Hey guys—I'm so, so sorry about the delay; for a while I had the first part written, but it was so uninspired, and I had some minor writer's block. Then I got caught up in my other serious fic, and it kind of sucked me in. I've also been having some bad days lately (long term illness...).
I probably could have had this chapter out sooner, but it would have been mediocre at best. Even this...it was difficult, and I'm still not sure what I think of it. Please forgive me.
Chapter Four – Escape
The metal door clanged shut jarringly followed by the final click of a padlock.
Elizabeth met Abel's gaze through the grimy bars. He grimaced and motioned at the cramped cell, the low stone ceilings and rough walls, weeping in the damp air.
"I know it ain't much, but I got ye yer own cell. This way ye won't be bothered." He looked as if he regretted not being able to do more. Elizabeth sighed in resignation. He was trying.
"Thank you." He looked up at this, quite surprised. "Tell me," she blurted abruptly, "what hold has the captain over you? What do you owe him that he may intimidate you so? Can you not escape?" She saw in his eyes she had gone too far, and bit her lip in chagrin. He stood stiff in front of her, concentrating intensely on the rusted loop of metal that secured the cell door.
"I don't wish to escape," he said finally. He turned and left without another glance at her.
She kicked the iron bars in frustration, then cringed in pain. She might as well be barefoot for all the protection her delicate lady's slippers afforded her. Clutching her toes in one had, she slumped half-down the wall (she wasn't far gone enough yet to risk the vile-looking floor).
Now she was really done for. Not only was she locked up as securely as a lunatic in Bedlam, but she had successfully alienated her solitary—questionable to say the least—ally among the crew.
"Bugger." The word burst up from her tongue and onto the air, deliciously shocking.
Things were looking worse and worse. She realized with sudden clarity that she had spent the last few days in a delirious fog induced by fever and injury, and any brilliant plans hatched in said state of mind would have to be thoroughly scrapped.
All her vaunted courage and false energy melted out of her in a rush, leaving her limp and defeated.
Dropping her head into her hands, Elizabeth finally let herself cry.
It started as a trickle, each tear squeezed out of her with painful pressure, but soon increased to a torrent as she cried for her husband and his broken gift, the child that could have been his legacy, the loss of their future, the cruel ripping away of her dreams of motherhood.
She cried for everything, and after a while because she had nothing.
Her fists clenched so tightly the nails pierced her palms, she tasted the salt on her lips, the salt that had become the mainstay of her existence this past week, from the sea and from tears. Her hair fell over her face, heavy and unwashed, making her face itch, and her dress was stiff and chafing from seawater.
Elizabeth barely noticed the physical discomfort. She curled up and fell hard sideways, losing her breath when she hit the weeping stone floor.
As she lay there and tried to cry again through her headache, she saw not her cramped two-yard square cell but the face of her dead love, and she felt a bitter cold bite at her bones as it slowly enveloped her.
She was ice, inside and out.
Someone was shaking her. Elizabeth made a protesting noise.
"Lass," came a harsh whisper. "Wake up, lass!"
She came awake abruptly, sitting up stiffly and squinting in the darkness. She stood up from her position on the floor. "Abel?"
"Aye, tis I." His features were blurred in the darkness, only the whites of his eyes clear. He moved closer, so they were eye to eye through the rusted bars. He was breathing shallowly, quickly.
"Listen now. I found a way for ye to escape."
Elizabeth jumped in sudden excitement. "You did? What is it?" her voice came out in a hoarse squeak.
"Quiet! I ain't supposed to be down 'ere!" he hissed sharply at her.
Elizabeth bit her lip and nodded. "What's the plan then?"
A jingle sounded in the darkness as he held up his fist, showing her a ring of heavy keys. "I'll unlock yer cell now, but don't leave yet." He looked sharply at her as he said this. "the Cap'n an' I are going out in a little bit. Ye'll wait an hour an' leave quietly. Lock the door behind ye."
She nodded. "I understand. That way they won't suspect you of helping me."
He handed her a wrapped bundle through the bars. "There's some dinner, I 'spect ye's hungry." Elizabeth took it gratefully.
"Thank you for all your help, Abel. Have you heard tell of a man named Jack Sparrow?" She could almost feel him tense.
