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Chapter Fourteen:

"My God," James exclaimed, crossing himself. "Captain Laffley?"

Anamaria's mind was reeling as she watched James grapple with the impossibility of having a dead man standing on his deck. Why had James asked her what she was doing on Jack Sparrow's ship? Why on earth had James expected to find Jack on the Lady Maria? Ana could not stop a small smile from coming to her lips when she arrived at the only possible explanation . . . Prescott.

Mentally, she scolded herself for ever doubting her brother's devotion or ingenuity. Somehow he must have gotten word to James that she had been abducted, and enlisted their friend's help in finding her. But, that did not explain why James expected to see Jack. After their last encounter, why would Prescott let James know that Jack was involved in all of this?

"Mr. Norrington," Chris started, then stopped short. "Apologies, Captain Norrington it would seem. Congratulations on your much deserved, long overdue, promotion." Ana's husband would have to be blind not to notice the way that James looked at him, but apparently, Chris was choosing not to comment on his sudden reappearance in the world of the living.

"Um . . . thank you, Sir." James fumbled over his words, apparently not quite knowing how to ask Chris why he was not dead. Turning to his lieutenant, "no other survivors?"

"Doesn't seem so, Sir."

Norrington nodded. "Sparrow's dead, then. You're sure?"

"Who?" Chris said, eyeing his former subordinate suspiciously.

"Um, James," Ana prevented him from addressing her husband's concerns. "Is my brother aboard?"

"Prescott?" James said. "No. He's on the Loyalty. Why would he be with me?"

The Loyalty? Prescott was on the Loyalty. If James had left her brother on that ship, then, Prescott must have somehow convinced him that the Loyalty was still going about the King's business. Of course! This did not really explain where Jack was, but Prescott must have told James that the little redwood vessel was carrying the illustrious pirate. Since the incident with Don Cornado, James had practically devoted his life to seeing piracy, more specifically the career of Jack Sparrow, come to an end. How Prescott had pulled his ruse off, Ana was very curious to know, but however he had done it, Prescott managed to get two ships searching the seas for her and Chris.

Ana belatedly realized she had still failed to answer James' question concerning why she thought Prescott would be on his ship. Hating what she was about to do, Ana used the one weapon that a lady always had at her disposal. She rolled her eyes and pretended to faint, falling against her confused friend.

"Maria!" she heard her husband's voice, as James caught her limp body and laid her gently on the deck.

"For heaven's sake," Norrington said. "Give her some room."

Deciding that her diversion had been successful, Ana let her eyes flutter a bit.

"Annie?"

Rolling her head to one side, as if to shield her eyes from the light, Ana moaned quietly . . . just for good measure. She found it hard to believe that men were so easily fooled.

"Get some water," she heard Chris yell.

Finally, after letting them fret long enough, Anamaria slowly opened her eyes. "W-What happened?" she said, purposely stuttering.

"It's alright, Maria. You fainted."

Ana pulled herself into a sitting position, allowing James to help her due to her "fragile" state. "Oh, my," she said, bringing her hand to her chest as though she were still struggling to collect herself, even though she were really struggling to stifle a fit of laughter. She could just imagine Prescott's face if he were to see her now. Just last year, she had pulled a similar trick on her big brother. He never took anything she said at face value after that. He would, now, stand over her and shake his head, seeing straight through her display.

"You should rest, Annie. You've been through quite an ordeal. Do you think you can walk?"

Ana met James' concerned gaze. "I think so," she said, hoping her face did not crack into a smile.

James stepped back and allowed Chris to help her to her feet. Ana never liked to show the weaknesses that were commonly attributed to women, but she really did not like having to appear so dependent on Chris.

"Sir," one of James' officers spoke up. "What of the pirate?" The lieutenant was gesturing to Chris.

"That isn't a pirate, Mr. Millen," Norrington rebuked him. "Captain Laffley is in His Majesty's Navy."

Chris' eyes met Ana's as these words passed from James' lips. He did not say a word to James about his new occupation. Ana sighed. She could tell James, but she was not sure if he would believe her story. At any rate, Chris' method of employement was not really her concern at this point. Instead, she had to try to figure out what James thought was happening, and what really was happening.

Ana remained silent as James tried to make her and Chris comfortable in one of his lieutenants recently vacated cabins. She used the silence to help play the part of the injured dove as well as an opportunity to try to make sense of what must have happened between James and Prescott.

If Prescott had been sailing on the Loyalty, then he must have met up with Jack. If James left Prescott alone, then he must have no idea that Loyalty is now a pirate ship. Jack certainly would not trust her brother enough to just let Prescott sail away on his ship, so Jack and Prescott must be together. So far, so good. However, the question remained, where in the world were they? Interceptor was the fastest ship in the navy, and James had set sail for Kingston as soon as he brought Ana aboard. But, with the delay from the battle, Loyalty should have caught up, at the very least one of the top men should have sighted her. Where were Prescott and Jack?

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"Dear God," Prescott mouthed the words, but no sound escaped from his lips. The heavy door slammed shut behind him and the brute that had escorted him from the cell resumed his hold on his prisoner's arm. Prescott's breath had caught in his throat, and his heart constricted in his chest.

In and of itself, the room was nothing special, just four walls, a wooden support beam, a table, and a small stove. Unlike the dozens of other rooms in a ship such as this one, the floorboards were stained with the blood of years of tortured pirates. The most recent victim hung from a set of manacles bolted to the ceiling not ten feet from where Prescott stood.

