[a/n: A HUGE thanks and a hug goes to my beta, Yakkorat, for all the hard
work she put into looking this over and correcting my numerous errors.
Thankies!]
Chapter 4
There it stood: the contraption of his demise, its sturdy wooden beams dark-colored and foreboding. The structure was halfway across the square and Jack found his legs to be more cooperative on the flat surface. He walked along without a dispute, his head sinking and hanging low, staring blankly at the featureless gray cobblestones.
He didn't even notice the clouds growing dimmer as he moved forward through the teeming courtyard.
~*~
"Honestly father, of all the days you compel me to attend an execution . . ."
"Elizabeth, please, not now."
"But Father, it looks like rain," she tried in one last attempt to escape the gruesome spectacle ahead of her. "I might take ill."
Governor Swann sighed, incensed. "Elizabeth, you must learn to accept these activities as part of your responsibility. Even though you are married to a common blacksmith and have befriended pirates, you are still the governor's daughter. By all rights, that husband of yours should be here as well, standing by your side and in support of the law." Elizabeth grimaced. She had heard all of this before, many, many times.
"You know he can't abide executions, Father, not since Jack. And neither can I," she insisted truthfully. "It a barbaric thing we do, and I am only glad that Will managed to make it to the smithy before you came to our home with the intent to waylay us both."
"Please try to understand," her father entreated as the drummers began to beat their merciless cadence, "it is the law. Villains and scoundrels must reimburse society for their crimes."
"With their lives?!" Elizabeth spelled out in disgust, as the clouds chose that inopportune moment to unleash their stored fury. Without a thought, she stepped back farther into the archway which would offer her and her father shelter from the elements while the sky poured down buckets on the rest of the bystanders. The new inundation of water, however, did nothing to stop the flood of indignation she was releasing at her father. "How can we expect a man to learn the value of a human life if we fail to value his? And what of those who muddle that line between goodness and piracy, Father? What of them? Would you feel the same if Jack Sparrow were the one standing behind the noo-" Elizabeth stopped herself mid- sentence as she watched the soldiers lead a troublingly familiar form through the driving rain.
No. It couldn't be. Squinting through the downpour, she tried desperately to discern the identity of the man before her. The rain was too heavy. She just couldn't be certain. Elizabeth clung to hope, praying that she was wrong, waiting nervously to hear the officer read the man's name and charges.
So engrossed was she in her task that she didn't even hear the footfalls as their owner glided up behind her.
"Governor Swann."
Elizabeth jumped slightly at the new voice, but quickly managed to compose herself.
"Elizabeth," the Commodore said in turn, nodding briefly in her direction.
"Commodore," Elizabeth said somewhat cagily, not daring to alienate her former suitor today; not when he might be able to help her if the poor wretch caught in the deluge was who she suspected it might be. Even at a time like this, she could keep a civil tongue in her head if Norrington could help Jack.
~*~
The rain fell unremittingly, soaking through his thin shirt and pounding on his exposed flesh. Jack ignored the miniature stings, continuing on as before, his head hung low against the onslaught of raindrops, his eyes half-lidded, and his body uncharacteristically quiet. His usual drunken swagger of a gait had disappeared completely. When had that happened? Did it really matter? His hands hung limply before him, making no effort to free themselves from the binding around his wrists, and showing no intention of weaving their convoluted patterns should he decide to speak.
Water soaked his hair and clothes thoroughly, but Jack couldn't even muster the energy to feel it. At least the horrible voice had ceased its torments, and that, he thought, was a small blessing.
Finally, his feet reached the edge of the dais, and he plodded his way unenthusiastically up the rain-slicked steps, splashing water back on the few onlookers who had braved the weather to see him hang. The redcoats remained at the base of the stairs, no doubt confused at his actions—or lack thereof. Heck, Jack wasn't sure what was going on in his head right now either, so he could hardly blame them.
When the once-proud pirate captain had climbed all the stairs, the executioner stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and dragged his unresisting body to stand behind the noose. Jack looked up at the thin rope that would be the instrument of his downfall—blast, what a horrible pun—with detached interest. How peculiar that a man with a legend so big could be ended by something so small . . . It seemed sad, really. Unfitting. But he very much doubted anyone else would see the irony in it.
