation.

None of this had worked, even though he was forced to conclude that even in her slumber, she seemed to realize some of what was going on around her. At least, she seemed to know perfectly well, when he was sleeping.

After only barely preventing her escape, he had tied her to a palm tree, and she was sitting awkwardly slumped up against the trunk ever since, which did not seem to prevent her from sleeping, though.

Yet he was certain, that, when he curled up to sleep, she was awake, for there were marks of struggle against the bonds, when he woke up again, but until now, she had not managed to get free yet.

Still Jack did not like the idea of her being awake – and capable of doing anything – and potentially hostile – while he was in no condition to defend himself.

All in all, a situation to put him thoroughly on the edge.


It was chartered territory. Movements, so well known, that there was comfort in them. He could loose himself to it, if he allowed it. Compass and bow, directions and passages, all neatly layed out in ink and parchment. There was security in the rules of seamanship.

Even though, now, he was fighting insurmountable odds. The information that he had to go on where preciously poor. A thin line connected Port Royal with the island of Tia Dalma, his accurate handwriting illustrating the distance, estimated sailing times, and with the bow, he diverted from the line, trying to find possible locations for Jack Sparrow to land.

It was too familiar a task to remember the utter atrocity of what he was doing.

But despite all his skill, the area they would have to search, was too large.

"Considering favorable winds...", he murmured, squinting his eyes and looking at a group of tiny dots that showed yet another archipele.

"Pardon?"

He flinched. In his reverie, he had forgotten, that she still was there, and was, all of a sudden, forced to marvel at her patience. He was unsure how much time he had spent bent over the charts, but it was no inconsiderable span, and yet she showed no signs of boredom or impatience, watching him, as if she had just sat down where she was now, some meters away from him, in a chair, calmly. Irrationally, he felt once more remembered to when Maria Delanney had applied the finishing touches to his new dress uniform, Susannah standing in the back, alert, motionless, patient, always watching.

Maybe she was not so wrong in proclaiming herself a ghost.

He allowed himself a thin-lipped smile.

"Nothing."

And he turned back to the chart.

It was, of course, not what he was used to by the standart of the Navy, but considering what place this was, they could be called quite fortunate, that, after a day's search, they had found someone who was able to sell them a map of the waters. It had come as some measure of relief to him, that during their search he had discovered, that Susannah was by no means as comfortable around this place, as she would have him believe. She moved around with the same caution that she was treated – the superstition of sailors, he reasoned, was at times pathetic – and during a few moments he had caught up a glitter of fear in her dark eyes, hidden well, but not well enough.

Quickly as she seemed to have adapted, she was nowhere near as certain as she would want to be.

It was, on the whole, a comforting thought.

Another revelation of the day had lain in the fact, that she, apparently, did not enjoy her surroundings at all. She had been quite plain about this – reasonably surprised at his false perception of her, but as if she had remembered, that revealing something about herself was nothing short of indecent, she had closed up again, but it was still comforting to know, that she was about as keen on staying in Tortuga that he was.

But she bend to what she deemed necessity, and that, of all things, was something that he could accept.

"I am not sure that this will lead to a solution", he said, at length, after having encircled a couple of islands more. "There are too many."

She did not reply at first, only the rustling of cloth told him, that she had reacted at all, moving to step closer to him. And then she was standing at his side, looking at the chart with a vague look of confusion on her pale features.

"I... see", she said, obviously trying to sound more confident than she felt."This is bad..."

She had clenched her hands into fists, knuckles turning white. For a wild instance, he hoped to be able to do anything to help her.


"Who's that?" Maroo mouthed soundlessly, perched outside the hut, peeking in through a window, but all that he got from Anamaria was a vague shrug and a handwave, telling him to retreat.They went back to a couple of barrels, standing next to the shore, at times serving Susannah as makeshift chairs, whenever she felt compelled to – in a bow to her old Port Royal habits – work outside instead of in the cabin.

"What on earth is she doing in there?" the sailor took up his thought, his voice tingled with impatience. Anamaria pursed her lips. The fact, that it was now on her shoulders, that the responsibility lay, weighed more heavily on her than she would have liked to admit

"Looking at a map, obviously." she said, with a small smug smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"But why?"

She shrugged, just as she had done standing at the window.

"Maybe she already knows?"

Maroos eyes grew round, the old sailor's superstition gaining ground again. Anamaria's smile grew wider.

"But since we don't want to stay rooted here, how about just going to meet an old friend?"

