Disclaimer: PotC is not mine.
A/N: Well, I tried to make this chapter a bit longer than usual because I'm leaving on vacation and I will be away for about two weeks. I really hate to leave you for that long, but I promise to write while I'm gone so I have something to post the minute I get back!
Chapter Seventeen:
Sparrow was watching him. Prescott was doing his very best to avoid looking at the pirate, but he could still feel Sparrow's dark eyes on him. The seconds and minutes had dragged on and on since Prescott had insisted they re-enter the cell. Sparrow was glaring at him. Prescott closed his eyes and leaned his pounding head against the bars, but the pirate's eyes were drilling holes into his skull so that Sparrow could probably see his innermost thoughts. So the pirate could see his uncertainty and doubt.
In the space of two days, Sparrow had let Prescott onto his ship. He had allowed Prescott to have temporary control over that ship and her crew during their first encounter with Norrington. But, he had never let Prescott out of his sight. Sparrow no longer seemed to think of Prescott as the enemy. Perhaps, he was even beginning to respect the naval officer, but he did not trust Prescott. The simple fact that Prescott had been able to talk his way out of a potentially ugly situation with Norrington had to be the only reason that Sparrow had agreed to re-enter their tiny prison cell.
The minutes since Prescott locked the cell door had crept by as though each was an entire day unto itself. Nothing was happening, and Sparrow was undoubtedly starting to seriously reconsider his opinion of the officer seated across the cage.
Prescott exhaled, hoping that the barely audible noise did not sound as desperate as he felt. He had no idea what would await the trio if his plan did not go as expected. After doing battle with Mr. Craft, he was certainly in no shape to take over the East India ship with only two other injured men. He ran his hand over his blood stained face. If things did not go according to plan, then he would die on this floating hellhole. He would die a pirate. Captain Voller would throw his body into the sea, and he would be forgotten.
Bringing his elbows up to rest on his knees, Prescott laid his head in his hands. The slight movement reminded him of the brand on his forearm and the blood that ran down his face. He must look affright. He did not feel much better. Tentatively he ran his fingers lightly over his burn. The charred skin cracked beneath his light touch and the resulting stab of pain caused his breath to catch in his throat.
All at once, a rush of movement commenced above decks. From the commotion, Prescott assumed that the Interceptor had come alongside and, hopefully, James Norrington was even now demanding to come aboard.
"That'll be your friend," Sparrow spoke quietly, his voice ragged. The pirate sounded calm, but Prescott knew that the caged Sparrow was barely containing the urge to fly across the cell and demand freedom from their prison. "What's stoppin' him from 'anging me and Daniels from the yardarm the minute he finds us?"
The younger pirate turned to face Prescott, the same question and the same fear in his eyes. Daniels had faced the noose before and only escaped his fate because of a silly superstition. The Navy was not superstitious. He knew that he could not cheat death a second time.
"Duty," Prescott answered simply.
"Duty?" Daniels repeated the word.
"And ambition," Prescott continued.
Sparrow's eyes locked on the officer.
"James Norrington is duty bound to take pirates to the nearest English port for trial."
"Trial," Sparrow spat the word.
"Besides," Prescott went on. "He will not forgo the opportunity to make a public spectacle of the demise of the dreaded Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the Spanish Main."
"Very reassuring."
Prescott leaned closer to the pirate captain. "Sparrow I have given you my word that I will get you out of this, but you are going to have to trust me."
Sparrow's dark eyes met Prescott's. "You don't know what you're asking."
Before he could make sense of the pirate's words, Prescott heard the door to the brig opening, closely followed by the grating sound of Captain Voller's voice. "I assure you, Sir," he was saying. "It is our pleasure to aid the Royal Navy in any way that we can."
Prescott rolled his eyes at the captain's words. Voller still thought that he and Sparrow were safely hidden away in his little torture chamber. He expected James to see only Daniels and be uninterested. Still, Prescott's heart leapt inside of his chest. With any luck, James would soon enter the hold, and Prescott could set his plan in motion. "Follow my lead," he whispered once more.
