Oh my GOD. Here it is guys. An update, after three months. And believe it or not, this story wasn't shelved or sitting untouched for ANY of that time. It's just taken me this long. Hopefully you'll all forgive me the time this took. I hope both the length of this chapter and the content will make it worth the wait.
As always, I don't own 'em. And thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone reading this.
……………………………………
Waylaid though he might have been by Elizabeth's nearly effortless seizure of control of the masquerade's tone, once bound to the idea, Wetherby Swann had done an altogether spectacular job of bringing it to life.
Elizabeth paused at the top of the staircase to gaze, awed, over the jungle of hanging ferns, opulent orchids, and tiny, potted lemon and orange trees that the lower level of the mansion had been turned into. In among the verdant greenery, lanterns of multicolored glass threw geometric rainbows across leaf, wall, and floor, and no less than two dozen birdcages housed a host of tiny finches and bright canaries, the whistling, twittering music of their communication carried on the air that was invited in through every window and door, flung open beseechingly to the humid evening. Hints of a breeze drifted lazily in, but kept to the outermost edges of the rooms. Once the house was full of people, those wisps of fresh air wouldn't make much of a difference, and Elizabeth knew it was best to savor them while she had the chance.
"This is amazing!" Elizabeth exclaimed as she descended the stairs. "You don't have any jaguars hidden away in here, do you, Father?"
A tall body topped with a blue-grey, elaborately detailed swordfish mask raised its head at her voice. This very nearly resulted in a minor disaster as the most elaborate of those details nearly took out the tray of crystal goblets being carried by the servant Swann was engaged in conversation with.
"Oh dear me." Swann tipped his head back to clear the goblets, and only quick reflexes spared the right eye of the servant. "Oh, bloody" There was a bit of back and forth weaving, and then Swann reached out and grabbed the other man's shoulder. "Here, you go that way…and I'll just" The governor brought a hand to where he would normally find his forehead, then moved it to the back of his mask, and finally grabbed the threatening extremity at its base, lifting the mask clear of his face and giving himself the look of a unicorn with a mild concussion. "Yes, there we are."
Elizabeth watched the servant flee for safer ground, smoothing the flinch from her face as her father came to meet her at the foot of the stairs. "You're looking handsome. And very pointy," she added with a giggle.
"Ahh," Swann chuckled a bit sheepishly, glancing upwards. "It seemed a clever idea at the time."
"Clever," Elizabeth agreed. "Just a bit hazardous."
"Speaking of masks, my dear, hadn't you best put yours on before the guests arrive?"
"Oh, no doubt," Elizabeth sighed, hefting the macaw's face in her hand. "I only wanted a few last minutes of free air. Help me with the combs?"
"Certainly," Swann muttered graciously, reaching up to help Elizabeth position the mask. "Oh! Goodness, Elizabeth. Did you know you have a bruise on your forehead?"
Her lips thinned, ever so slightly. "Erm, yes. Yes, I was aware of it. Thank you."
"However do you manage to do these things to yourself, dearheart?" Swann pondered, pressing the mask securely into place.
"Hard telling, Father."
"There!" He stepped back, beaming, holding her hands out to the sides. "You look simply lovely, Elizabeth."
"Why thank you!"
"Though it's unfortunate the seamstress didn't have time to complete the rest of your costume…"
Elizabeth cleared her throat in a delicate warning, wearing a tight-reined smirk to match her father's.
"Well, at least we won't have to worry about you collapsing from the heat," Swann allowed, amused.
"That is half the point, Father."
"Ah. What a relief it is to have such a practical daughter." Swann's eyes moved heavenward.
"Relax, Father. I'm quite sure there will be people present tonight wearing less than me." She patted him on the arm.
"How terribly reassuring."
A glimpse of something dark through the front door caught Elizabeth's eye. "Oh! Here comes Will." She turned quickly back to her father and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before yanking his mask down into place. "Time to put this down. Good Lord, that's quite sharp, isn't it? Have a care not to greet anyone from behind, Father." And then she was off, in a flash of cobalt and gold.