"Aye."
"Is he here in Tortuga, do you know?" She pushed the hope down fiercely.
"Maybe."
Drunk with excitement, she gave no thought to Abel's monosyllabic answers. "He is?! Where can he be found? Is there an inn where he's staying?"
"He stays sometime at the Drunken Sailor tavern. But t'ain't no place for a lady."
"Oh, Abel. I may be a lady, but that doesn't mean I'm always ladylike." She laughed hollowly. "Thank you ever so much. I know I can never repay you, but if there is ever anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask. My name is Elizabeth Swann Turner and I live in Port Royal, of which my father is the governor. He will be most grateful to you for saving his daughter's life."
He looked down. "I didn't save yer life. I just...I've seen what he does to wenches—er, women—an' I reckon he's hurt ye enough." She could sense his embarrassment at what must have been rare praise for a man like him.
"Yes, well...you're a good man, Abel." She grinned cheekily. "For a pirate, that is."
That earned a small smile from the taciturn man. "Goodbye, then, lass." He looked at her seriously, all traces of amusement vanished. "You be careful now."
Elizabeth nodded, her smile wiped clean. "I will. Farewell."
He gave a sharp nod, then turn and walked away from her, worn boots swishing on the stone floor.
Elizabeth looked thoughtfully after him for a moment, then tucked voraciously into her meal. Finishing quickly, she settled in for the wait.
She waited past when she thought it had been an hour, unsure of her ability to measure time in a sunless cell, practically twitching with energy.
Rising, she went to the iron bars and peered into the gloom, trying to ascertain whether or not she was being guarded. A great lump of snoring male caught her attention just beyond the edge of the door. She exhaled in satisfaction. This was almost too easy.
Reaching one slim hand through the bars, she pulled down the heavy square bottom of the padlock, which scraped open quietly. She put the freed lock in a petticoat pocket and grasped the heavy rusted bars in both hands. Lord, if you're listening right now, please give me a head start, she thought with a glance heavenward. A grit of her teeth, a push, and an alarming groan as the metal doors grated against each other.
Elizabeth stopped breathing, letting go of the door, which swung out the rest of the way with a quiet squeak. Not daring to move, she darted her gaze over to the sleeping guard, who was miraculously undisturbed. She drooped in relief, shaking violently.
She stepped out into the dank corridor of the underground jail and swung the cell door closed again. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she gave the bars a mighty push and winced as it clanged into place.
An arrested snort—a low grunt echoed in the stone hallway as the guard fell of his chair. Elizabeth jumped, her heart beating rapidly after the initial blind terror. She ran, bare feet scraping the rough stone floor. She navigated the dim hallway, stumbling a few times and actually falling once at a particularly narrow spot. The guard was gaining on her; she could hear his heavy breathing behind her. She finally came to an uneven staircase and stumbled up it, stubbing her toe and grimacing without pause, her steps quicker and more unstable as her panic escalated.
Suddenly she was in the open air, sun blinding after all that dank dungeon air. She heard the portly guard falter behind her in the afternoon light, and trusting her instincts, she darted down the street, weaving in between drunks and prostitutes, and leering men in once-stylish foppish clothes. She ignored them all and concentrated on evading her pursuer. She glanced back at him, and realized with shock that he was almost upon her. Thinking quickly, she plunged he hand into her pocket and brought out the heavy padlock, spinning around and throwing it hard into the guard's face,
He howled. She ran as if the devil was on her heels, success giving her new energy. Looking back again, she saw that he was slowing, panting and out of breath from all the extra weight he carried, cursing at her, exerting himself in the hot sun. Yet he did not stop. Elizabeth redoubled her efforts and ran a few more yards, and then without warning ducked into a dark shop.
It was pitch dark inside to her noon-burned eyes. She waited a few beats, then peered out again into the alley.
The man was nowhere to be found.
Taking a breath, she pulled her head back in, deciding not to risk discovery yet. She looked inquisitively around to see what kind of a place she had landed herself in.
A lone woman sat at the cashier's counter, stern-faced and suspicious. Glancing around her at the shop's dusty shelves, which were stuffed with all kinds of unrecognizable paraphernalia, she walked warily over to the proprietress. The woman had a dark, heavy face, thick jet eyebrows that overshadowed her hooded eyes. She was dressed shabbily, in many layers of mismatched clothing.
