Aboard the Antigone, huddled together in their crouched cluster, the surviving crew of the Calliope were quietly conversing. The heat was sweltering, the stench of sweated flesh almost unbearable. Despite the pain of so many injuries, Norrington's crew still clung to their infuriating solidarity against Beckett's manipulations. Gillette's back itched from the crusted scabs of dried blood from the flogging. He ran his tongue over the indentions his teeth had made from where he had nearly bitten through the inside of his lips. Mercer's flogging was not an absently administered punishment meted out for correction. It had been a torture that felt like if Gillette would not speak, then he would scream. He did neither, not when the sullied remains of his brocaded jacket was shredded with the claws of Mercer's whip. Even when the whip was hot and slick with his own blood and Mercer was trembling from rage and exhaustion……Gillette kept his silence and numbly wondered as they finally cut him down from the stern, if the silence was one of death.

They had dragged his bleeding, limp body down back to the cell, and flung him into the trapped mass of Navy men. Mercer had sneered at them as he merely wiped the blood away from his whip and slicked it back with oil to keep the leather clean. Gillette slumped boneless to the floor, and was caught and held upright by a few of his comrades. They had soaked the last of their alcohol rations in a few of the cleaner rags to dap futilely over his bleeding back to stave off fever and infection. It was his stoic refusal to divulge anything to Beckett that forced Beckett to concede to Sparrow's odd suggestion that the men at least be given enough care to survive the long voyage. They had been moved out of the dank, bilge-drenched hull and into a dry cage. Their rations had been increased to prevent starvation, and aside from Mercer's sneers, they had little contact with the crew of the Antigone.

Gillette winced as he shifted his arm, warily craning his neck towards the cell door, to ensure that they were alone. The broken bones had healed enough that Gillette knew he would keep the arm. The Antigone was merciful in one sense-she always betrayed her crew by alerting the prisoners when somebody was coming. A loud creak of wood, a ripple of fear, and all of them went rigid in silent, seething vigilance. The conversation was halted, men hastily shifted away from each other.

After the long lull of tension, Gillette finally forced as much reassurance in his voice as he quietly announced, "Be at ease. We're alone."

Gillette grimaced at the dry taste in his mouth. Warily, he looked around at his fellow crew members, and seeing that he had their attention, he hesitantly spoke.

"Gentlemen, languishing here aboard the dissolute ship does nothing to secure our freedom. Nor am I content to allow Beckett the liberty of killing us off at his convience. As you well know, I have been interrogated by him on more than one unpleasant occasion. I can tell you that he has no intention of showing us mercy. The only reason why he tarries in killing us off is that we are the leverage that he needs to bring the Commodore to heel."

There was a murmur of whispers that rippled through them, uneasy glances back and forth. Groves inclined his head respectfully to Gillette as he spoke. "I know that you speak the truth, sir. But, what would you have us do? Have you a plan?"

Gillette nodded, grimly, but inwardly cringed. He was known for being deliberate, quiet, and an uncanny ability to observe what was often overlooked and then proved crucial for a future victory. He had no eloquence, or craving for rank. He only hoped that what he was offering was enough for them to accept. The men fell silent with respect, or maybe curiosity. Gillette did not know or care which one he had.

"Forgive me, please, if I seem deceitful, for I have not spoken of all that I know. I happened to notice as I was being escorted to Beckett's chambers, a flaw that might lead to our deliverance. The weapons' cache is stored in a wooden box a very short distance from our current lodging. I imagine that they did not trouble themselves to keep their weapons at bay because they usually house prisoners below deck. And, as it is on our own ships, weapons easily available for battle are a distinct advantage over those that are not."

There was a quiet murmur rippling through them, as Gillette patiently waited for silence again. Groves glance at the men behind him, scowled thoughtfully, and spoke for them all.

"With all due respect to you, sir, how does that help us? We cannot escape from this prison unless Beckett releases us. "

Gillette allowed a chilly, knowing smile as he turned to face Groves. "There are two crucial things that I have noted that may prove advantageous to us. For one thing, *Beckett* has not troubled himself to venture down here since we were moved. None of the other crew come down here to feed us, or even to torment us. The only one who sees to this is Mercer-a vile man, who I would personally relish overpowering and throwing head first into the ocean. We are not heavily guarded, gentlemen, nor are we out-numbered. If you consider the location of this holding cell, it is isolated, dark, and rather quiet. The noises of a struggle would not easily be heard. If any among you wishes to stay here to languish and be killed at Beckett's whim, then please consider this my invitation to do so. "

Gillette paused to let them consider what he had said. A few men looked perplexed, more looked troubled, and a few were nearly radiant with hope.

Groves cleared his throat, and tactfully spoke. "Gentlemen, we have been through too much and suffered too long together to buckle under the weight of fear, and uncertainty. I know that Mr. Gillette's plan is very much a gamble, but it at least offers us a chance of escape. I do not find waiting here to die an acceptable ending for any of us."

There was a ripple of agreement as Groves resumed speaking. "With your permission, Mr. Gillette, I would like to expound on your idea. Beckett knows well your refusal to divulge any information. Were he to be convinced that there were a few among us who had grown weary of our situation, Beckett would surely be interested in this. Were we to convince him that a few of us had loose lips, Beckett would eagerly allow one or two-no more- into his chambers to speak. Would this grant a chance for getting the cache and escaping?"