In retrospective, James thought that he should maybe have seen it coming. It was apparent, that despite her nature Susannah Delanney had long since began to tangle in the various webs of Tortuga, and he, maybe more than anybody else, knew what this meant. So he should not have been surprised at the unexpected visitor, that, after knocking once, stormed into the small cabin of the seamstress, but it took him completely by surprise, unaware.

In the light of circumstances, as he stood there, rooted on the spot and staring at the two people stumbling into the room, it was quite fortunate that Susannah was not nearly as surprised as he was, and she started to act at once.

In a way, this was the situation he had feared since he had first set foot on Tortuga – of meeting someone he had battled against, of meeting someone, that might know, who he was. It was only after some time, that he realized, that they didn't.

This in itself was strange, since he knew quite well, who he was up against, Anamaria, who had been, in a way, responsible for the loss of the Interceptor – sharing, granted, this guilt with Turner, Sparrow and the Black Captain Barbossa – harpy of a woman and carrying a very ill reputation, that he had even heard of before the whole Sparrow incident.

He tensed, fists clenched, prepared to fight, but at the moment, she ignored him altogether, storming to Susannah, who, a timid smile on her face, seemed to be welcoming her.

"I had h...", the young seamstress stopped whatever she had wanted to say for something better, as if remembering habits that had not yet sunk in to flesh and bone. "... thought that you would come."

"No need for much of a seeress for that, aye?"

Susannah shrugged, spreading out her hands in a gesture of apology. Judging from her demeanor, Norrington guessed, that she was torn between obvious sympathy for the woman and a reserved timidity, that seemed so characteristic of her. He refrained from the almost overwhelming urge to step between the two women to protect Susannah.

"It went wrong", Susannah said, in a statement, not a question, and Anamaria, if she was surprised, did not show it.

"Yeah, it did." She shot a suspicious glance in the direction of James, who found it in himself to raise an eyebrow at the questioning glance, seemingly calm, while he was vibrating with tension. Susannah looked at him, and for a moment he was sure to have seen a pleading note in her eyes, before she answered the unspoken question.

"That's James Corret. He's okay."

The easy speech seemed wrong to him, coming from her lips, but he understood immediately and hinted a bow, tipping against his forehead for the lack of a hat.

"My pleasure", he replied, calmly.

Anamaria did not seem convinced at all, turning her gaze towards Susannah again.

"Lucilla, this is really bad. Really really bad. I have been there, when..." She shivered at the memory of Crystabella's voice, the aura of power, of strength radiating from her. "We cannot trust anyone, unless..."

"Trust me, Anamaria." There was a beseechign tone in Susannah's voice, and he felt odd, being talked about without being included, as if he were invisible, or not even there at all. "He will help me, believe me. I know it..."

The two women stood, watched by him as well as by the black pirate that had accompanied Anamaria to the cabin, waiting for a decision as seconds ticked by.

Finally, Anamaria nodded.

"If you say so..."

"I need to know, what has happened." Susannah had not changed the tone, only the intensity, and the urgency of her gaze, even though he was not subject to it, ran a shiver down his spine. "In detail. Then we can decide what will happen."

It did not make a good story, at least not, from what James considered his standards in this business. The news of someone possessing the utter nerve to break into the Governor's residence, the state Port Royal was apparently in, and finally, the second burglar into the mansion that night, the navy officer that had payed dearly for his curiosity and initiative. His fingers, safely hidden beneath the table, began to tremble, clenching and unclenching, as Anamaria – to her credit she sounded quite shaken by the whole incident as well – recounted the fateful evening in the Governor's residence a few nights ago. It was, of course, out of question to ask for details, but Susannah, after a quick, almost imperceptive glance in his direction, asked for a description of the navy officer, and the accuracy of Anamaria's words, did not leave any choice in that matter.

Gillette.

Gillette was dead.

The rest of her report was a blur, but most of it, he had heard – and guessed – already from Susannah's words, including the fact, that Jack Sparrow was now again stuck on a small island, waiting for some haywire plan to be able to escape from this, once more.

Apparently, this time, they were the plan.

Susannah listened, intently, her hands crossed under her chin, elbows propped up on the table, full awareness concentrated on Anamaria, hardly even blinking. Only when he found the strength to follow the conversation again, he realized how much she had paled

"Tia Dalma sent you to me", she asked, very quietly, very seriously. Anamaria shrugged, a helpless smile on her features. She seemed to feel slightly uncomfortable. Susannah closed her eyes.

"I see", she replied, keeping her voice neutral. "Did she say anything beyond this?"

Anamaria frowned.

"No...", she replied, wondering. "Only that you would know."