"Very good, Captain," Norrington's voice floated into the cell.
Prescott smiled broadly. Of course James would not have passed up the opportunity to see what pirates were in the hold of an East India vessel. Only yesterday, Prescott had told Norrington that Sparrow had been sighted in these waters. James would search every ship, island and port in an attempt to capture his nemesis.
Almost on cue, James entered the hold and strode down to the only occupied cell.
Wiping the smile from his own face, Prescott said, "James! Thank God." Rising to his feet, which took a great deal more effort than he would have liked, Prescott reached through the bars and clutched James coat. "Thank God," he said again. Watching as a myriad of emotions distorted Norrington's face, Prescott tried to dispel the dizziness caused by his sudden movement. Originally, he had planned to pretend to be desperately injured, apparently that would not require much acting skill at all.
"Prescott!?" James took hold of the other officer's arm, unintentionally placing pressure on Prescott's brand. He hissed in pain, and Norrington immediately withdrew his hand. Careful not to cause Prescott any more discomfort, James examined the burn. "What've they done to you?"
"Captain Norrington, you know this man?"
James turned on the East India captain, fury in his eyes. "Know this man!" he bellowed, the sound causing Prescott's head to throb. "This man is a Captain in His Majesty's service. A Captain who has bled to protect the likes of you, and this is how you repay his sacrifice."
"Sir, I did not –" Voller's eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open.
"Unlock this cell," James ordered.
"But –"
"Now!"
Voller jumped from the force of James' command. Fumbling with his ring of keys, Voller opened the cell door. Sparrow and Daniels rose to their feet.
"Good heavens," James exclaimed. "What is he doing here?" James asked, just noticing that the pirate captain was in the cell with Prescott.
"Sparrow was here already when they captured me," Prescott said, before Voller got a chance to speak.
"At least you're not completely incompetent," James said, turning to Voller. "Who's this then?" he asked, gesturing to the younger pirate.
"Daniels?" Prescott said. "He's my sailing master."
"Looks a bit young to be a sailing master," James noted, his eyebrow raised.
Prescott limped out of the cell, hoping to refocus Norrington's attention. "For heaven's sake, James. I had to completely re-fit Loyalty with whomever Admiralty, in their infinite wisdom, thought could be spared. They were all young. Daniels, at least, knows the difference between a head'sil and a halyard. Thus, he was the only one qualified to be the sailing master."
Norrington smiled sympathetically as Prescott hoped he would. The problems of finding capable men to outfit a ship of war were something that all Navy captains could understand. "Voller?" James turned back to the gaping East India agent. "Would you care to explain to me how exactly you came to imprison one of the Royal Navy's finest and brand him as a pirate?"
"Oh, I'll tell you how that happened," Prescott broke in, preventing Voller from saying anything in his own defense. "He and another ship fired on us, boarded Loyalty, and refused to listen when we assured him that we had taken her back from the pirates. I tried to show him my dispatches, but he threw them into the sea, shot Mr. Daniels, and took us into custody."
Norrington glared at Voller. Once again, he was buying Prescott's story. He was almost as angry with Voller as Prescott was pretending to be. "What of the Loyalty?" he asked.
"Sailed to the nearest English port."
"That would be Kingston?" James clarified.
Voller nodded, defeat written across his face.
"Then, we sail to Kingston to reunite Captain Tarret with his crew."
"But –" Voller tried.
"Do not think I am going to listen to any objections from you," James said.
Voller shrank away from Norrington's harsh glare.
"Marine!" James shouted. A redcoat appeared in the door. "Place Mr. Sparrow under arrest, if you please."
The marine entered the brig and hauled Sparrow out of the cell by his burnt arm. The pirate gasped due to the pain.
"Marine," Prescott pulled the redcoat's hand away from Sparrow. "What's your name?"
"Cole, sir."