"Oh Elizabeth, do let the young man get all the way up the walk, just this once!" Swann exclaimed in exasperation to the empty air she'd left in her wake.
…………………………
Elizabeth drew up short just in front of Will, eyes wide behind her mask, and he had to laugh. "Rather hard to tell with the feathers in the way, but I think that's the reaction I was going for. What d'you think?"
"Oh, Will, it's positively macabre!" Elizabeth gasped, and then a grin lit up what could be seen of her face. "I love it!"
"Though I believe I rather pale in comparison," Will murmured, taking one of her hands and lifting it above her head to twirl her in a slow spin. "You're breathtaking, Elizabeth."
"Even with the beak?" she joked, but a pleased flush crept up her throat.
"Actually, the beak is…quite vicious looking," Will said, tracing a finger along the wicked curve of it.
"You think this is something, you should see my father. He's going to put someone's eye out."
Elizabeth slipped her arm through Will's, and together they turned to face the house. She heaved an enormous sigh.
"Shall we?" Will asked.
"No. Let's go get Jack. We can build a bonfire and get drunk. They'll never miss us."
Will chuckled, the skull's face somewhat less menacing when it sported dimples. "That's my girl." As they made their way up the walk, he gave Elizabeth's hand a reassuring squeeze. "It isn't going to be as dreadful as you think, darling. Wait and see."
…………………………………
There was one thing to be said for seven years' imprisonment at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. It gave a man perspective on a wait of a few paltry hours.
Bill lit his pipe, settling back into the boarded-up doorway of an unused barracks across the courtyard from the gates of the fort. The stone structure bore evidence of heavy cannon damage, and he wondered if the scarring had occurred during the Black Pearl's raid on the town.
He wondered if any of the men this building had housed had been among the dead left in the Pearl's wake.
He wondered which of the crewmen he would find alive, locked inside the cells of Fort Charles.
Probably not Bo'sun. The big man –
flung Jack face-first to the planking, knocking out two teeth, and let Jack struggle up to his hands and knees, choking on his own blood, before he drew back a fist to strike again –
was an escaped slave, and he wouldn't have let himself be taken alive. No, Bill would bet cold silver that Bo'sun had either died in the fight with the Dauntless, or he'd escaped. But very likely Ragetti, and possibly Pintel with him. Those two—
didn't last a minute against Jack when they rushed him, to Barbossa's undisguised amusement and Bill's fierce pride
wouldn't have fought well enough to escape, and were more suited to a twitching death on the end of a rope than a last bloody stand in battle.
And maybe Twigg. Twigg—
"…usa'ly likes 'em younger 'n that," Koehler commented within Bill's earshot after Twigg demanded sullenly to know why they couldn't keep the ousted captain on board for a while, and Bill's stomach turned as he watched Twigg watching Jack with malevolent avarice in his gaunt face—
was the sort that would throw down his sword quick enough when things went ill, if he thought it would buy him a reprieve…or even just a stay of execution.
Bill puffed quietly away at his pipe, the blue tendrils of smoke curling up to be snatched away in the wind that was coming in storm-scented gusts now. Will had always loved it when he blew smoke rings, watching in fascination, his mouth unconsciously trying to imitate the set of Bill's, until the faces the boy made set his father off laughing and coughing 'til his eyes watered.
Will would have been just a little younger when they found him than Jack had been. Just a little younger.
Bill exhaled a series of rings into the evening air, watching as they wafted away into nothingness, wringing the last traces of anything like hope out of his heart and into an unvoiced plea that his son's death had been quick.
Shortly, a small group of redcoats approached with two stumbling drunks in tow. Mr. Smith's Friend was overdoing it a bit, in Bill's opinion, but apparently the soldiers had all been convinced.
Bill watched them all disappear inside the fort, and he started to repack his pipe. There was still a little more time to pass.
