Nine

"I'm that sorry, m'lord, I just pass on wot they tell me, I don't make no decisions." The slatternly barmaid pretended to wipe down the table before her grime-smeared customer, then stealthily passed him a small bag that jingled slightly.

The man scooped it up neatly and pocketed it. "Now you listen to me, girl. The powers that be are growing more suspicious by the day. If I don't feed them at least one piece of accurate information bloody damn soon, this whole game will be up. And believe me, at that point I'll have no reason not to tell everything I know." A curiously pale hand and arm shot out from the man's heavy jacket and grabbed her wrist.

The girl's eyes bugged out. This one had never gotten violent; his personal timidity was becoming a standing joke in this seedy and violent section of town. "But sir, I dunno wot ta tell 'em, not that they'd listen to the likes of me."

"You will make it very clear to your master that he must throw me a bone. Tell him to choose whatever raiding party he wishes; someone he doesn't much care for will do. Then you tell me exactly where and when, so that I can get the Navy off my back. Is that clear?"

She nodded gravely, wishing to heaven she'd never gotten involved in this. But the money had been good; had been necessary. "Yes, m'lord. Come back three days from now and I should have heard back."

The man rose, his expression grim. "Three days, no more."

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Caitlyn O'Shea's face burned with mortification as she was hustled aboard the Black Pearl. First treated like a seamstress, then dragged onto a pirate ship as if she were a sack of flour! It was not to be borne. As soon as she gained her feet, she drew herself up proudly. "Really, Captain Sparrow, I don't know what you think you're about. Attacking one of my brother's ships is utterly mad."

The crew smirked as Jack turned to her. "You think so, eh? Well, it all depends on what my goal is, don't you agree?" He grinned at her cheerfully. She'd done a decent job on his buttons.

She shrugged. "I suppose you intend to sail against my brother's holdings, using the Catalina for a decoy."

Jack gave her a sidelong glance. "Fairly clever, aren't you, love? Let me ask you, Miss O'Shea…" he tilted his head toward the Catalina. "Do you see any of my crew on deck there? No. That is because we are not taking the ship. We are, in fact, sending her home all safe and sound, with a message for your brother." A smile spread across his face as he noted her puzzled expression.

"You'd be enough of a prize yourself, love. Ransom can be a very lucrative business." Ransom! Dear God, she was doomed. "But as it happens, I don't need your brother's gold either, though I'd happily pinch it if it were left layin' around."

Fear made her reckless. "Then what the hell DO you want?" she shouted in his face.

"I want your brother. And you're the way I'm going to get him." Jack's voice was cold as ice, and she shakily sat herself down as the crew hustled off to their stations. "Captain Patchell is even now getting underway with a message, demanding that your brother come in person to Buff Bay to ransom you. He is to bring but one ship, or your life is forfeit." The gleam of gold illuminated Jack's grim smile. "And when he shows up, I'm going to kill him."

Caitlyn felt oddly peaceful now. "Look, I don't know why you hate him so much, but there's a long line of men wanting to kill him," she sighed, "which I'm sure is no surprise to you. You'd save yourself a good bit of trouble if you chucked me overboard this instant." She rose and went to the rail, gazing out over the ocean swells.

Jack's confident demeanor dissolved ever so slightly. "What are you saying to me, love? Sir Robert O'Shea is too much of a coward to rescue his own sister?"

She looked up at him bleakly, her eyes reflecting the blue of the Caribbean sea. "I'm saying, that Sir Robert might possibly reward you for dispatching me from the land of the living. He is, shall we say, not a very good brother."

Jack controlled himself with an effort. "You'll excuse me if I don't believe you right off, love. I expect even a devil like him feels some responsibility for you, therefore I'll carry on with my plans. But perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell me why you think he'd leave you to a band of bloody pirates." A freshening wind whipped his hair as the Pearl picked up speed.

She almost smiled; men could be very dense indeed. "You surprise me, Captain Sparrow. You've met Robert, and believe him to be a complete bastard. I lived with him, and I know him to be even worse than you think. And there is nothing a man hates more than someone who knows what he really is."

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Kidder set the used dinner plates beside the scullery sink, then opened the back door to the butcher. "Kind of you to deliver personally, Tom. Just set that ham on the work table there, if you would." He hoped Tom would be in too much of a hurry to bend his ear with the usual gossip. He was doomed to disappointment.

"Aye, Mr. Kidder, it's a busy life and no mistake. But it has its compensations. I gets around, I does, and I see some interestin' things." Tom wiped his enormous, greasy hands on his apron, and winked. "You'd never believe who I saw when I was deliverin' a side of beef to the Pig's Eye Pub."