"Well, Mr. Cole. Jack Sparrow has saved my life and during the course of my imprisonment has showed me twice the kindness of the 'loyal' subjects of the crown," Prescott paused to shoot a glare at the East India captain. "I expect you will treat him with the same respect that he showed me."
Norrington cleared his throat. "Yes, Cole," he agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "Take Sparrow to the brig, and I'll see that the surgeon comes down to tend to his wounds."
Sparrow straightened, somewhat. He was still battling to disguise his pain, but he was starting to lose that fight. Prescott held the pirate's stare and hoped that Sparrow could see that he would keep his word.
The marine nodded and ushered Sparrow out of the brig.
"Oh, Mr. Cole," Prescott stopped him. "Do be so good as to send down one of your men to take Mr. Voller into custody as well."
"What?" Voller exclaimed.
To Prescott's surprise, Norrington came to his aid. "In the Navy, a man can be killed for the simple act of striking a superior officer," he growled. "And I promise you, Captain Tarret is most certainly your superior. I do not think we have a punishment severe enough to answer the crimes you've committed against him, but rest assured we shall endeavor to find one."
Voller's jaw dropped and the color seemed to completely leave his pudgy face.
"Mr. Daniels," Norrington continued. "Come, let's have the surgeon see to your injury." Daniels nodded. "Prescott, do you require assistance?"
"No. I'll follow you up."
Prescott stared levelly into Voller's eyes after James and Mr. Daniels exited the brig. "Might I take this opportunity to stress the importance of knowing you're enemy." Closing the gap between them, Prescott whispered through clenched teeth, "you have no idea who you are dealing with."
Voller's eyes narrowed. "You are a lying sack of –"
"Yes, I am," Prescott smirked. "But, I am now restored to my former station in life, and you are going to hang for assaulting an officer in His Majesty's Service."
"How can you do this?"
"Believe me," Prescott held up his burned arm so that the charred skin was mere inches from Voller's face. "After enduring your unique brand of hospitality, I will not lose sleep knowing that I was responsible for your death."
"You are no better than that pirate, Sparrow."
"I do not wish to be."
Prescott followed James up top of the East India ship. Soon he was standing on the quarterdeck of the Interceptor. Breathing a sigh of relief, he noted that James' ship had never looked better.
"Man the capstan.. Mr. Billings, get us underway." James was yelling, as he moved to stand next to Prescott. "Well, my friend, we'll be back in Kingston by the end of the week."
Prescott managed a weak smile.
Norrington's face turned, momentarily, serious. "The marines found a body back on the East India ship," he said. "Awful mess. Must've been Sparrow's doing."
"No, James. That mess was mine," Prescott said, leaning on the railing for support.
Norrington stopped abruptly and regarded his colleague. "But, Prescott, his face . . ."
Prescott closed his eyes and swore that he could almost feel the burning metal on his skin. "All due respect, but you were not there. You cannot possibly comprehend the circumstances."
"No. No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply –"
Prescott waved his hand dismissively. "Don't apologize. I've just had a rather trying day."
"You should see the surgeon too, you know. Have a look at that arm."
Sighing, Prescott said, "James, we both know what my arm is going to look like."
"Indeed," James shook his head, his anger towards Voller still very evident in his expression. "At any rate, Annie's down there. She'll want to know that you're safe."
"Annie?"
"Oh! I'm so sorry. I should have told you straight away. We rescued your sister from the wreckage of that redwood ship that you were after."
"The Lady Maria was the vessel that sunk?"
James nodded. "Stupid pirates. They fired on us and refused to surrender. We had no choice but to return fire."
Prescott's eyes narrowed. Why in the world would Chris Laffley attack a ship like the Interceptor, when he was clearly outmatched. "Strange," Prescott mused. "Is Annie alright?"
"Yes, she's fine," James said. "She still hasn't said what she was doing on that ship."
Quickly coming up with some sort of plausible story, Prescott answered, "She had been traveling to Nassau. Their ship was attacked by pirates."
"Did you know the Lady Maria was responsible?"
