Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.
A/N: Thank you so so so much to everyone who has reviewed this story. I appreciate your feedback so very much!
Chapter Twenty Seven:
Prescott sat in the hard backed chair, rubbing his temples. He still hadn't had the sleep he so desperately craved. The Interceptor and her prizes, had made port earlier that morning, less than 24 hours after the discovery of Laffley's death. Norrington had sent word to Admiralty concerning the murder. As a result, he and Prescott had been ordered to report to Admiral Fornin at their earliest convenience, which meant immediately.
Admiral Fornin's lobby was a spacious room filled out with an enormous stone fireplace, a half dozen oriental rugs, and some of the finest furniture brought all the way from England. Every table was covered with past issues of the Naval Gazette, including one from the last year in which a particularly troublesome Spaniard was "brought down by the cunning, and daring of Captain Prescott Tarret of HMS Loyalty." Prescott absently flipped through the article. The story was sensational, making Prescott sound like he single handedly destroyed one of England's greatest enemies. Jack Sparrow's escape was blamed on Don Cornado, just as Prescott had falsely reported. No mention was made of Annie, and her role in the events. James Norrington was credited as "providing invaluable support to Captain Tarret."
Shaking his head, Prescott leaned back in his chair. James was giving his report to Admiral Fornin this very moment. This time, Prescott had not threatened Norrington's career, or pleaded with the other officer to lie to Admiralty. James' thoughts were almost completely wrapped around Chris Laffley's murder. Nearly everyone aboard the Interceptor had been questioned, and still the culprit had not been apprehended. A murder aboard one's ship, event if the man murdered happened to be a pirate, would cause James enough problems.
A pirate. Prescott had told James that Chris was the captain of the Lady Maria. After his death, Annie came forward to corroborate his story. James ordered that Laffley be buried at sea, without ceremony, as a pirate. No words were read over his body. No salutes had been fired. He was buried as disgracefully as he had lived his life.
Annie had stayed below decks. She had hardly spoken since Chris' death, not to Prescott, not to James, not even to Sparrow. When she was not shut up in her cabin, she stood by the rail on the quarterdeck staring blankly at the horizon.
After discovering Laffley's body, Prescott returned to the sick berth to inform the pirate captain. Jack had not appeared particularly pleased or saddened by the news. He also hadn't appeared particularly surprised, but Prescott was trying not to think of that fact.
"Interesting reading?" James' voice broke into Prescott's reverie.
Tossing the Gazette to the table and rising to meet his fellow officer, Prescott answered, "I was just reading about the brilliant and dashing Captain Tarret."
James smiled. "I remember reading an article about my conveying Port Royal's new governor across the Atlantic," he said. "Apparently, I battled pirates and sea monsters the entire time." James paused and shrugged.
"What did Fornin have to say about Laffley?" Prescott asked.
"He said all of the proper things. He was deeply troubled to hear that one of England's finest had resorted to a life of crime and forever in our debt for dealing with the enemies of the Empire. You know," James said, waving his hand dismissively. "He did say something interesting, however."
"What was that?"
"Well, reporting to him is just a courtesy," he said. "He's retiring and the new Admiral is due to arrive later today."
"Meaning we'll have to go through all of this again in a few hours?" Prescott rolled his eyes. "Am I never to be allowed sleep again?"
James inclined his head towards the Admiral's office. "If you hurry, you may just have time for a nap," he said, chuckling knowingly, before taking his leave.
Admiral Fornin's office was designed to be an imposing place. The Admiral was always seated behind a massive mahogany desk, covered with important looking documents. The Admiral's aide, outfitted in the most pristine uniform that Prescott had ever seen, would stand at the Admiral's elbow at his beck and call. A reporting officer was never permitted to sit down, instead he stood at rigid attention and did not speak, move, or even breathe until the Admiral addressed him.
