Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but having an unexpected organ removal and a week in the hospital will delay anybody. This is short, but I figured something was better than nothing, for all of you who are waiting patiently… Oh, and this is supposed to be littered with French patois, at least when Belle is thinking to herself. I did my best, anyway.

Wait For No Man

Chapter 8

There was a 'thunk' as the pirate lifted the bar on the shed door, and then… Belle eyed her young charge. Wait, ma petite…

Then Lizbet's hand dropped in the prearranged signal. Belle grasped the handle on their side of the door and pulled with all her might, jerking the unsuspecting pirate into the room completely by surprise. Belle neatly tripped him, sending food, tray, and pitcher flying from his grasp. Before he could do much else she'd snatched up the heavy pottery pitcher and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his unprotected head, breaking the pitcher into stony chunks and causing the pirate to go limp on the floor.

Belle nodded at young Lizbet, who quickly closed the door behind the sprawling man so no one from the main house would see. The pirates had intimated that there would be but a few of them on guard this evening; they had something else to do of great import. Having heard that the Black Pearl sat in port, what else could it mean but that le Capitaine Jacques was near, and of a possibility le bon Papa Turner also? If only there were some way to warn them…

But Belle's charge was in front of her, staring at the unconscious man with wide, dark eyes. Best to get la petite to safety, then worry about the men. Belle reached under her skirt and removed her petticoat, tearing it into wide strips with her teeth and hands.

Lizbet watched quietly. La jeune fille had much spirit, Belle thought. Sa père had always said la pauvre petite's maman had had such a soul, fearless and true. He had told Belle that la mère had saved his life, and that of the Capitaine Jacques. Clearly la petite had inherited the character of her pauvre maman.

She finished tying and gagging the filthy pirate chien and sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. "See how you like it," she muttered. After appropriating the pirate's sheathed knife, pistol, and shot, Belle rose, holding out a hand to Lizbet. "Come, child," she said softly.

Lizbet looked up at her. "Where are we going, Belle?"

Belle smiled. "You don't fear, lamb. Old Belle, she grew up on Tortuga. I takes you to my people; there is safety there. And then I finds your Papa for you." She closed the shed door behind her carefully, making sure the bar was down, and then the pair fled softly into the lengthening shadows, toward the center of the island.

They moved as quickly as they could, little Lizbet making not a sound of complaint. Just a few more minutes and they would be swallowed up by the thick forest... A shout came from behind them. Belle bit out an epithet. "Sooner than I t'ought," she whispered. "Up you come, child." Lizbet reached up both arms and Belle lifted her, wrapping the child close, using her shawl as a sort of sling. She tied it snugly around her neck and waist and Lizbet laced her fingers together around Belle's shoulders, her little face pressed trustingly into her nanny's throat.

"Ready," she whispered back, and Belle began to run.

She glanced at the darkened sky through the branches overhead and made a mental calculation, veering slightly more north, toward the deepest part of the forest, nodding grimly to herself as the terrain began to look familiar.

More shouting; a pistol shot whined past. Belle dared not look back, clutching the trembling child closer to her and choosing her footing with speed born of long familiarity. Another shot, this time followed by a burning in her thigh. Belle stumbled, but caught herself, dodging behind a tree and leaning against it, her breath coming fast. She shook Lizbet gently. "Child? You is well?" Lizbet nodded against her throat.

Belle groped at her own leg, coming up with blood. Another grim nod, and she groped in her bodice for a small, cloth bag that hung around her neck. Saying a quick prayer to her gros bon ange, Belle wiped the blood on the bag. Bon, she thought. That should gain the attention of the Loa.

A breeze shook the night woods as a cloud rolled across the face of the moon.

~*~

Anamaria sat quietly and folded her arms around her knees, watching the old woman potter around the crackling fire. The woman moved quickly and surely, though Anamaria knew she was sightless, sprinkling the cornmeal at the base of the poteau-mitan, creating a powerful veve for protection.

