Disclaimer: don't own it, never will own it.

Chapter Four: Murder and Thread

The months passed. Anne's shoulder healed, leaving a lumpy scar and a slightly deformed bone. It rarely bothered her; only when it rained did she feel any pain. Will and Elizabeth made plans to be wed. Anne sewed decorations and Elizabeth designed an invitation. Elizabeth had finally broken free of her father's restraints and chains, and Mr. Brown, the smith, had finally died of too much drink. Will now owned the smithy. Things worked out happily for everyone. There was only one thing missing: the jokes and yarns of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. Both Will and Elizabeth wanted him to return and stay a little while, come to the wedding. Anne just wanted to meet him, match the name to the face.

Elizabeth worked on her father tirelessly to pardon Jack so he could return to Port Royale. After many tries, Governor Swann still would not give in. Elizabeth could not invite Jack to Port Royale. However, she would not need to. He paid a visit in August and received a warm welcome --- irons. Jack was thrown in prison, this time under heavier guard. Anne was with Will when he received the news.

Will hammered away on a sword as Anne kept the fire going.

"I don't know why he won't just pardon him," Will stated. "What's he got to lose for it?"

"His place in the House of Lords?" Anne volunteered.

Will said, "Oh, yes I forgot about that."

Then came a knock at the door. Anne left her post to open it. Elizabeth stood there. She looked angry.

"Hello, Elizabeth. You know you don't have to knock. Come inside, if you can bear the heat," said Anne. Elizabeth stepped inside.

"Elizabeth," Will said fondly. Then he saw her frown. "What's wrong?"

"Jack came back, Will, and they put him in jail!" Elizabeth told him. "After all he did for us!" she continued.

"What the bloody hell for?" Anne demanded.

"Simply because he's a pirate. It won't be easy getting him out this time; his cell has two men posted directly outside it, and more indirectly posted."

"Damn," Will cursed.

"Yes, quite right," Elizabeth agreed.

"How is he doing, do you think?" Will asked.

"Knowing Jack, he's probably as happy as ever," said Elizabeth.

"Yes. Probably drunk as well," Will remarked.

"You know he'll get drunk at our wedding, if they don't hang him first."

"Yes."

Soon, they were talking about the wedding again, getting that look about them. The "let's buss" look. Anne decided it was time for her to leave.

"Alright, well, I have to get back before Murdstone dismisses me," Anne said, "t'tah!" She hurried out the door and onto the street. It was dusk, the time when it was hard to see anything, and when many were at home, eating dinner. The sun was in Anne's face as she made her way down the street. As she traveled through the more dangerous part of town, the quiet surrounded her. Nobody ever went through there at dusk but Anne. Then again, she'd lived there more than half her life before her father died. Suddenly, Anne heard voices, at least three of them coming from an alleyway.

"No, I promise! I'll get you your money!" pleaded a woman's voice.

"It's been six months and no profit off you. I don't trust you," said a deep, sinister, male voice. Anne leaned against the brick wall and slowly inched forward until she could peer around the corner into the alleyway. Three men and a woman stood there. One man held the woman's hair in one hand, a knife to her throat in the other. The second man pinned her to the wall, his weight pushed against her. The last man stood back a ways, a coil of rope in his hand. Each string had a barb on the end of it. The woman wore a prostitute's attire, the rags scarcely covering her starved, skeletal form. One of these men could have easily intimidated her; to have three delivering the threat was even more cruel.

"I'd rather take it out of your whorish hide!" said the man who pinned her in his basal, sinister voice.

"No please!" she cried as he pushed her to the ground, the knife barely missing her cheek. The sinister man held her arms above her head as the man with cat o'nine tails beat her, ripping the front of her already-tattered dress. Anne winced at each of the woman's cries, longing to intervene, but bolted to the ground by some unnatural fear.

"Stop screaming, bitch!" shouted the man with the deep voice. She did not desist, she could not. "Oh, you're worth more if I sell you to University," he snarled.

The man took a knife from his boot and slowly, painfully drove it through her throat. As her scream was muffled by the gurgle of new blood, Anne drew in a sharp shriek from her hand-covered mouth. The killers heard. Anne turned and ran. They followed. No matter how fast she could be, the men would be faster. Her only chance was to find a safe place to hide and quickly. Anne chose a low rooftop and climbed up onto it. The killers turned the corner soon afterward.

"You take care of the whore," the leader commanded the other two. "We can't just leave her there like all the others because of who she really is. I'll find the one who saw."

The two ran back the direction they'd come. The other, to Anne's relief, continued forward. Anne waited a long time, then slowly hopped from the roof. Removing her shoes, Anne quietly walked to the center of town, to the smithy.

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Elizabeth had just gone back home. Will sat at the table reading, when his door suddenly flew open. In cam Anne, a different, tear-cheeked, disheveled Anne.

"Anne, wha --- "

"Somebody killed her! Somebody killed her!" Anne cried.

"Killed whom?" Will asked, his thoughts instantly going to Elizabeth.

"A strumpet in the bad district!" Anne answered. "They killed her over money! I heard her scream, Will! And I did nothing to stop it!"

"Sssh, there, there now," Will said, taking her in his arms. She trembled and sobbed as he led her to the bed and lay her down.

"There was nothing you could do, Anne. Had they seen you, you would have met the same fate."

"But they heard me. I got away, though. They don't know I'm here," Anne told Will. "Will, they might know, though! I can't stay here. I'll go."