For Prescott, the situation was somewhat different. Nearly nine years ago, when he was a lieutenant on Fornin's flagship, three pirate ships had attacked at once. The attack was well planned and nearly perfectly executed, odd for pirates. A bullet emblazoned with Fornin's name was on it's way home, when Prescott leapt in front of the Admiral. The bullet had ripped through Prescott's right shoulder forcing him to endure convalescence for nearly three weeks, but he recovered and was labeled a hero for saving the life of and Admiral. Ever since that day, Prescott had been invited to Fornin's estate for Christmas and the Admiral even treated his subordinate like a fellow human being. Still, Prescott hadn't the slightest idea how to speak to the Admiral. No matter what one has done for an Admiral, one does not presume to be to friendly with his superior officers.
"Ah, Prescott," Fornin started, rising from his desk and coming around to greet the Captain. "Good to see you again, son." He clapped one hand on Prescott's shoulder and used the other to engage in a firm handshake.
Son? Blinking a few times and fighting to recover his voice, Prescott said, "Good to be back, Sir."
"Indeed," the Admiral's face was grim. "Captain Norrington told me what transpired these past few days, that you were held captive aboard a pirate ship masquerading as an East Indiaman." Fornin shook his head sympathetically. "Damn lucky to have you back, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Not at all, Sir," Prescott stumbled over his words. Fornin had always treated him with dignity and respect, but this? He was being almost affectionate.
"Can't imagine how horrible that must have been," the Admiral continued. "Those brigands have been terrorizing English ships in these waters for almost a year now."
"Indeed, Sir," Prescott couldn't help but break in. "Why is this the first I've heard of them?"
The Admiral motioned for Prescott to sit down. "Couldn't very well tell the people that pirates were dressing up like East India agents. We'd start a panic. Every decent merchant in these waters would be suspect."
Prescott nodded, pretending to understand. "What of the Loyalty?" he asked. "She was boarded by these pirates."
"How could I forget? You even managed to restore one of our finest fighting vessels to her proper duty. You arrived just in time," the Admiral explained. "The crew was due to be hanged tomorrow morning. Not to be worried about now, though. You foiled Voller's plans and the real pirates will be brought to justice." A proud smile spread across Fornin's face, "England owes you a debt of gratitude, son."
There it was again. Son. What in the world was that about? "I only do my duty, Sir," Prescott replied automatically.
"Duty? Bah," Fornin exclaimed. "Bringing one pirate ship to justice is doing one's duty. You brought down three major pirate threats with one shot."
"Three, Sir?"
"Voller, Laffley and Sparrow, of course."
"I was not acting alone," Prescott said.
"Captain Norrington's report says that he could never have managed such a feat without you, Prescott. He told me that he acted under your direction and merely provided assistance."
"Captain Norrington sells himself short."
"It is you, Sir, that sells himself short," Fornin gestured to his aide, who moved to retrieve something from a closet. "England is in your debt. Her King is in your debt, and her people around the world will not forget your actions."
The aide returned, carrying a magnificent uniform, crisply pressed and covered with gold brocade. Prescott's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open.
"You must have heard news of my retirement," the Admiral took the uniform from his aide and draped it across the chair next to Prescott. "As a gift of thanks from His Majesty, I am to be allowed to name my replacement."
Prescott swallowed hard. His vision began to swim, and the room seemed to be spinning ever so slightly.
"Do you accept, Admiral Tarret?"
88888
"Sarah!" Anamaria shouted up and down the halls for her maid.
"Yes, Mum?" Sarah answered, stepping into her mistresses bedroom.
Ana crossed the room, carrying three Captain's uniforms in one hand and a pair of leather boots in the other. "Take these please," she said. "And get rid of them."
"Get rid of them?" Sarah repeated, gaping at Ana.
"Do my instructions need clarification!" she shouted.
"No. No, of course not," Sarah sheepishly took the uniforms and the boots and disappeared from sight.
