Chapter 6: The Collection

The hurricane swept over the southern coast of Jamaica, sending lightening and thunder to threaten the sleeping ports of Royale and Kingston. The rain was heavy and oppressive, as was the general mood of Port Royale. The people were anxious to see the hangings of the nefarious creatures that were locked up in their damp prison cells. They wanted some retribution against the lives that had been lost when the Black Pearl had attacked not more than a month earlier. When the citizens wanted justice, it was up to the law to see it carried out.

With the escape of Jack Sparrow, Royale's fleet had been on their guard for the wayward rogue, waiting for him to show his face. The Admiralty didn't really consider him a threat but Jack Sparrow led by example; if he could away with his bad behavior, why couldn't any one else? So both Fort Charles and Clarence had been on constant watch for any sign of the Black Pearl and her crew, though they knew it was probably unlikely that Sparrow would be daft enough to come back to Port Royale in full pirate regalia. Most likely he would bribe passage onto a merchant ship and take a disguise. That did not mean that Royale's officials had been obsessing over the capture of one man. Jack Sparrow was a hobby for them, something to do in their spare time.

So it was that under the cover of darkness the crew of the Artemis slipped out from their hiding spot. They had been seeking cover in the wrecked houses of Royale's 1692 earthquake, staying among the broken homes that were still partially above sea level. As their captain had instructed them to do, they had scouted for a suitable ship to take them to Falmouth where they would join up with the elder Roses. What had become of their captain was unknown to them, but this plan had been tried and tested and resulted in the loss of very few men.

Being the next in command of the motley bunch, Mr. Durson led the raid to seize one of the ships that had been safely secured out of the storm's reach. Only a fool would have been crazy enough to sail out with a ship in this weather, which is why Durson had chosen the time to seize the ship during the storm. He'd been at sea more years than his captain had been alive and he had faced worse scraps than this.

Stealthily and cautiously, the crew made their way out of their small hideaway and crept along the beach. They spotted their quarry anchored near the opposite end, bobbing restlessly. It was a merchant vessel; it had probably delivered its goods to Royale and was about to set sail when the hurricane had blown in. Whether or not it was carrying cargo didn't matter to Durson, all he wanted to do was to get to Falmouth and alert Robert Rose that he couldn't find his daughter.

He had heard rumors of a pirate captain captured…but Durson didn't want to think of his friend hanging by her neck when the hurricane finished. Time was of the absolute importance. Time meant life in this case. The rest of his crew appeared to be like minded to him, Andraste had either taken them from lives of servitude or been willing to overlook certain misgivings they had committed. They couldn't very well abandon their captain! She wouldn't have abandoned them, or at the very least she'd have sent some help for them if she couldn't come herself.

Through the rain and wind they somehow floundered their way onto the deck of the merchant ship, sopping wet with both seawater and the downpour. The ship wasn't watched as far as they could tell, there were no signs of crew on board in this weather, but they guessed that someone might have come to check if the ship was in order at sometime. The Artemis's crew didn't consider the inspectors relevant; they were more worried about making it home.

It took them a few hours to get the ship in sailing condition, adjusting the sails to suit the winds and firming the knots before Mr. Durson took the helm and guided the boat out of the bay and onto the ocean. It would be sometime before they could return, perhaps a week or more, and they had to hope that their captain was a resourceful enough woman to buy herself some time. She had to know they were coming back for her…

And indeed, Andraste had a feeling they would. She sat at the small window of her cell for the remainder of the storm, slipping in and out of consciousness. Her wound was infected and the feelings of hot and cold that plagued her senses vaguely distorted what she saw around her. She was starving and dehydrated, her leg had become swollen and oozed puss now and then. Moving was far too painful, making it impossible for her to get up and grab her rations. She didn't even have the chance to; a prisoner from the next cell greedily reached through the bars and stole them for himself.

Had she of not been in such a helpless state, she'd have reached through her own iron cage and throttled him stupid. But as it was, her state was the antithesis of her lifestyle: grimy, crusty, malodorous and without reason. She could only ease her discomfort with thoughts of hanging the man by his scraggly ear hair, preferably from the bowsprit of her boat. Occasionally she retched from pure hungry, but after awhile nothing came up except for blood and acid. She was completely and utterly miserable.

Time passed slowly for the inmates, but on the fifth day, or so Andraste thought it was, the sun had finally returned from its rest and was shining as happily as ever. For the prisoners, her shine meant their despair. It was no surprise then, that Gillette appeared at the prison with the first ray of sunshine, ready to escort all eleven of them to the gallows. Captain Rose noted the smirk on his face as he watched the marines prodding the pirates sharply with the tips of their rifles. She didn't like that grin, it reminded her too much of a man she would rather have left behind.

When it was her turn to go, she stumbled forward out of her cage, reeking like death itself, and turned crusty eyes on her captors. They didn't dare touch her. Her hair was matted with blood and dirt that was beyond washable and her skin had the pallor of the deceased to it, they could see it was turning green in certain places. Gillette wanted to be sick and refused to walk within fifteen feet of her. Andraste didn't care, she didn't even know that she was dragging herself behind some eight prisoners. However, she did know that she was going to die, and somewhere deep within her troubled mind, she was vaguely aware that she didn't like the prospect.

The sun had turned blistering hot in the sky and was heating the stone at the square when all the prisoners arrived. Those few sea rovers without shoes were dancing before the guards and begging for a piece of shade. The guards laughed in response. Yet most had boots and were not troubled by the sun, they spent years at sea and their leathery skin was more than adequately hardened to withstand harsher rays than that. Andraste was notably without her possessions; both hat and gloves had been stealthily removed by a marine with strong fortitude. She was angry, in a primitive way, that someone had dared removed her personal property. Andraste hated it when people touched her things without permission.

She was unable to act on this anger and was forced to wait until her name was called. When it was, she was dragged up the stairs by the executioner, who coincidentally knew exactly what steps would cause her bloated leg the most pain. He tried to set her back straight, but the Rose would only teeter forward or backward depending on the positioning of her legs. He placed his feet to the sides of hers and deftly settled the noose about her neck. Andraste balanced on her good leg, again swaying severely to her left and then to her right.

"Andraste Morgan Rose," began the crier. "You have been charged with treacherous acts…"

Through her watery eyes, the Welsh woman made out the form of Commodore Norrington standing next to an older, nonchalant looking man. Beside them were a man and woman, the woman holding the younger man's arm. Her consort was scowling at the display.

"…against King and Country. Attacking a ship of your own Admiralty's alliance…"

She caught Lieutenant Gillette looking at the body of the recently hanged pirate being hauled away by several of the redcoats, his eyebrows raised when one of the men let their end of the corpse slip.

"…assaulting a ship flying British colors between Nassau and Falmouth, therefore breaking your letter of marque that was provided you in Kingston…"

The world around her was spinning.

"…you are sentenced to hang by the neck until dead."

Then the ground came up to meet her.