~*~
The blue-coated official took his place beside the condemned, blinking the rain from his eyes and unrolling a rather long list of charges. "Jack Sparrow," he began stridently, reading from the scroll.
Oh dear . . . Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. It was Jack! Reflexively, she bit the corner of her mouth, waiting for her friend to insert his title as he always did and hoping there would not be retribution for his insolence. To her bewilderment and, indeed, her horror, Jack didn't even move.
"Be it known that you have been charged, tried, and convicted," the official continued, his booming voice nearly drowned out by the pounding of the rain, "for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature. The most egregious of these to be cited herewith: piracy, smuggling . . ."
Elizabeth spun toward her father. "Father, when . . . I mean, where . . . how . . ." she stuttered quickly.
Obviously understanding what Elizabeth, herself, couldn't manage to push past panicked lips, the Commodore straightened. "I believe I could best answer your concerns, Mrs. Turner."
"Impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England . . ."
The last offense caught her ear, and she turned her concentration forward for a moment. Hearing the mention of this particular crime had given Jack a good chuckle once before, and Elizabeth squinted through the precipitation, hoping for a hint of a smile from the pirate who had helped save her life, not once, but twice. Nothing. No smile. No frown. No indication that he had heard the charges being read to him at all.
"Sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation . . ."
Returning her attention once more to the commodore at her side, she shot a pleading stare in his direction. To her surprise, however, Norrington's normally stoic face was twisted in a look of—was that regret? Even concern? Impossible. But there it was, his gaze fixed on Jack's empty, lifeless eyes.
"And general lawlessness. And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul," the officer finished at last, lowering the scroll. "You may now address the crowd with your last words."
Elizabeth worried her lip, her brow furrowed in helplessness. She racked her brain; desperate to find some solution, anything she could do to stop this, to delay it. At least they were giving Jack the chance to speak. That would give her another moment or two. If there was one thing that Jack Sparrow was good at, it was talking. Whether or not he could be heard would be another story entirely.
Jack stared blankly out at the crowd. His lips moved slowly, wearily, but the roaring wind carried his words away, all but unheard.
[a/n: Please review.]
Chapter 4
There it stood: the contraption of his demise, its sturdy wooden beams dark-colored and foreboding. The structure was halfway across the square and Jack found his legs to be more cooperative on the flat surface. He walked along without a dispute, his head sinking and hanging low, staring blankly at the featureless gray cobblestones.
He didn't even notice the clouds growing dimmer as he moved forward through the teeming courtyard.
~*~
"Honestly father, of all the days you compel me to attend an execution . . ."
"Elizabeth, please, not now."
"But Father, it looks like rain," she tried in one last attempt to escape the gruesome spectacle ahead of her. "I might take ill."
Governor Swann sighed, incensed. "Elizabeth, you must learn to accept these activities as part of your responsibility. Even though you are married to a common blacksmith and have befriended pirates, you are still the governor's daughter. By all rights, that husband of yours should be here as well, standing by your side and in support of the law." Elizabeth grimaced. She had heard all of this before, many, many times.
"You know he can't abide executions, Father, not since Jack. And neither can I," she insisted truthfully. "It a barbaric thing we do, and I am only glad that Will managed to make it to the smithy before you came to our home with the intent to waylay us both."
"Please try to understand," her father entreated as the drummers began to beat their merciless cadence, "it is the law. Villains and scoundrels must reimburse society for their crimes."
"With their lives?!" Elizabeth spelled out in disgust, as the clouds chose that inopportune moment to unleash their stored fury. Without a thought, she stepped back farther into the archway which would offer her and her father shelter from the elements while the sky poured down buckets on the rest of the bystanders. The new inundation of water, however, did nothing to stop the flood of indignation she was releasing at her father. "How can we expect a man to learn the value of a human life if we fail to value his? And what of those who muddle that line between goodness and piracy, Father? What of them? Would you feel the same if Jack Sparrow were the one standing behind the noo-" Elizabeth stopped herself mid- sentence as she watched the soldiers lead a troublingly familiar form through the driving rain.