Shaking her head in a vain effort to clear it, Ana walked out onto her balcony. Leaning her elbows on the railing, she crossed her hands and gazed out to the sea. She had been standing in this very spot only five days ago, when the idea to go find Jack on his birthday had first popped into her head. She had been staring at the horizon and wondering what Jack was doing that very second, wondering if he looked to the edge of the world and thought about her too.
"Here, Mum," Sarah stood beside her and sat a steaming cup on the railing. "A toddy to calm you. I made it with that rum you like."
"I don't like rum," Ana snapped.
"Sorry, Mum," Sarah bowed her head. "I'll bring something else . . ."
"No, Sarah, leave it." Ana sighed. "I'm the one who should apologize. I've just had a very trying week."
"What happened?" Sarah's eyes grew wide with concern.
"Up until yesterday, Mr. Laffley was still alive," Ana said the words as impassively as she could.
Sarah's hand rose to cover her gaping mouth. "Alive? How?"
"Apparently, during that storm in which he supposedly died, he was picked up by a pirate ship. He then became that ship's Captain and simply chose to stay away. And that's not all," Ana held her hand up to silence the flood of questions that were trying to escape from her maid's throat. "He's been lying to me since the day we first met. The things he'd done . . . Sarah, Chris was not the man either of us thought he was."
"Kidnapped," Sarah repeated the word quietly, as though it were a curse. "How awful."
"He wasn't the man I thought he was, Sarah, but he was my husband. I wasn't afraid. It really wasn't that awful, until . . . " Ana's thoughts wandered back to the day that the Interceptor spotted Chris' pirate ship. Instead of yielding to a superior force, Chris had chosen to fight it out. The small redwood ship was destroyed. Her crew thrown into the sea.
"Until what?"
"Chris' ship went down. He and I were the only ones to survive." Ana remembered Chris' crew manning the Lady Maria's guns, fighting with all they had to try to defend her against the Royal Navy. The men had to have known that the Interceptor had twice the guns of their little sloop, but they fought anyway. They fought for their Captain, for their freedom. Ana pictured Doyle Matthew's lopsided smile. He had looked so young. She wondered if he had a family that worried about him, or a sweetheart that would never see that grin again.
Ana's thoughts were interrupted by a shot fired from the fort. She jumped at the unexpected sound. The fort fired again.
"What's going on?" she asked, as the fort fired a third time.
"Admiral Fornin announced his retirement. Maybe the new Admiral's arrived?" Sarah offered. A forth shot.
Ana shrugged, infinitely thankful for the distraction. She had already cried numerous times for the pirate crew so blinded by her husband's lies. She needed to think about something that would not make her weep. "I'm going to go to Prescott's," she said. "He'll know."
88888
"Captain Williams, Sir. And may I say, Sir, what a pleasure it is to be serving under an officer as distinguished as yourself, Sir."
Prescott nodded to his new flag Captain as he ascended the stairs leading to the Dauntless' quarterdeck. Smiling, Prescott acknowledged the complement. "Thank you, Captain. Call the ship's company, if you please."
Williams nodded and turned to face the maindeck. "All hands," he bellowed.
The cry rippled through the magnificent ship. Throughout the vessel, men would be stumbling out of hammocks, dropping whatever they were doing, and rushing to their positions on the maindeck to meet their new Admiral. Prescott remembered being a boy and watching a similar cacophony of activity over twenty years ago, when Admiral Fornin had arrived in the West Indies and raised his flag.
"Ship's company assembled, Sir," Williams reported.
Prescott touched his hat in reply. Taking out his orders, he began to read. "Orders from the Commissioners for executing office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland, addressed to Rear Admiral Prescott Tarret of His Majesty's Navy. You are hereby requested and required to raise your flag over His Majesty's ship of the line Dauntless . . ."