Elizabeth, curiously taking a closer look at the wares on the counter, recoiled in shocked disgust.
Floating in jars were several dismembered body parts, most of which were too small to have come from humans—although she wasn't convinced about some of them. Heart pounding, she stepped away from the woman, who had yet to say a word, and scrutinized the contents of the rough-hewn shelves. She saw jars of various herbs and solutions in odd colours, of carefully preserved insects and other...items...that her eyes darted quickly over, a nauseous feeling in her stomach.
Elizabeth looked back at the woman, whose head was wrapped in a faded blue kerchief, obscuring her hair; feathered bone pierced her ears and nose, as well as her bottom lip. With her hair concealed, she could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty, having that ageless look of natives to the Caribbean Isles.
Elizabeth had the dawning realization that she stood in front of a witch, a female shaman. She swallowed; they were said to have mystical powers, these women, and while Elizabeth had never put any stock in the raving tales of drunken sailors, she felt a sudden dryness in the back of her throat at the eerie glint in the woman's coal-coloured eyes.
She gathered her courage and approached the woman once more. She noticed with a start that the woman did indeed have the marks of long age upon her face; they simply faded in the dim shadows of the shop.
"I don't suppose you speak English?" she said a bit hopelessly, faced with a formidable wall of silence.
"I speak," said the woman, in a low, rich voice, like dark honey.
Elizabeth bit her lip, flushing slightly. Her eyes skittered nervously over the dusty surfaces of the table. "Yes well, I... I wonder if you could direct me to—"
"You have lost your daughter," the voice interrupted her with a measured cadence.
Elizabeth gasped and doubled over, the colour struck from her face, white and shaking. She stared dumbly at the witch-woman, eyes wide and glassy with shock. "How did you...?" Her voice was a choked, dead thing. Her daughter...it was a girl? Elizabeth shook her head in violent denial, refusing to believe the witch's tall talles.
"She has been taken from you," the woman said with great sorrow. Elizabeth was shocked beyond words, both at the woman's unearthly knowledge and the sudden sympathy in the woman's ere now inscrutable face. "You seek revenge, do you not?" came a sudden low whisper. "You wish to cause them pain, those who wronged you." Elizabeth's heart began beating rapidly in her chest, a feeling of fright and panic overtaking her. How did she know? She started backing away slowly, eyes glued to the witch woman's suddenly flaming ones, guarding against any sudden movements.
The woman laughed suddenly, unexpectedly deep and beautiful. It was soothing somehow, almost motherly, although Elizabeth hadn't felt a mother's touch in so long that her estimation of it was shaky at best. She took a sobbing breath. "Regardless of whether or not you are correct—" she paused and closed her eyes—"I have yet to grieve properly, and am...b-bereft of my family, and I would ask you to direct to me to friend." Feelin suddenly lost and alone, she looked with apprehensiion at the powerful woman in her deceptively dilapidated surroundings, hoping against hope that sometime soon she would be able to find rest in the familiar arms of friendship.
The woman regarded her a moment. Then, "Speak."
"He is staying at the Drunken Sailor." The shaman's eyes narrowed in disapproval.
"No place for girls like you." Elizabeth frowned, irritated, as the woman went on, "Who do you seek?"
"His name is Captain Jack Sparrow; his ship is the Black Pearl. It berths here from time to time..." she trailed off at the sharp glint of recognition in the woman's shining black eyes.
"I know Jack Sparrow. He is in Tortuga."
Elizabeth's breath came out in a sigh; her body slumped with intense relief. The witch pursed her lips. Elizabeth could have sworn the woman was fighting a smile as she stood and walked around her table to stand close.
The two women gazed at each other for a long moment, one old, one young, one deliberating, one waiting. One wise with the accumulated wrinkles of decades, and one in the full foolish bloom of youth despite her destroying grief. The shaman seemed to decide something, and the old lines of her face settled.
"I will bring him to you. Wait." With that she turned to go.
"What is your name?" Elizabeth blurted suddenly.
This time she did smile. "Oya." She nodded regally. "I will return."