"No, Anne, sleep here tonight. Sleep." Will said. She lay back down and closed her eyes. Sleep came easily, but was troubled with memories.

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The next morning, or afternoon rather, Will woke Anne by wiping her sweaty brow with a cool cloth.

"Good afternoon, Anne," he said as she opened her eyes.

"Good afternoon? Blast! I have to get back or I'll be fired! I haven't been already… Oh, bloody hell!" Anne stood and made her way to the door.

"Anne, wait!" Will called. He took a sword and belt off the wall and gave it to her. As she buckled it on, Will put a summer cloak around her shoulders. "Wear the hood," Will told her as she left. Anne went the long way 'round to the back of the house. She entered quietly through the cellar and went to the bedroom she shared with Mary. She took off the sweaty cloak and the sword and shoved them under her bed. She took her spare bonnet from her bureau and put it on; she'd lost her other one last night. She hurried upstairs to the kitchen, where she'd have to face Murdstone. Luckily, when Anne lied about her whereabouts of the previous night, another maid vouched for her. Anne did not lose her job, however, she was assigned a task that was usually reserved for the mornings because of the midday heat and humidity. Anne had to clean the front and back stairs. All of them. Anne got a bucket and soap flakes on her way out.

Cleaning the stairs, with nobody to talk with, gave Anne too much time to think. She imagined the sound of the poor woman's screams, of her death. Anne retched into the bucket. Anne had to refill it now. She did so and returned to her task. Anne had to do so five more times, and finally she decided that she was done with her job and returned to the kitchens.

"Why does a simple task take so long?" Murdstone demanded when Anne got there.

"I'm sorry," Anne said.

"Fine. Chop this meat for tonight's meal," Murdstone told her. Anne cautiously stepped up and took the knife. As she forced it through the raw meat, memories of last night raced through her mind's eye. Every chop brought a sob from her throat. Until the sound of the knife hitting the wood, so like the dagger hitting the pavement, overcame her. Anne vomited into the waste basket by the door.

"Anne," shouted Murdstone, "what in heaven's name is wrong with you?"

Anne looked up from the vomit, now turned bloody from the lack of food in her stomach, and sobbed. Murdstone took one look at her face and metamorphosed from a harsh dictator into a concerned mother. She gasped.

"Good Grace, girl, get to bed with you. I'll fetch the doctor."

Anne stumbled down the stairs to her room in the servant quarters. She closed the door behind her and removed her bonnet, letting her wiry hair go free.

Suddenly somebody grabbed her arm and covered her mouth. She felt a knife pressed against her throat.

"Don't make a sound," a deep whisper commanded. The man pulled Anne backward until she felt she would fall.

"I found your little hat," he said, "and the only place with stuff that fine is here. I'm glad I found you. I have a little message for you. If you tell anybody what you have seen, I will kill you. I promise." The man released the dagger from her throat and brought it down to the place that it met her shoulder. "Will you hold your tongue?" said the man. Anne was too petrified to make a sound. He dug the knife into her flesh and yanked it down, gracing her collar bone with a deep gash. Anne let a muffled yelp escape her lips.

"Will you hold your tongue?" he repeated. Anne nodded, careful of the knife's sharp point, now at her cheek. Her nod was rewarded with a small scratch. "Good." The man forced his knee into her back, pushing her to the ground. He escaped through the open window, leaving Anne to bleed onto the dirt floor.

Anne stood slowly and crawled into bed. But she didn't sleep.

Thankfully, the doctor never came. Mary cam in late and tired, so she went to sleep straightaway.

When the first light of morning came, Anne put her bonnet on and arranged her hair over her cuts. She then thought better of it and took it off. Anne gingerly undressed and put on some of Will's old clothing. She tied her hair back and put on the summer cloak and sword belt. She left the room quietly.

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An hour later, a boy entered the smithy. When Anne drew back her hood, and her wounds shone, Will gasped.

"Saints! Anne?" he said, hurrying over to get a bottle of alcohol. He asked what happened, but he didn't really need an answer. "I'll kill them, hunt them down."

"No, Will! They don't know I told you. I see no reason to make them aware of that."

"Who else knows?" he asked as he cleaned her cut.

"Just you," Anne whispered.

"Mm, that's good. I'll need to stitch this up. I'm so sorry Anne," Will said, apologizing for the pain the reparations would cause.

"I'll be fine Will. It willn't hurt," Anne lied. Will stitched her cut as swift as possible, and Anne held back her cries for him.

When it was over, Will made tea and drew up a bath for Anne. He left the room and busied himself while Anne washed up. When she was finished, Anne dried off and slipped into some of Will's clothes.

"Do you feel a little better?" Will asked as she walked downstairs. Anne nodded. "Do you feel well enough to keep the fire going?" Will teased.

Anne laughed. "No. And if you make me, I swear on my dishrag that you'll find ink in your tea," Anne joked. Then she turned serious. "Listen Will, I've been thinking. I need to leave Jamaica. If I stay, I'll put everyone I love --- including myself, mind you --- in danger. I want to go. Don't try to stop me."

Will thought about this. Finally he murmured, "Jack Sparrow."

"Hmm?"

"Jack Sparrow. I've gotten him out of prison before, and I can do it again."

"But Will, you'll be breaking the law if you do that. No. Won't let you do it," Anne stated firmly.

"Aah, but that's where Elizabeth comes in, if she's willing."

"If I'm willing for what?" Elizabeth stood at the door. This was the only time Anne wished she'd knocked first.