A breeze drifted through the hounfour, and the elderly woman lifted her head sharply, her wrinkled face attentive, her blind eyes wide and milky-white. "The Loa is gatherin'," she said, her voice dry and thin, like an old twig. "They been summoned, and not by this." She gestured at the complicated patterns of the veve.

Anamaria sat up. "By what then, Maman?"

Maman turned toward her. "Trouble, child. Trouble."

~*~

Her breath was coming harsher now, but Belle limped doggedly on, holding her precious bundle close to her heart. The clouded moon had helped by obscuring the deepest pockets of marshy forest, and Belle clung close to the places she had known as a child, often closing her eyes and letting her faltering feet guide her. Their pursuers had passed her more than once, and she ducked her mouth under the cover of the shawl to keep her panting from being heard.

The moon cleared and Belle glanced down at the trusting child in her arms. Lizbet's eyes were huge and dark in the weird half-light that filtered through the swags of moss that hung from the trees; her hair was damp with sweat, clinging to her forehead and cheeks in little ducktails. Still no sound did the child make, and Belle pressed her lips to her charge's forehead, whispering a soundless plea for protection.

More footsteps echoed from the darkness, a long, loping step, not the hesitant splashing and cursing of the pirates. Belle tilted her head. The sounds slowed, drew closer, and stopped. The low call of an owl resonated nearby, like water dropping into a deep well.

Belle smiled and pursed her lips, giving an answering call.

From the darkness loomed a shape, small and wary. An errant shaft of moonlight fell across glossy black hair; a heart-shaped face; wide, intelligent eyes.

"Anamaria," Belle breathed.

The younger woman nodded. "Maman sent me. Come; the houngan will lead them away from you." Belle stumbled forward; Lizbet whimpered. Anamaria's eyes grew round. "What have you – " She reached forward and uncovered the child's dark head. "Mon Dieu." Ana looked from the tot to Belle. "Here, give her to me and we will talk back at the camp." She smiled at Lizbet. "Come to me and let ma cousine Belle rest a bit, will you, little one?" Lizbet hesitated, then nodded and reached for Anamaria.

The way grew easier then, as Ana led them quickly through dark pockets of marsh and woods. Far in the distance behind them Belle could hear the pirates searching fruitlessly for their escaped prisoners. She smiled to herself in grim satisfaction. Pierre, the tribe's young houngan, would lead them far from the temple and encampment, and abandon them deep in the swamp. Let him, then, she thought. Leave them to the mercies of Dambala, the serpent Loa.

If indeed any mercy was to be had.

~*~

They'd had to cut the bullet out.

Maman had done it herself, and cauterized the wound with fire from the poteau-mitan. Ana had watched and held her cousin's hand as Belle fought not to cry out and frighten the exhausted Lizbet. The wee child had fallen asleep in Maman's tent, clutching Belle's shawl in one dirty fist, while Maman made the preparations for healing. But before Belle had drunk the entire potion the old mambo had concocted, they had had the entire story of the child's kidnapping from her, along with Belle's theory that Captain Sparrow might have returned to Tortuga.

Ana smiled to herself. Jack had said he'd be back. Ana had had no doubt that he would be, regardless of what the rest of the crew were saying. And if he had come in search of the child, certainly young Turner would not be far. Therefore, the sensible course would be to leave the child and Belle in the capable hands of Maman and Pierre and the others, and go in search of Jack Sparrow.

She found Maman outside by the embers of the fire, creating another veve at the foot of the poteau-mitan, and though Anamaria was no student of the old ways, she knew enough to recognize that this veve was not for healing. The dead cockerel at her feet was mute testament to the powers Maman sought to stir up.

Ana waited until the old mambo had finished her ritual. "Are you going to summon a spirit to protect the child, Maman?" she couldn't help asking.

Maman grinned, her lips stretching across her toothless mouth, her whitened eyes nearly disappearing into the wrinkles of her face. "No, child. The spirit, she is already here, always has been." She poured what Ana recognized as blood into a wooden goblet. "We jus' gonna give her some ammunition."

Ana turned her head as Maman drank.