Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. In fact, I'm starting to suspect that they think they have some claim over me. They won't let me alone for more than a few minutes. I've been spending more time with them than I've been spending with my real friends...which really can't be a good sign, can it.


VII.
The Faithful Bride

She dress'd up in man's apparel,
Man's apparel she put on;
And she follow'd her true lover;
For to find him she is gone.
Then the Captain stepp'd up to her,
Asking her: What's brought you here?
I am come to seek my true love,
Whom I lately loved so dear.

--"William Taylor"


The sign above the door through which Captains Turner and Sparrow have vanished a few minutes past displays a picture of a fat, amiably-smiling lady in a white dress, under which runs a painstakingly-lettered caption: "The Faythfull Bryde."

Elizabeth looks into the painted lady's vacant, cow-like eyes, her lips twisting sardonically. If that is her appointed fate, no one can fault her from wanting to run away from it.

She takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold.

Her senses are immediately assaulted by noise, light, and a smell which seems to be an especially concentrated version of the Tortuga "bouquet," only with extra rum. She searches the crowd for her quarries, but cannot pick them out in the press of bodies; the recesses of the tavern are wreathed in smoke, and most of the patrons are taller than her.

Well, as she's here, she decides, she may as well ask about a room--more specifically, a room with a bath. Pulling her cap lower on her forehead to shadow her face, she pushes her way over to the bar, where a grizzled man she assumes to be the proprietor wipes down tankards perfunctorily before filling them with ale and handing them off to his customers.

It takes a little while for him to notice her there, until she pulls out a gold coin from her bag and casually flashes it his way.

"Yes? What can I do for ye, young master?"

Elizabeth glances surreptitiously from side to side, and suddenly sees Will, huddled in a corner and apparently deeply engrossed in serious consultation with Jack Sparrow. She hesitates for a second, watching them; Will leans forward while Jack gesticulates extravagantly--outlining some ill-conceived and slightly insane scheme or other, she has no doubt.

"Well, son? What is it ye be wanting, then?"

She turns back to him quickly, somewhat flustered, putting her back to the pair in case one of them should happen to look around.

"I was hoping to procure lodging for the night, sir." She places the coin down on the bar, fingers resting on it lightly.

He eyes it, bends toward her with a conspiratorial air. "Would ye be looking for any amenities, me friend? A woman or two to go wi' the room, perhaps? Won't cost ye more than another one of those, y'know..."

"No, no thank you," she says hastily. "Just the room. And a washbasin of hot water, if you please."

He looks highly disappointed, but gestures to one of the bar wenches as she passes by. "Rhianna! This young gentleman would like to be shown upstairs to a room."

"Aye, Donnie." The girl glides up to Elizabeth and takes her arm, smiling ingratiatingly. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"Just the room will be fine."

"Well, if you're sure about that..."

"Quite sure," Elizabeth says firmly. She slides the coin across to Donnie, and allows the girl to lead her toward the stairs.


"...So now she's angry at me," finishes Will, and looks to Jack for his response.

But Jack no longer seems to be paying attention.

"Jack..."

"What--? Oh, Elizabeth? You're afraid the lady intends to commit some immoderate action...like running off to sea disguised as a lad, for example."

Will stares at him blankly. "I didn't say that." He pauses, thinking about it. "You really suppose she'd do something so drastic?"

"Miss Swann...apologies...Mrs. Turner...she was never the sort to sit by when events failed to go her way, you know." Jack still sounds slightly abstracted.

"That's not very reassuring."

Jack shrugs. "Then again, the lass loved you enough to forsake a life of luxury and privilege as Mrs. Norrington, so who can say." He leans toward Will, dropping his voice. "Tell me something, Will...have you made any enemies in Tortuga lately?"

"Enemies? Here? Jack, I haven't dropped anchor at this island in years."

"Well, I noticed a gentleman over by the bar who appears distinctly interested to see us here...don't look," he hisses, as Will starts to turn. He sits back in his chair, to any casual eye relaxed and somewhat intoxicated, but Will observes how his right hand rests only a few inches from the hilt of his sword. "Wait for the opportune moment, my friend. Aye, there he goes," he says softly. "In the poncy blue doublet, with the mustaches. Recognize him?"