………………………………
"…not quite as good a turnout as we saw for Richard and Emmeline's party, of course, but then that was to be expected considering what short notice the announcement came on. And speaking of Richard and Emmeline, I'm so terribly disappointed not to see them here tonight. Absolute tragedy, what happened to the poor woman. Paid a tiny fortune to have their costumes made and then her hives flare up again. She'll be sobbing over it for a month, you know. She was so desperate to be here she almost came anyway, when it was just her face that was swollen, but you should see her now. Lumpy as a sugar bowl. I blame Richard entirely, of course. If he'd just let her hire a few more servants she wouldn't have to deal with so much, and it's anxiety that's doing this to her, mark my words. Little Henrietta is walking now, for Heaven's sake, and the baby's nearly weaned off the wet nurse. And it was Richard who wanted her taking those music lessons in the first place, so he ought to be considerate enough to make sure she's unburdened enough to concentrate on them…"
It wasn't easy to drain a glass of wine quickly around a beak, but it wasn't impossible, either. And Elizabeth had the motivation to perfect the technique.
"…silly idea to begin with, because we've known she was tone deaf since we were nine years old, but you know how Richard gets…"
Elizabeth contemplated her empty glass and considered using it to slit her wrists.
Where did Will bugger off to, anyway? Saved himself and abandoned me to my slow agonizing doom here, did he? Bloody bast—
The thought cut itself off when she spied her beloved across the room, cornered by Dr. Young, who was no doubt treating Will to one of his amputation-at-sea stories. Noting that Will looked a bit green around the gills, she was seized by a twinge of sympathy.
"…simply can't understand it, because her mother had a lovely singing voice. Homely as sin, but an exquisite voice. Thank God Emmy's so pretty. Well, when she's not all over pink bumps, that is…"
Granted, it was a very small twinge.
Elizabeth caught his eye, and Will smiled weakly at her. You said something, my love, about this not being dreadful?
A sudden gust of cool air on her back brought some unexpected relief, but it was short-lived when she heard a muted rumble of thunder. If they had to close the windows against a downpour, she was taking the bloody party outside and waltzing ankle-deep in mud.
Her eyes swept the room in quiet desperation, searching for one of the men with the wine, only to alight on an even more welcome sight: the appearance of a blessedly familiar red coat in the doorway.
And he's wearing the hat, feathers and all. Well done, Will.
"I beg your pardon, ladies, but I fear I've been so caught up in our chatter I've been neglecting my other guests!" Caught up, strung up…nearly the same thing. "I really should excuse myself now. But I'm sure I'll chat with you again before the evening's over." If I'm forced back over here on the point of a bayonet.
There was a chorus of protests, as if it mattered one lick to the conversation whether she was present or not, and it trod on her last nerve with delicate, pointy-toed silk slippers. Smearing a sugar-dusted smile across her face, Elizabeth addressed the little circle as she gathered up her skirt to walk away. "Now girls, don't sound so disappointed," she chimed. "After all, you can't talk about me while I'm standing here, can you?"
There were perhaps ten seconds of silence, then a collective titter did its best to kick that hesitation out of notice under the rug. "Oh, Elizabeth, go on!"
Still smiling, she turned and made her escape. "Plan to," she sighed through her teeth, voice hushed.
…………………………………
The last gala of this scope that Jack had attended had been the wedding reception of a young and profoundly unattractive couple, God pity their poor ugly children, following a ceremony that he himself had presided over in the robes of the holy man he'd left bound and gagged behind a henhouse several miles away from the church. With that experience as a point of reference, Jack wondered, as he finally gained entrance to the governor's mansion, exactly what people were supposed to do at these things. When they actually belonged there, and attendance lacked the thrill of probable death upon discovery.
Seemed to him that if one wasn't slipped in with the aid of a doctored invitation and walking on daggers anticipating the arrival of a not-so-very-dead-but-until-recently-buried friend, the whole thing was likely to be a coma with refreshments.