Kidder's lips set in a straight line. "The devil himself, I shouldn't wonder, considering the neighborhood."

Tom laughed loudly. "Old Scratch was tendin' bar, near as I could tell. Nay, it was that high an' mighty Navy man what's been courting Miss Sarah." He leaned one beefy elbow on the sink's edge, obviously enjoying his possession of valuable knowledge.

"You are surely mistaken, Tom. The Captain's a gentleman of upright character and habits, not given to drink." Kidder reflected. "He even turned down the Commodore's fine port at supper."

"No mistake. I stop at the barracks near every day and I'd know him anywhere, even with them old clothes he was wearin'. And he weren't turning nothin' down that I could see. Put away two or three beers while I was waiting to get paid, and fer some reason the barmaid gave him a bag of somethin' as well."

"Be that as it may, I have no time for idle gossip. What Captain Gillette does in his spare time is the Commodore's concern, not mine."

Tom took that for what it was, dismissal and a strong hint to be on his way. "Mark my words, Mr. Kidder, something's goin' on there that's not on the up and up. Miss Norrington might want to be careful." Kidder made a mental note to clean the back doorknob as Tom's huge hand grasped it. "The Captain's said to be on his way to the poorhouse with 'is gambling. Push comes to shove, I don't expect the Commodore to be happy with a match like that one."

Kidder grimaced as the door slammed. Lord above, tradesmen could be as gossipy as maiden ladies when it came to their betters. He whirled as someone quietly cleared their throat behind him.

Sarah Norrington leaned against the doorframe in a most unladylike stance, one eyebrow raised in what he recognized as her brother's characteristic expression. Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Mr. Kidder? I believe you have something to tell me."

Ten

Norrington's boots thudded loudly as he strode down the dock. "This time, Gillette, we will take one alive, and get some information out of him. Do whatever you must."

Gillette shivered unnoticeably. "Yes sir! With all the men we've ordered to sail, I am certain we can put a stop to this." Or my career is finished before it really starts.

A muscle bulged along Norrington's jaw. "The Cornwall and Hercules will approach from the west; the Dauntless from the east. We'll catch them in a vise somewhere between Port Maria and Port Antonio. Use every caution, but do NOT kill them all. Is that clear?"

Gillette's back was stiff as iron. "Yes, sir, very clear." He saluted as they parted to take command, each of their own ship. The tide was with them as they cast off, and a brisk and rising wind filled their sails.

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Mr. Gibbs had drained his flask already, and it was only noon. This little excursion of Jack's had the whole crew disoriented; only their captain's confidence and personal charisma had kept them from grumbling. As he guided the Pearl past Port Antonio, Gibbs reflected that it was only to be expected, when you'd got a woman on board.

She never stopped talking, either. Right now she was trailing after the captain as he scanned the shoreline. "Captain Sparrow, I don't think you've been listening to me. My brother is not coming. He never leaves his fortress. He will most likely not send a ship at all." Her voice rose as Jack ignored her. "You're wasting your time, you bloody pirate!"

Jack snapped his spyglass shut. "Privateer, love. I've got me letter of marque, all nicely decorated with the King's seal." He smirked shamelessly.

"And you're attempting to kill a British subject? I can't think his Majesty will be all that thrilled to hear of it." Caitlyn irritably smoothed her hair back and re-tied the sash that held it in place. She had scrounged some breeches and a comfortable shirt from a cupboard in her tiny cabin, and was now strolling the decks barefoot, in spite of the shocked stares of the crew.

"Tell me, Miss O'Shea, you're what – twenty-five or six?"

"Six. And I fail to see what on earth that has to do with our discussion."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Twenty-six and not married. Wonder why that is? It couldn't be due to your habit of hounding every man within earshot to his death, could it?" Her mouth fell open; a choked "oh!" was all that came out.

"I see I've rendered you speechless; I'll take advantage of that." Jack's eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze fully to her. "Your brother usually sails under Spanish colors, therefore I am at liberty to attack his ships whenever and wherever I choose. But even if that were not the case, I would follow the exact course I'm on right now." He checked the tension in the rigging, then glanced aloft to the crow's nest. "Ahoy Mr. Cotton! Any sign of our prey?" The mute man shook his head and indicated by hand signals that no ship had been spied.

Caitlyn's pride had been stung, and she soon regained her power of speech. "Captain Sparrow, I know I'm not one of your pinky-lifting English ladies, but I assure you I would have been married and perhaps a mother by now despite my flaws… if it hadn't been for Robert." She laughed bitterly. "Two men have asked me to be their wife; by a remarkable coincidence, they both met untimely deaths a few days later. I seriously doubt that anyone else will come courting." Jack merely watched her, his dark eyes thoughtful.

