Yet again, usual disclaimers apply throughout this tale. If you recognise it, it probably belongs to the Mouse – else it is mine!

Chapter 39 – DeWitt's Revenge

Year 3 - Early January

Catherine walked up to the fort, hand in hand with young James Schott who had come to see her fight at the smithy. She left her breeches and sword at the smithy, changing back into a demure dress for the walk home – it would not do to scandalise the good folk of Port Royal too much. It was getting dark and she had promised the Commodore that she would see James back to his home safely.

Two men staggered out of an alley, reeling across their path, reeking of ale. "Sorry Miss," one of them slurred, trying to straighten and bow.

She stepped aside, but suddenly one of the men grabbed her, he was alert and not drunk at all. Fearing for James she fought madly. "Jimmy, run!" He bolted, the remaining man gave chase but gave up as the boy disappeared into the darkness. Angrily he belted her across the face. "Stupid bitch! Captain said no witnesses!" Something hit her on the head, her world turned black.

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James knew that Catherine had told him to run, but he was reluctant to leave her behind. The large man had chased him, but could not see him so he crept back, hiding in the dark. He heard them talking about a captain, but by the time he had gathered enough courage to creep closer they had gone. He looked round but could see no sign of them. He ran to Captain Groves' house, knowing it was closer and that there he would find the one person able to make this right.

"Jaaaaaaaccccckkkkkk!"

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Theodore and Jack sat the frightened boy in the lounge as he gasped out his story.

"Show me where, Jimmy!" Jack ordered.

"No Jack – the fort. If they have disappeared then we will need troops!" Theodore worried.

"They've got Kitty!" Jack raged.

"Do we give them James too then?" Theodore wanted to race to the spot as well, but knew that the troops were the best chance of finding his sister. "We don't know if they were after him also!"

"You take him – I'm looking!" Jack dashed out the door, murder in his eyes as Theodore and James headed in the other direction to the fort.

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Catherine awoke unsure if she was indeed awake for wherever she was it was pitch black. She was firmly tied, hands behind her back, to what she thought was a post for it felt wooden. She was left alone for a long time but eventually the dim light of a candle appeared above, revealing she was in a cellar. Two pairs of large boots descended from above. She flinched from the light but a rough hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to look towards it.

"That's her! Good work!" a voice said. She found herself staring into a face she recognised, but for a moment could not place.

"Captain!" Another pair of boots appeared, but their owner remained hidden. "Captain! Troops are searching houses!"

"Was t' be expected." He produced a dirty rag from his pocket, gagging her. "But you aren't going to make any noise, are you now?" He sat down near her, blowing out the candle. "Cover the hatch and remember your story…" The two men left and shut the hatch. She could hear furniture being moved above. Yet again she was in absolute darkness. The man, the captain, shuffled closer to her, placing his hands none too gently around her throat. "And don't you even think about it…" he threatened.

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Despite house to house searching by the troops of the fort, and some very illicit searching by Jack, no sign of Catherine was found other than the broken remains of her pearl necklace scattered on the ground where she had been snatched. Will found Jack despondently picking up each pearl, counting so he did not miss one.

"We'll find her Jack!" he vowed, but Jack did not answer; returning to Theodore's house he drank himself senseless.

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It took two days for Jack to sober up. He knew there was nothing he could do to find her – he did not even know if she was still on the island of Jamaica, on a ship, or on some other island. Unless the person that took her contacted him, he feared he would never know. So he returned to what he did best – taking ships. Every non-English ship in the Caribbean went in fear of the Black Pearl.

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