Jack was so busy scrutinizing the people that spilled through the house, seeking out a glimpse of long, dark hair or a familiar gait, noting the tallest bodies in the throng, then disregarding them each, that he was utterly oblivious to being ushered inside by the white-wigged gentleman at the door. When his invitation was given a discrete shake and a short cough issued forth, Jack's attention snapped away from the sea of masked faces to focus on the age-creased, rather annoyed one directly before him.
"Go on in, if you please, sir," the man instructed from the top of his nose.
It was remarkable, really, that no matter how high and mighty the blue bloods came, they couldn't hold a candle to the kind of contempt the people who attended them mustered up. If he ever lived to retire rich one day, Jack would do without servants just to avoid the bloody frostbite.
He took two steps and came face-to-face with a very large bird. "Hello! So glad to see you could come!" Elizabeth's voice rang out with just enough volume for the benefit of the people nearest them as she slid her arm through his. "Didn't by any chance bring your pistol, did you?" she added much more quietly.
"Beautiful plumage, Elizabeth. And no, I didn't. Why?"
"Because I want you to shoot me."
"That bad, is it?" He glanced around. "Where's our William?"
"Eating his words, at the moment," Elizabeth muttered. "Did you have any trouble getting in?"
"Not a smidge, love. My thanks to you for your assistance with that. By the by, what's the story behind the show I came upon out front? Couple of waterlogged blokes treed by some of Norrington's trained attack puppies?"
"Oh, that. Most interesting thing that's happened all night." Elizabeth deftly lifted two wine glasses from a passing tray, handing one to Jack. "My father wouldn't say too much about it. And that was the one piece of tonight's gossip I actually gave two damns about getting the details on. Bloody figures, doesn't it?" Jack returned Elizabeth's grin as they wove their way through the crowd and the miniature jungle. "Anyway, much as I can gather, they were harmless, just up to a bit of mischief. Got intoxicated and stumbled over to make nuisances of themselves, harass some of the guests…" She sighed. "If only they'd done a little better job of it, I might have been spared hearing about Emmeline Newsome's hives."
Jack took a sip. "Rather a long stumble from their neighborhood to yours, isn't it, Lizzie?"
She shrugged. "Maybe they thought the entertainment would be worth the walk. Silly buggers."
"And that's the only thing been out of the ordinary, is it?" Jack asked lightly, taking in the dozens of bodies that paraded about in their masks, all wanting to be seen.
Looking for one that didn't.
"Well, there's you," Elizabeth replied, fingernail tapping on the side of her goblet. "But I expect the question already allowed for that."
"Which question would that be?" Will's voice asked suddenly. He slipped an arm around Elizabeth's waist as he joined them.
"I was just filling Jack in on what he's missed so far tonight. It was a short list."
Will seemed almost ready to agree, but, eternally the diplomat, refrained from it. "It's been…a learning experience, I'll grant you that."
Elizabeth snorted into her wineglass. "I'll say one thing, Will. If this doesn't send you screaming in the opposite direction of the altar, I trust nothing will."
Will gave her a reproachful look. "Elizabeth, I don't know why you even think such" his eyes moved to a point beyond her then, and widened. "You two. Go somewhere. Together."
Jack eyed him. "Got some kinks hidden under all that starch, don't you, lad?"
"Shut up, and go dance with Elizabeth, unless you'd like to remain and converse with Norrington and I when he gets over here," Will ordered quietly, watching the commodore's approach.
Elizabeth choked on her drink, and without ever casting an eye in the direction Will had spotted the danger, she pushed her glass into his empty hand, grabbed Jack by the wrist, and propelled them both smoothly into the spinning throng of dancers a few steps away.
"Well, I'm sure that didn't look at all suspicious," Jack commented cheerfully, matching their rhythm to the music's.
"You would rather I pushed you through the nearest window, perhaps?" Elizabeth retorted. Then she glanced down at their feet. "Where did you learn how to dance?" she demanded incredulously, realizing that not only was Jack not struggling, he was quite adept.