With that she disappeared, and Elizabeth was left alone in the dusty half-light, feeling as if she had imagined the whole encounter.
Time passed and the shadows lengthened, golden afternoon light darkening to twilight, and still Elizabeth sat in silence, barely noting the passage of time.
She was turned inward, thinking of the carefree days she and Will had spent with Jack scant months before. Not even a year had passed since their madcap adventure, but those days of cursed Aztec gold and living dead men now seemed as fantastical and fake as a daydream. It had been a delirious interlude for Elizabeth—from the day she was introduced to the corset by her marriage-minded father, to the day Will presented her with the Lady Swann.
Gift to gift, a long dream of unnatural bliss, each present failing in its original purpose, with widely varying results. Even then, living it, she had known the joy was too pure, too sweet to last, and somewhere deep inside her she wasn't surprised. That nameless dread that had haunted her nights for the last month lay mockingly silent.
A sudden scraping sound roused Elizabeth from her reverie, and she raised her head, realizing of a sudden that she sat in gathering darkness. From the back of the shop came a loud thump, followed by the very colourful cursing of a very colourful man.
Elizabeth sat up straight in her rickety chair, recognizing the smooth voice. She heard the stike of a match, the flare of flame, and then two figures were walking toward her by lantern-light from the interior of the shop, one broad and brusque, the other tall and slim with a rolling, drunken gait that was oddly graceful—and to Elizabeth, achingly familiar. They came closer and she saw his handsome face lit by the golden glow of his lamp, that selfsame rakish grin lifting his features, gold teeth glinting. The light fell over her as he neared, and Elizabeth felt suddenly mortified as she realized what a state she must be in: knotted, filthy hair, torn dress crusted with dried blood and seawater, pale from blood loss and love loss. She looked down, away from those smiling dark eyes.
He dropped down next to her as Oya walked silently around lighting candles until not a single shadowy corner remained. Elizabeth stared about her in amazement, momentarily distracted. A laugh brought her attention back to the man who crouched before her on one knee, coffee-coloured eyes dancing in amusement. She saw a flash of gold in his mouth. "Her goddess," he gestured loosely around the shop, "wind and fire."
Elizabeth nodded slightly, bemused. He took in her appearance in the new light, and the smile dropped from his features. He frowned sharply at her through kohl-lined lashes, all traces of amusement gone from his eyes. "Elizabeth," he said slowly, "what happened, love?"
At the familiar mocking endearment, spoken in such a serious, almost gentle tone, she felt something rupture inside her, splintering with a physical pain, and the floodgates break wide. Elizabeth felt safe for the first time in endless hellish days, and with her fear went her resolve; her glass face shattered, and she let out a single, keening, "Jack," before bursting into deep, heaving sobs.
He put his arms round her shoulders and waist without a word, lifted her up with him and sat down with her on the decrepit chair. He held on as her body shuddered and shook with grief, a grave expression hardening his usually loose, ironic features. There were barely suppressed questions in his expressive eyes, but he bent his head, black hair falling over his face, and waited for the storm to abate.
In the corner, Oya watched over them with the barest hint of a smile in her wise eyes.
AN: Oya is the name of the Afro-Caribbean deity of wind and fire. I found it at h t t p : w w w . g a m i n g g e e k s . o r g / R e s o u r c e s / K a t e M o n k / E n g l a n d – C o l o n i e s / W e s t – I n d i e s . h t m
OpraNoodlemantra: Hey! Hope you haven't given up on me, though I wouldn't blame you. bites lip Sorry! I hope you like this chapter. More Abel, since you liked him. This isn't his final appearance by any means. What do you think of the shaman? I know the JE was brief, there'll be more in ch. 5. Thanks for the good wishes :o).
padme17: Thank you! Sorry about the long delay. I hope you like the new chapter, I know it's a bit different.
carby luva 313: He's here...finally, though briefly. God I love writing Jack. ;o) He's such a character, personality wise. Although the Depp-goodness is definitely tasty.
Smartstar247: Thanks! Here you go, the Sparrow! (Dude, did I just rhyme?) Let me know what you think of the developments... :o)
Let me know what you think of this chapter... the next - will be full of JE interaction. ;o)