She leaned on the rail and watched the nearing shoreline. "You may see Robert as some powerful warlord with hundreds of valiant allies. Couldn't be further from the truth. His men loathe him. He's had three attempts on his life, all from someone he trusted. He has no human feelings, no morals, not even a healthy fear of the Almighty to reign in his behavior. You may draw your own conclusions as to whether he'd give a brass farthing that his only living relative has been kidnapped." She raised her glance to his, her mouth drawn in a tight line.

Jack joined her at the rail; he seemed to be looking deep into the waves, right to the heart of the earth. When he spoke his voice was gravelly with emotion. "I met your brother years ago in Morocco. You would have been about eight. He was a ship's captain then, just starting out in his career as a slaver. I had just finished a stint as first mate and was enjoying myself in Tangier."

A school of fish just beneath the surface of the waves was set upon by wheeling seabirds. "We had a disagreement. He didn't take it well. The next morning I woke up in the personal prison of a sheikh friend of his. A real garden spot it was, complete with a dead body rotting in the cell next to mine."

"Robert told me stories of Araby once when he was sotted," Caitlyn said softly. "I always hoped he was embroidering the truth to frighten me."

"If he described hell on earth, he was utterly accurate. I spent a year there, Miss O'Shea. My only view of the blessed day was a three-inch hole in the wall. I could not hear the sea nor smell it, nor see the sky – or birds or –" he broke off, struggling to steady his voice.

Caitlyn reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "That's what he took from you, isn't it? Your freedom." And this time, it was Jack who was silent.

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The Dauntless had hardly got underway when a shout came from the provost. "Commodore, we're being hailed, to port!"

Norrington strode to the port side and peered down at the murky water. "Good God, have they gone mad?" A tiny dinghy with a single tattered sail was skipping smartly alongside the huge warship. A grizzled and ancient sailor hunched over the tiller, and a woman – a woman – half-stood in the bow, waving her arms. Norrington blinked, peered, and went white as salt.

Then orders erupted from him. "Mr. Brinkley, prepare to take on passengers! There is to be no change in our course." The provost stared for an instant, then ordered a line cast so the dinghy could tie up to them and be towed. A rope-and-wood ladder unfurled to the waterline. After a tense wait, a hatless and disheveled Sarah Norrington scrambled onto the deck.

Her astonished brother hustled her to his cabin before she could say a word. She assumed he was too angry to speak, but instead he hugged her tightly.

"James, I've got something important to tell you."

He drew back and looked at her. "I know. I was ready to kill you when I saw you alongside of us, then I realized that you would not have done it if it weren't an emergency."

"I overheard some tradesmen's talk that positively scared me witless. I'm sorry to tell you that you may have a traitor in the ranks."

Norrington stiffened. "This is a very serious accusation, Sarah. I cannot possibly bring charges without firm evidence." She was starting to shake from the excitement; he guided her to a seat. "Tell me everything."

Ten minutes later he was bloody furious. "I cannot believe that my sister – whom I have heretofore believed to be an intelligent if somewhat frivolous person – risked her safety and reputation to bring me an utterly unreliable mess of gossip, and about a person to whom I have entrusted both my life and a ship of the line!"

"James, I did what I thought best! You can't think that I would hear such things, and blithely let you go off to be stabbed in the back. What sort of person would I be to stay in my comfortable parlor while you risked being betrayed by one of your own officers?" The adrenaline of the adventure had worn off, and Sarah found herself teary and trembling. "And here I thought he liked me. He's obviously using me to disarm suspicion."

"I haven't time to even consider these accusations. Gillette has never given me reason to doubt his loyalty, none whatsoever. You will go ashore at once." His voice had grown very cold. Sarah rose, her expression solemn.

"Ridiculous it may be. But it would certainly explain why your information on the raids is always wrong!" She bit her lip. "Look, James, all I ask is that you watch your back, all right?"

He turned away from her, flinging open the cabin door. "Ho, Mr. Brinkley! Assist Miss Norrington to her boat and see that she returns –" Norrington swore, at length and with energetic enthusiasm, to a degree which drew admiring glances from his men. In the brief space of time since Sarah had come aboard, the sky had gone nearly black, and the wind had picked up to twenty knots.

The Dauntless was nearly clear of the protection of the bay, and his experienced eye noted that the chop was stiff and growing worse. He saw with a feeling akin to desperation that the feckless owner of the dinghy had disengaged and was probably safely back home. If he put Sarah in one of the ship's lifeboats and had her rowed to shore in heavy seas, there was a distinct possibility that he would never again see her alive.

When Fate plays you for a fool, you might as well laugh with the rest. He turned to Sarah and gave her a grim smile. "Well, little sister, it seems you will be having a very interesting journey indeed."