"Learned in the barn I was born in. Can read and do up me own buttons, too, if you can believe it. Ouch!" He scowled at her, wiggling the toes she'd just stamped on.
"Oops," she said sweetly, then frowned behind her mask. "Jack, what's on your boot?"
"Um. Yes, about that…"
………………………………
The distant buzz of noise echoing up through the corridors from the prison tightened Gillette's face into what had to be its thirtieth frown of the day, and he swore under his breath.
Not enough that he was left to tend the kennels of every mongrel in the fort instead of being out on the hunt for real prey. He apparently didn't have a man on duty that could handle the prisoners when they got unruly. What had begun as a shouting match between one of tonight's drunks and one of yesterday's public lewd behaviors had been slowly escalating, and according to one of the lower-level guards, things had been edging from raucous towards violent.
"Murtogg!" he bellowed at the door. "What the devil is going on down there? I said I wanted those cells brought to order!"
There was no response, and Gillette shoved angrily away from the report he'd been writing. "Might as bloody well be in this place by myself for all the assistance I get." He jerked open the door, and stopped short. "You! I beg your pardon, man, but I'll have you know civilians are not allowed in this area unaccompanied by"
Gillette's mouth was still open, mid-rant, when a fist driven forward, fast as a snake strike, took him full in the face and dropped him to the floor.
Bill Turner stepped over the unconscious soldier. "Evening, Frank. You don't mind if I come in, do you?"
……………………………………
The thickening storm clouds outside seemed to make evening fall faster. More lamps were lit inside the Swann mansion, the rooms thrown into festive twilight.
Jack leaned against a shadowed bit of wall, tucked behind a monstrously large potted fern, fanning himself with the hat he'd dared to remove once the light dimmed.
His spin 'round the dance floor with Elizabeth had granted him a decent, if dizzying, view of the crowd at large, and he'd seen no trace of anyone resembling Bill. Of course, Jack himself was walking proof of how easy it was to stay nicely unseen in such a setting as this one.
Assuming he even comes here, or that he hasn't been and gone. Been and gone before I ever arrived, and Will missed him because he didn't know he was supposed to be looking.
Jack twisted one of the braids of his beard between his fingers, a rough sigh of frustration escaping him. He was almost as estranged from doubt as he was from bathwater, and doubt didn't feel near as nice.
He caught a glimpse of Will, Elizabeth once again at his side, across the room conversing with Norrington, who was garbed resplendently as Neptune in varying shades of blue and green, complete with trident.
Probably made from that stick he's had up hisA door leading into one of the deeper rooms of the mansion closed gently and incompletely behind a pair of long legs encased in high boots, bringing Jack's attention sharply about. He waited a few breaths to see if the man who'd just disappeared into the next room would return, unsurprised when he didn't. Jack knew a thing or two about slinking, and that hadn't been the sort of exit a fellow made when he didn't mind the rest of the world noticing him going.
Taking quick note of the placement of both the commodore and the governor, and seeing that they both appeared engrossed in their respective business for the time being, Jack situated his hat upon his head once more, fingering the brim delicately, and stepped out from behind the concealing fronds of the fern, riding the ebb and flow of the human currents through the room towards the door that hung just barely ajar.
This room was clearly not intended for company, as it lacked the decoration of the main rooms and was unlit save for the eerie, storm-tinged light that filtered in through the open drapes. Jack drew the door shut behind him, more careful to latch it than his predecessor had been. The sounds of the party were muffled, and Jack paused but a moment just inside to listen for any noises that would indicate someone protesting his entrance here.
At the far end of the room was a set of double doors, and at their edges came the barest shine of bright lamplight from the hall beyond. Occasionally a shadow flickered through that light, too quickly-moving to be any of Swann's guests. Servants, more likely, stepping lively about their never-ending tasks for the evening. They'd be making their rounds long into the dark hours of morning, after the party wound down and the guests had all returned home.