He completed the reading of the orders. Folded the parchment and returned it to his pocket. The crew watched in silence as his flag was hoisted up the mainmast. Across the harbor, the fort's guns rang out at precise intervals eleven times, the proper salute for an Admiral. Now, he was legally in charge of the fleet in the West Indies. A position that could only be contested by a court martial or an act of parliament. A position that had never been bestowed on a man as young as Prescott. A position that he had gone his whole life hoping, someday, to achieve. Prescott shook his head sadly.
Looking out over his crew, Prescott realized that this was the moment for a speech. When he had read himself in charge of Loyalty, he had spoke of ridding the waters of the pirate menace. He had told his crew that they were bound for glory, for honor, and for prize money. His men had cheered wildly, laughing at their new Captain's sense of humor. As an Admiral, Prescott was not required to give a speech. Unless the King himself visited Jamaica, Prescott was hardly required to do anything he did not wish to do. He did not wish to give a speech about destroying pirates.
Walking to the edge of the quarterdeck, Prescott placed his hands on the rail and regarded his crew, waiting in eager anticipation for him to say something brilliant and dashing. "Men," he said finally. "I'm not a man who is found of pompous speeches and fancy words. I will not promise you fame and fortune. I will not promise you excitement and adventure, for I do not know if you will ever experience these things. I can promise you hard work, danger, and death waiting around each turn. I can also promise you the gratitude of a nation, of your nation. We do not sail for fame, or adventure. We sail for England. We sail to protect her, to protect our mothers, our wives, our sons and daughters." Prescott paused for effect, watching as smiles of family pride slowly took hold of the faces of his crew. "Men," he started again. "We sail because it is our duty, and our honor to defend the greatest Empire on this Earth!" A cry erupted somewhere in the midst of the crew. Within seconds every man standing before Prescott was cheering for his new commander. Prescott removed his hat and held it over his heart. "God Save the King!" The men removed their hats and boisterously echoed Prescott's words. "Captain Williams, you may dismiss the hands."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Williams answered, a broad smile refusing to let his lips return to their normal position.
Prescott felt an ache in his chest as he watched the crew return to their duties, or their leisure, whichever he had interrupted. He would have been very good at this.
"Captain Williams."
"Sir?"
"I must attend to a few things at the fort," Prescott said, "I will visit the Loyalty once more, and I must . . . I will say goodbye to my wife. I trust you will see to it that the ship is ready to embark."
"Aye, Sir. We can be ready by tomorrow afternoon, Sir."
"Very good, Captain."
88888
"Good morrow, Devin," Ana greeted Prescott's butler.
"Miss Annie," the elderly man bowed and admitted his guest. "What brings you here today?"
"I'm here to see my brother."
"He isn't at home, Miss," Devin said apologetically.
Ana's eyebrow rose. Glancing for the first time, over the butler's shoulder, she could see three trunks sitting in the foyer, and various other pieces of luggage strewn about. "Is the lady of the house at home."
"Indeed, Miss Bridget is in the bedroom. Shall I tell her you wish to see her?"
"No," Ana's eyes drifted up the stairs. "I'll just go up. I know the way."
Climbing the stairs, a lump began to form in Ana's throat. Devin was a good butler. He would never let on if something was amiss. That was not his place, but he could not hide the fact that something was not right.
"Bridget?" Ana said, as she tentatively entered the bedroom.
Her brother's wife sat on the edge of the bed, with one of Prescott's uniform jackets spread across her lap. Her fingers were tracing the edge of one of the epaulettes. When the other woman's eyes met Ana's, she could tell that Bridget had been crying. Her perfectly ivory skin was pink and splotchy. Her dainty lips were pulled into a pout.
"Bridget," Ana started again. "I saw the trunks downstairs. Are you and Prescott going somewhere?"
The woman's eyes drifted back to Prescott's uniform. She shook her head. "I'm leaving."
TBC
I know. I know. Still a lot of unanwered questions and no Jack. Worry not, my friends. Jack is back next chapter, and I will let you know who killed Chris! Please don't forget to review.