No. It couldn't be. Squinting through the downpour, she tried desperately to discern the identity of the man before her. The rain was too heavy. She just couldn't be certain. Elizabeth clung to hope, praying that she was wrong, waiting nervously to hear the officer read the man's name and charges.
So engrossed was she in her task that she didn't even hear the footfalls as their owner glided up behind her.
"Governor Swann."
Elizabeth jumped slightly at the new voice, but quickly managed to compose herself.
"Elizabeth," the Commodore said in turn, nodding briefly in her direction.
"Commodore," Elizabeth said somewhat cagily, not daring to alienate her former suitor today; not when he might be able to help her if the poor wretch caught in the deluge was who she suspected it might be. Even at a time like this, she could keep a civil tongue in her head if Norrington could help Jack.
~*~
The rain fell unremittingly, soaking through his thin shirt and pounding on his exposed flesh. Jack ignored the miniature stings, continuing on as before, his head hung low against the onslaught of raindrops, his eyes half-lidded, and his body uncharacteristically quiet. His usual drunken swagger of a gait had disappeared completely. When had that happened? Did it really matter? His hands hung limply before him, making no effort to free themselves from the binding around his wrists, and showing no intention of weaving their convoluted patterns should he decide to speak.
Water soaked his hair and clothes thoroughly, but Jack couldn't even muster the energy to feel it. At least the horrible voice had ceased its torments, and that, he thought, was a small blessing.
Finally, his feet reached the edge of the dais, and he plodded his way unenthusiastically up the rain-slicked steps, splashing water back on the few onlookers who had braved the weather to see him hang. The redcoats remained at the base of the stairs, no doubt confused at his actions—or lack thereof. Heck, Jack wasn't sure what was going on in his head right now either, so he could hardly blame them.
When the once-proud pirate captain had climbed all the stairs, the executioner stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and dragged his unresisting body to stand behind the noose. Jack looked up at the thin rope that would be the instrument of his downfall—blast, what a horrible pun—with detached interest. How peculiar that a man with a legend so big could be ended by something so small . . . It seemed sad, really. Unfitting. But he very much doubted anyone else would see the irony in it.
~*~
The blue-coated official took his place beside the condemned, blinking the rain from his eyes and unrolling a rather long list of charges. "Jack Sparrow," he began stridently, reading from the scroll.
Oh dear . . . Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. It was Jack! Reflexively, she bit the corner of her mouth, waiting for her friend to insert his title as he always did and hoping there would not be retribution for his insolence. To her bewilderment and, indeed, her horror, Jack didn't even move.
"Be it known that you have been charged, tried, and convicted," the official continued, his booming voice nearly drowned out by the pounding of the rain, "for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature. The most egregious of these to be cited herewith: piracy, smuggling . . ."
Elizabeth spun toward her father. "Father, when . . . I mean, where . . . how . . ." she stuttered quickly.
Obviously understanding what Elizabeth, herself, couldn't manage to push past panicked lips, the Commodore straightened. "I believe I could best answer your concerns, Mrs. Turner."
"Impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England . . ."
The last offense caught her ear, and she turned her concentration forward for a moment. Hearing the mention of this particular crime had given Jack a good chuckle once before, and Elizabeth squinted through the precipitation, hoping for a hint of a smile from the pirate who had helped save her life, not once, but twice. Nothing. No smile. No frown. No indication that he had heard the charges being read to him at all.
"Sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation . . ."
Returning her attention once more to the commodore at her side, she shot a pleading stare in his direction. To her surprise, however, Norrington's normally stoic face was twisted in a look of—was that regret? Even concern? Impossible. But there it was, his gaze fixed on Jack's empty, lifeless eyes.
"And general lawlessness. And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul," the officer finished at last, lowering the scroll. "You may now address the crowd with your last words."
Elizabeth worried her lip, her brow furrowed in helplessness. She racked her brain; desperate to find some solution, anything she could do to stop this, to delay it. At least they were giving Jack the chance to speak. That would give her another moment or two. If there was one thing that Jack Sparrow was good at, it was talking. Whether or not he could be heard would be another story entirely.
Jack stared blankly out at the crowd. His lips moved slowly, wearily, but the roaring wind carried his words away, all but unheard.
[a/n: Please review.]