Susannah bowed her head, hiding her face from Anamaria for a moment, and James did distinctively not like the wane smile dancing around her lips, but before he could decide on something to do, Susannah got up to look at the small cupboard behind her table, littered with various, indistinguishable items.

"So, as far as you know, Crystabella Halvery's hounds are circling the island that Jack fled upon, and we have to free him from there..."

She nodded, as if to herself, and Anamaria did not answer, since the seamstress was very clearly not expecting a reply. For a moment, she stared blankly at her hands, and then, coming to a decision, nodded.

"Very well", she said. "The evening tide. I will come. And so will he."

For a moment, James sensed the surprise that he felt creeping upon his features, but he schooled his expression carefully. He could not tell, what Susannah had in mind, and he was not sure that he liked this utter loss of control, but he was a tactician enough to understand, that discussing this in this very moment would prove to be a very unwise idea.

Anamaria seemed to be surprised, too, her gaze wandering to him suspiciously, eyes narrowed in distrust, but finally, without a word being passed between the two women, she seemed to come to a decision of her own and nodded.

"Fine. I'll prepare the Pearl. Anything you need?"

Susannah thoughtfully placed her fingertips against each other.

"I think... no. I think I will bring what I need."


"It may seem a trifle forward of me", James Norrington said, with forced calm, as Susannah sank onto her chair, staring blankly before her, "and I quite frankly had hoped, that I would never have to say this, but do you think that was quite wise?"

A pale smile lighted Susannah's features.

"No", she said, sadly. "But I did not see any choice."

"Yes, but how much of an option is that?" He stepped up towards her, propping himself on the table to look at her. Green eyes met dark ones, and he found it surprisingly difficult to let go.

"I hate to point out the downsides of this plan to you. Point the first is, that, if the look you gave that woman is anything to go by, you do not know what you will do to get us through the storm, despite what... Tia Dalma ... said."

Susannah nodded affirmatively, and he appreciated, that she did not try to lie.

"Second, I may be wrong... but by now it might well be that it is not only Crystabella's hounds that we are facing, right?"

He felt safer, somehow, now, that it was down to tactics, to evaluations of strength and possibilities, a part, that came natural to him, and that even in the hours before, when he had been standing over the map, Susannah had given to him willingly.

"It is quite probable", she answered his question quietly. "I can not tell for sure."

"Third, although this may seem a trifle egoistic, but have you forgotten who I am?" He shook his head. "None of them has recognized me yet, but you can be sure, Sparrow will. And then, my life is not worth a penny."

Her lips quirked, and she blinked, raising her eyebrows almost wrily.

"So this will ameliorate your situation compared to Tortuga."

He stared at her blankly, wondering whether she had tried to offend him, when her lips quirked, almost invisibly, and he realized, with utmost astonishment, that she had actually tried a joke. More at that fact than at the joke itself he could not help to smile slightly, and he bowed his head to acknowledge her words.

"Point taken, Miss Delanney."

"Jack knows about the triangulums, Commodore", she said. "He will understand."

"Understanding, Miss Delanney, is, as I thought you know, something that is well beyond the capabilities of Mister Sparrow", he replied, not without acid in his voice.

"Maybe." Susannah got up again to step into the doorframe, looking out at the calm sea. "But he is afraid of Tia Dalma", she added. "And that will make the difference." She leaned against the wood, supporting her head as if tired. And when she continued to speak, her voice had taken on a completely different tone. She sounded tired, pained, tenseness underlying that he was at loss to explain.

"I know what I am asking. And there is not much that I can say in my favor. So I will be honest."

She stared out, her back turned to him, and he could very well understand, that honesty was so much easier when not looking into the other's eyes.

"If you do not come with us, I think I will fail."

Convinced fatality in her voice. Little he knew about the rules and limitations of her strange gift, but one thing he was sure about – it was a gift that fed on confidence. If her confidence was lacking, she was sure not to succeed. And yet, the question left his lips before he was able to hinder it, his voice sounding more rough than it should have, parchment over stone.

"Why?"

Her fingers, hanging down loosely, twitched, curling into fists, then releasing again.

"Because you are part of the charm", she said. "That is the first part of the truth." She took a deep breath. "And because I am surrounded by dragons. I cannot trust Tia Dalma, for I am nothing but her tool. I cannot trust Jack Sparrow, for reasons you know, I cannot even trust Anamaria because she is like him. But..." her voice dropped off to a mere whisper, and he had to strain himself to hear her words. "... I trust you."

A thousand questions, and none of them were of importance. He steadied himself on the table, discreetly, her last words echoing in his ears. Such a simple statement.

For a second, he wished, she would have said them watching him.

But he was not sure he would have been able to hold her gaze.