And it was highly unlikely anyone, be they guest, host, or servant, would have reason to come in here. If a person wanted to tuck himself away undisturbed until the melee had cleared, this would be the place to do it.
Jack took a few cat-quiet paces into the room, searching the darkness for the man who'd come in ahead of him.
Could have been a servant, though. Someone taking a shortcut back to the kitchen. He might not have stopped in here at all.
But then there came a whisper of sound, cloth against cloth, as if someone were shifting on a chair, maybe making a move to rise.
Jack moved through the room, towards the place the sound had come from, still not able to discern any person-shaped silhouettes in the gloom.
A thunderclap burst above the house, a blossom of violent sound, and from somewhere to his left Jack heard a sharp intake of breath. He made out what appeared to be a settee, the back of which was to him, blocking his view of whomever was seated there.
The storm outside crawled along the side of the house, pressing against the latched windows like a living thing seeking entrance, tapping with fingertips of rain; first softly, then more insistently. Lightning turned the room briefly white-green before plunging it back into darkness.
Jack obligingly waited for the thunder to go quiet before he spoke.
"Bill?"
From the other side of the settee came a sharp, startled, and, bewilderingly, female gasp.
A head rose up above the back of the sofa and held very still. "Erm…no…" a voice corrected, its tone one of abject embarrassment. A few seconds later, a second head appeared, joining the first, and another flash of lightning revealed this one to have rather disheveled curls.
The handy thing about walking in on someone in the middle of what would otherwise be a horrifically embarrassing position for all involved was that no one preoccupied with doing up his trousers was likely to start in with any of that "who are you and what do you think you're doing in here" business. Equally handy, of course, was to be as difficult to embarrass as Jack was, in whose mind modesty was viewed very much like color blindness; an inconvenience he knew of, but had never suffered from personally.
"Ah. Begging your pardon sir…miss. Thought you were someone I knew. Well, not you, miss. Didn't actually see you down there before. Anyway, my mistake. I'll just be letting meself out. Carry on." He turned on his heel, intent on making a graceful departure.
Instead he almost swallowed his own tongue when he came a breath away from colliding with Will, who was all but on top of him, wearing a look of stricken accusation on his face that made Jack feel suddenly, painfully naked.
He knew, as soon as he met Will's eyes, exactly how long the younger man had been in the room, and how much he'd heard. Will was taut as rigging in a gale, quivering with the effort not to snap.
It occurred to Jack that the resemblance between the Turners two might never have been more evident than when they were pissed off.
"Left Elizabeth hostessing all by her onesies, William?" he ventured.
"It looked as though there was something else that demanded my attention," Will replied tightly.
"Always got that eye out for trouble, haven't you, lad?" Jack noted. "What say you find yourselves another trysting place, loves," he suggested gently to the couple behind him. "Three's cozy, four's a crowd."
Few people could achieve the degree of single-minded focus Will was capable of. His attention didn't so much as flicker from Jack as half-exposed breasts were tucked away and the heavy petting party moved itself elsewhere.
As soon as they were alone, Will took a steadying breath. "Jack," he said, quietly, "what the hell is going on?"
………………………………………
Ragetti flopped from his right side to his left, scratching sleepily at his backside with one hand. Across the cell, Pintel lied, facing the wall. Twigg, slumped with his back to the bars, was already beginning to snore. All of their once-shipmates were similarly sprawled.
Neither the storm becoming slowly more enthusiastic outside nor the noise of whatever ruckus was taking place out of their sight had been enough to keep the former crewmen of the Black Pearl from seeking sleep. Ragetti had been briefly hopeful, when the shouting began and the guards were called away, that something might have been lit on fire. This was out of both a general fondness on his part for burning things, and the assumption that if the fort was on fire, the soldiers would have to evacuate them. But when the passage of a little time failed to bring either the smell of smoke or an armed escort, Ragetti had sulked and settled back down to go to sleep.