Sparrow had not moved since Prescott entered the small room. His shirt had been removed and his already scarred torso was covered with new cuts and scrapes. The man's full weight seemed to be supported by his shackled hands. Blood from his brutalized wrists ran down his arms and mingled with the cracked, and bubbling skin on his right forearm that stood out against the rest of his injuries. Prescott closed his eyes against the horrific scene as he realized what purpose the tiny stove must have served. The burnt flesh on Sparrow's arm was in the shape of the letter "P."

Pirate.

Sparrow had been branded. The once loyal officer of His Majesty's Navy now wore the condemning mark of a traitor.

"Well, cabin boy," the fat captain stood next to Prescott. "What do you think of the great Jack Sparrow now?"

Opening his eyes, Prescott was surprised to feel them moistening. "Why couldn't you have just killed him?" he said flatly.

The East India captain laughed as though Prescott had just asked the stupidest question that he had ever heard. Prescott squared his jaw. Sparrow's battered body conjured up images of a Spanish prison that Prescott had tried so long to forget. The very first time he had ever seen Jack Sparrow, the man had been beaten almost beyond recognition by a tyrannical commandant. It went without saying that Prescott had been disgusted by the display, but he had reasoned that Sparrow was in prison and therefore must have been guilty of some terrible crime. His punishment was brutal, and distasteful, but somehow it had been in the name of justice.

Justice, however, was nowhere to be found in the lower decks of the East India Trading Company's ship. Prescott had sailed with Sparrow. Everything that the pirate had done, Prescott had gone along with. Sparrow had not committed any heinous crimes, he was just a man helping Prescott find his little sister. There was absolutely no justification for the fantastic beating that he had received.

"Ready, Captain?" the man who held Prescott spoke up.

"Yes, Craft," the captain replied.

"You," the brute addressed Prescott, "take off your shirt."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Craft," Prescott spoke, almost before he realized what he was saying. "I'm a married man."

His impetuous comment was answered by a swift backhand from Mr. Craft.

"You will be punished for your sharp words, cabin boy," the captain chuckled as he pulled the red hot branding iron from the furnace. "If you do not wish to turn up your shirtsleeve, I shall be happy to mark your transgression on your forehead."

Prescott physically bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from telling the East India captain what he really thought of him and this whole barbaric ritual. Glaring at his ponderous adversary, Prescott rolled up the sleeve on his right arm.

"Hold him, Craft."

The man obeyed instantly. He grabbed Prescott's shoulders and threw him down against the table. Then, he took hold of Prescott's upper arm and his wrist, assuring he could not move while he was being branded. Closing his eyes, Prescott drew a deep breath and tried to mentally brace himself. No amount of training could prepare the naval officer for the pain that erupted from his arm as the East India captain pushed the branding iron into his flesh. The intense heat exploded on his skin and seemed to burn up his arm to his face, forcing his eyes open. The captain pulled the hot metal away from his victim, and Prescott was assaulted by the stench of his own charred flesh. White lights were dancing in front of his eyes and it sounded like someone was screaming in his ears. Mr. Craft let go of his arm, and Prescott's knees gave way sending him falling towards the bloodied floorboards. The fat captain was gloating over him, laughing as the devil himself would laugh.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped. The door to the room had opened. "Captain Voller, Sir?"

"What is it?" the captain answered, irritated by the interruption.

"Wreckage, Sir, in the water. Looks like a ship sank."

The captain sighed. "Alright, I'm coming. Craft, don't touch him till I get back."

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"You're not going to tell him," Ana accused as soon as James left her alone with Chris.

Chris sat on the edge of the bed wear Ana lay. "And you didn't really faint, did you?" His eyes were full of questions, and accusations of his own.

"What are you going to do when we reach port?" Ana ignored her husband's comment. "James is taking me home to Kingston. Everyone there thinks you're dead. How are you going to explain what you've been doing on a pirate ship for the past two years?"

He resting his elbows on his knees, Chris ran his hands over his face. "Can we just not talk about this right now?" Chris said.

"What would you like to talk about, Christopher? The weather?"

"For heaven's sake, Maria. My ship is at the bottom of the sea, and apparently my whole crew went with her," Chris stood up and walked to the door. "I really can't handle another fight."

"Chris," Ana's voice stopped her husband as he was halfway out the door. Getting out of bed, she crossed the room and took his hand off of the doorknob. "You don't have to leave," she said, by way of an apology. "Tell James or don't. It isn't my decision to make."

Turning to face her, Chris' eyes met Ana's.

"I guess I don't want to fight right now, either," Ana said.

A sad smile passed over Chris' face. He closed the door and returned to his perch on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember our first fight?"

Ana nodded. "The first time you brought me flowers," she recalled. "You gave me lilies, because they were my favorite."

Chris laughed. "Only lilies weren't your favorite."

"And I accused you of having another girlfriend and getting the two of us confused."

"Yeah," Chris gazed across the room as though he could see the whole scene unfolding on the opposite wall.

"Taught you to listen to me better," Ana said, mockingly scolding Chris. "You didn't confuse me again."

"I could never confuse you with another woman," Chris said. "No one else like you, Maria."

Chris's eyes once again locked on hers, and for an instant the two years that she had mourned nearly disappeared. The man sitting on her bed, was almost the same man who had given her a bouquet of orchids every day after their first fight until she finally forgave him for his mistake. For a second, all the pain and loss vanished. Chris felt it too, she could tell.

But just as quickly as they had felt the magic of the past, reality broke the spell. Chris dropped his eyes to the floor. "It's been a very long day," he said. "Even if you didn't faint, you should get some rest."

Ana nodded and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Chris stood and walked to the door. Pausing before he left, Chris turned back to Ana. "Orchids. I'll never forget."

TBC

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