Will watches the man as he passes them on his way out the door. "No, he doesn't look familiar at all. Are you sure it was me he was interested in? You're much more well-known in these parts than I."

"Never seen him before in me life. Is he gone?"

"Aye."

"Good." Jack leans forward again, arching an inquiring eyebrow. "So 'fess up, m'boy. Precisely what sort of mess have you foolishly embroiled yourself in?"

Will shifts a trifle uneasily. "How do you know whether I'm embroiled in anything?"

"Consider it a lucky guess, if you wish. C'mon now...you can confide in ol' Jack. I promise I shan't inform against you. What is it...rum smuggling? Slave trade? Illegal coconuts?"

"None of the above," Will says.

"Don't be coy, lad. It's highly unbecoming."

Will sighs, resigned. "Privateering. Under the auspices of the Crown of England."

"Privateering," Jack repeats softly. "You are Bootstrap's son, after all...Does Elizabeth know?"

"No! Of course not. She has no idea."

"No, of course she wouldn't," Jack says, as if to himself. "And what rival of the Crown has discovered your identity and sent out spies to ascertain your whereabouts?"

"If the man was a spy...I'm not entirely sure," Will admits.

He has barely finished speaking when the door of the tavern crashes open. Jack, who is facing away from the entrance, glances quickly behind him, then back to Will with raised eyebrows.

"I'm not sure either...but I'll put my money on the Spanish Navy!"


Elizabeth has succeeded in convincing Rhianna that she is not in need of any "additional services" by finally promising her another coin in return for as many basins full of water as she, Elizabeth, deems necessary. Rhianna gives her an odd look, but the water arrives steaming within a few minutes. Elizabeth thanks her with a smile and presses the gold coin into her hand, knowing that it is probably worth more than Rhianna's total earnings for a typical night. The girl's incredulous expression proves her right; Elizabeth catches her arm as she goes to leave.

"One more favor, and there'll be another of those in it for you, Rhianna. Don't go telling any of the other girls about the price I pay for water, or I'll never get a moment of peace...understand?"

"Aye, sir. Not a whisper, sir. You have me word."

"Thank you, Rhianna. I knew I could depend on you."

As soon as the wench is gone, Elizabeth sinks gratefully onto the rickety stool in front of the washstand. Twenty minutes later, having scrubbed her face thoroughly and cleaned the caked mud from her feet, she feels infinitely better and suddenly very hungry.

She is halfway down the back stairs on her way to the kitchen when she hears the unmistakable sound of a sword battle, punctuated by shouting and scuffling, from the common room.

She's fairly certain she recognizes Will's voice in the clamor. Abandoning all caution, she plunges the rest of the way down the steps, through the kitchen door, past the astonished cook, and through the door to the tavern, where she stops short.

Will has his back to her; advancing on him is what appears to be an entire regiment of blue-and-white uniformed soldiers. Jack stands beside Will, sword ready; he is speaking rapidly in Spanish. Elizabeth can't understand a syllable, but it sounds very much like a classic Sparrow spiel. The officer in command, unimpressed, answers him with a few terse words.

Now where has she witnessed a scene like this before, she wonders?

Oh, yes. Jack Sparrow's famous near-hanging.

Goddamnit, Jack. One of these days you're going to get yourself, and my husband, well and truly killed...

As she watches, the swords clash again, and the two men are driven back toward her.

...if it doesn't happen now, here, tonight.

"Go, Will Turner!" Jack shouts above the din. "I'll hold them...get back to your ship, fool! Go!"

Will hesitates for a fraction of a second. Then he turns and runs straight towards her. She is too startled to move. They stare at each other for one long moment before he pushes her aside and races out the back door of the building.

A crash echoes from the common room as Jack overturns a table to block the soldier's advance, buying himself a precious few seconds. Elizabeth hears the Spanish captain shouting commands to his men, followed by retreating footsteps. The stunned silence in the tavern is replaced by a buzz of excited voices. She takes an uncertain step towards the door, her mind still struggling to process the events of the last few minutes, and comes face to face with Jack Sparrow.

He sways, regarding her, one hand pressed to his side, a faint, ironic smile tugging at his lips.

"Hullo, Elizabeth," he mumbles. And promptly collapses at her feet.