Before long both the noise of the storm and the continued din of unruly prisoners and angry soldiers had fallen nearly unnoticed in the presence of a much more disturbing sound: Twigg's snoring.
"Twigg, cut it out," Ragetti grumbled.
The snoring, which really didn't sound like any kind of noise capable of being made without the aid of a handful of gravel, continued.
"Somebody kick 'im, already," Pintel tossed over his shoulder. "'Else none of us'll get a decent night's sleep."
"I ain't close enough to kick 'im," Niperkin mumbled.
"Aw, fer Chrissakes, just get up an' do it."
Abruptly, Twigg's snoring cut off.
"Now see, Nip, how hard was that?" Pintel yawned.
"What the hell are you on about?" Niperkin groused. "I didn't do nothin'. Told you already I wasn't close enough to kick 'im."
Awareness moves at different speeds depending on the company it's in. In this case, it kept to a slow crawl, until an odd gurgling began to register.
Squalls and riots they could sleep through. But there are noises that will sink into even the thickest of skulls, and Twigg was making one of them right now.
Pintel rolled over. Ragetti lifted his head. Niperkin troubled himself to sit up.
"Ohjesusfuckingchrist!"
Similar sentiments were offered up from various mouths as the men scrambled frantically for the backs of their cells, putting as much space as they could between themselves and the door Twigg hung from, kicking feet barely scraping the floor, eyes wild with terror as he clawed at the hand that had dragged him upright, clamped around his throat.
"Not a very warm welcome, lads," Bill Turner observed, raising his chin and letting the guttering lamplight play across his face. "But then, my going away party left something to be desired, as well."
………………………………
Will stared silently at the logbook page, golden in the glow of the candles they'd lit. Jack was seated opposite him, both of them on the floor.
Will raised his head, his breath catching in the softest of sobs, and looked at Jack, who was twisting his ring around and around on his finger. "He's alive?" Will breathed, his eyes wet. "He's alive?"
Jack nodded, vigorously, lip caught between gold teeth.
"I don't…" Will broke off, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. "I don't see…how?"
"The curse, lad," Jack said, and this was the part that hurt; the cleansing of the wound. "It was the curse. He was…unbreakable. Just like the rest of 'em."
Will's hand went to his chest, his eyes closing, spilling tears down his cheeks as his head dropped. Jack's hand flitted out towards him, but the pirate faltered, snatched it back, ran his fingertips over his moustache. "Will…"
"He was alive down there. He was alive and he couldn't get away. Oh, God…"
"No, Will, he did get away," Jack said softly, leaning in close. "He got free, because he's here now. Somewhere in Port Royal."
Will straightened, anger burning through the tears. "How long have you known, Jack?" he demanded. "Did you come here to find him? Have you kept this to yourself all this time?"
"I've only known a few hours. Only when I saw his writing there." The corner of his mouth lifted in a weak attempt at a smile. "Fortuitous spot of vandalism, wasn't it?"
Will didn't return the smile. "And when were you planning to tell me? Holding out for another of your opportune moments, Jack? More of your bloody secret keeping?"
"Not for my sake, Will. For his," Jack said. "He came here as someone other than William Turner for a reason. Without knowing what that was, I thought it best to let him make the first move. I believed – I truly believed – that he would make it here. Tonight. I think he still may."
………………………………
"Bootstrap?" Pintel rasped.
"In the flesh." In the wavering luminescence of the lamps, Bill's eyes shone red. "And isn't that just the damnedest thing."
"You can't be here!" Ragetti's voice rose to something approaching a shriek. "Barbossa took care o'you!"
"He did, didn't he? Maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination, Ragetti. Just a bad dream." Bill's fingers flexed, and Twigg's gurgling dwindled to a wheeze. "What d'you think, Twigg? Does this feel like a bad dream to you?"
Twigg's lips were beginning to go purplish.
"How the hell…?" Pintel croaked. "How the hell are you standing here?"