"No, but I'd heard that Sparrow was her captain, so I figured he might've had something to do with it. Turns out Sparrow was never on Lady Maria."
James did not give Prescott's story a second thought. "You won't in a thousand years guess who else was aboard."
Laffley.
"Captain Laffley."
Prescott tried to mimic James' look of shock. "Chris Laffley died two years ago," he said, trying to picture how he would react if he really were hearing this news for the first time.
"Apparently not," Norrington went on. "He was thrown into the sea two years ago and picked up by a pirate ship. Can you imagine? They forced him to stay away from his wife for two years."
"Did they, indeed?" Prescott tried not to let his new found distaste for his brother-in-law show through. He should not be surprised that Chris would have lied to James. He, himself, was lying to Norrington this very minute. However, Chris had lied his whole life. He had left a fellow officer for dead and accepted the praise of Admiralty. He had abandoned his wife, lived the life of a pirate for two years, and now he was trying to ease back into his former life. The life of a respected Captain. Prescott would deal with his own dishonesty when the time came, but he would not let Chris play the part of the brave captive who survived the cruelty of pirates. He would not let Chris Laffley hurt his sister again.
"I think I shall go visit your surgeon," he said.
88888
Chris' back was to Ana when she finally arrived in the sick berth. She had gotten lost twice trying to find this silly little room. She had been angry with Chris when she started her journey, but after seeing nearly every corner of the Interceptor, she was livid.
"Capture by pirates?" she hissed. "Forced to stay away from me for two long, agonizing years. Well, well, dear husband. How awful this all must have been for you."
Bowing his head, Chris turned to face his wife. He was buttoning his shirt.
Ana's eyes narrowed. "What were you talking to the surgeon about?" she asked, curiosity momentarily taking the place of her anger.
"Just getting another opinion," Chris' voice was soft, and almost sad.
"Another opinion about what?"
He finished buttoning his shirt and slipped his jacket on, wincing as he did so.
"Chris, what's wrong?" Ana had not meant to sound so worried.
"About a year ago," Chris started, not meeting Ana's eyes, "I killed a man. His name was Lang. Sometime afterward, his brother found out that I was responsible and made his life's quest hunting me down. Two days before you saw me in Tortuga, he found me. We fought. I killed Lang's brother, but his bullet is still inside of me."
"What are you saying?"
"I've been to five different doctors," Chris paused. "There's nothing they can do."
Ana's mouth fell open. Nothing they can do? "Chris, what does that mean?"
His light brown eyes met hers. "I'm dying, Maria."
Ana brought her hand to her chest. Dying? The man who had been dead to her for two years was dying. This confession was the last thing she ever expected her husband to say. "How long?"
Chris crossed the room and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Hard to say. Could be days. Could be weeks."
No matter how hard she fought against them, tears pooled in Ana's eyes and ran down her cheeks.
"Maria, I didn't mean for this to happen. I stayed away for so long to try to protect you. If Lang's brother found out I had a wife . . . I couldn't let anything happen to you. I had planned to come back when this was over, but then . . . "
"Then you got yourself shot!" Ana yelled.
"I was just going to stay in Tortuga. Live my last few days, and then I would be as dead as you believed me to be. I never expected to find you there."
Ana wiped the tears from her face. "So, why take me on your ship?" she was angry again.
Chris's eyes left her face, and he stared over her shoulder. His voice sounded far away. "I finally get to see you again after all this time only to find that I actually am going to die."
Ana heard a man's laugh behind her. Turning, she saw her brother standing in the doorway.
"I believe they call that poetic justice," Prescott said.
TBC
A/N: Okay, before anyone leaves me any reviews to this effect. I have no medical knowledge whatsoever. I read a situation similar to Chris' in another book. In that incident, the bullet entered through the armpit during a duel and became lodged beneath the shoulder blade. The injury itself was not fatal, but the person would eventually die from infection. So, that is the basis for Chris' injury. Now, please don't leave without sending me a review!