The boat bobbed and bounced over the waves in the bay. Sunlight shone down on Jack's head and he smiled - how he loved Port Royal. They were heading for the Pearl, which stood tall and imposing on the clear blue water.
"Jack," Elizabeth muttered, "you didn't need to tie my hands, I'd have gladly come with you." She struggled to loosen her bindings, but Jack held her hands and leaned in to whisper.
"I know that Lizzie, but some of my crew, theyve got a bit of cabin fever, savvy? So I need you to pretend your a little girl all sad and scared 'acos some pirates 'ave taked her hostage, alright?" He winked at her, and she relaxed, briefly.
"Jack, exactly why are you kidnapping me?" She turned her upper body to face him, but he turned her back.
"Oh, Lizzie, you don't get it do you? It's not a case of why, it's more about - no, wait, you're right. We're kidnapping you, or, if you will, taking you hostage, so that we can... Oh, I forget, but Will'll explain it all..." He smiled, then took a swig from the bottle of rum at his side.
"Will, but I thought he's been kidnapped!" She turned again, but Jack only turned her back. "Where is he?"
Jack Smiled and stroked her hands. "Where do you think? Stupid question really. You should think before you open that pretty little mouth of yours."
"Christ," she mumbled, and they sailed on.
The hold of the Pearl was full of the sounds of drunked pirates, singing and shouting. Commodore Norrington sat huddled between two kegs, watching what was happening. That bastard Turner, the one who stole his Elizabeth, was tied to a table, bound at ankles, wrists, waist and neck. The men were stood around the table, some even kneeling on it, and they were teasing him, not quite torture, just a tease. One pirate in a black plumed hat and green jacket was pouring hot wax on Turner's exposed chest, while another was pouring ale into his eyes. A third, wearing a hillarious red outfit that could easily have been bloodstained, kept dropping a knife over Turner's crotch, then catching it just before it made impact. Oddly, Turner didn't seem too nervous, as if he knew they wouldn't REALLY harm him. Yes, that was it. This whole thing looked staged. Oh no, he, the commodore, was really a hostage, but that good-for-nothing blacksmith was in no real danger. He knew they wouldn't hurt him because he was in control. What would Elizabeth say?
A noise was heard on deck, and all the pirates stopped their charade. The knife dropper forgot to catch his weapon, and it sliced into the table between Will's legs. He winced. "Close shave," he muttered, and the red pirate grinned sheepishly. The wax pourer returned his dripping candle to it's sheath on the table and the ale pourer kept his flow down his own gullet. A sudden tension filled the room, and the expectant silence was almost too much for the Commodore.
"What's going on?" He asked a nearby pirate with a batch, a scar on his cheek AND a wooden leg.
"Cap'n's home." He mummbled, and returned to staring at the door. So, Norrington thought, that Pidgeon man has come back to Port Royal?
Jack and Elizabeth Descended the dark stairway in silence. The singing that they had heard earlier had ceased, and now there was... nothing. Jack patted his "hostage" on the back.
"Right, Lizzie, just pretend like I'm terrifiying. My very presence makes you wish you'd never been born. Do that, and it's in the bag."
"What is?" She asked, still perplexed. But Jack only shook his head and motioned her on.