"For future reference, lads," Bill growled, "immortality doesn't shrink when it gets wet."
"You survived down there"
"Seven years, mates. But top marks for effort."
Pintel's face twisted with resentment. "S'pose we could say the same to you."
What moved through Bill's eyes then left them shark-like, cold and blank.
"Thought you fixed us good, didn't you, Bootstrap?" the stocky pirate spit.
"That I did, Pintel. That I did." Bill's grip on Twigg's throat shifted, not releasing, but allowing him to breathe. Twigg's feet came down flat on the floor as he gasped raggedly. "Yet here we all are. Living…breathing…mortal."
Bill moved the hand that wasn't on Twigg's throat to his cutlass hilt, and the blade whispered its way out of its sheath.
"Let's linger on that last one a moment, shall we, mates?" he said, smiling icily and brandishing the weapon.
…………………………………
Will listened, rigidly, as Jack explained himself. "So you helped him hide from me," he ruled when Jack had finished.
The older man's face fell. "That's not"
"You should have told me, Jack. Whatever reasons you thought he had, you should have told me as soon as you knew." Will shook his head. "This wasn't your choice to make alone, you know. He's my father. I had a right to know about this and make up my own mind how to handle it."
Jack deflated. "I wasn't trying to deceive you, Will. I wanted to do right by both of you."
"But when you couldn't, your first loyalty was to him, is that it? You owed him more than you owe me?"
It was double-edged, and Will cut himself as sharply with the words as he did Jack.
The pirate recoiled. "Don't put me there, Will," he protested in a rough near-whisper. "'s unfair."
Will's glare flickered, then faded. He gazed into the candlelight, passing one finger quickly through a flame. "I know." He rubbed the stinging pad of his finger with his thumb. The heat was fading, and the skin was uninjured. "And I understand. I don't like it…and I think you were wrong. But I understand."
Jack inclined his head. "I would ask you for no more than that," he replied softly, appreciatively. His mouth opened as if he would have said more, but something bound his tongue as he sat there, dark eyes downcast.
"Jack," Will prompted, frowning. "What is it?"
"I never meant to keep him from you." Softer, nearly, than the rain blown across the window.
"Jack, I know. I told you, I underst"
And he broke off then, as Jack looked up, realizing they were addressing something else entirely.
Jack's hand swept down his face, magician-fast and butterfly-light, but not quite fast or light enough, and the fingers Will closed his own around were wet. He turned that hand over in his, studying the pale scar, thinner and more depressed than the one on his own palm, running more horizontal than Elizabeth's, and wiped the moisture away with his thumb.
"You didn't," he told Jack resolutely.
"Spoken like one who wasn't there," the pirate replied, and when he withdrew, Will didn't resist, letting the smaller, more weathered hand slip like water from his own. "Those of us who were may disagree, lad. And we might not be so quick to forgive, savvy?"
Jack could see the denial of the very idea as Will drew himself up around that core of tempered steel stubbornness. "Maybe we'd best wait and hear what my father has to say for himself," the younger man reasoned, and Jack simply gave a nod.
"Aye. We'll hear ol' Bill out."
The thought rocked Will backwards then, as if he were bracing himself against a sudden buffeting wind, catching his breath. "My God," he whispered, burying his face in his hands.
Jack watched him, granting him quiet company for a few minutes more. Then he reached out and skimmed his fingers over the crown of Will's head, barely ruffling the hair. "Your face is going to get smudgy," he warned.
Will laughed breathlessly, edgily, removing his hands.
"Want to be alone with this for a bit, lad?" Jack questioned, but Will shook his head.
"No," he said. "No, I really don't." He pushed himself to his knees, and paused, looking down at Jack. "I don't want to be alone with any of this, Jack."
Jack smiled, and he leaned over to blow out the candles. "Then let's go find your lass, little brother," he said, rising to his feet with Will.
……………………………
The party showed no signs of having missed them as they stepped as casually as possible back out into the activity. Or at least, Will thought they were being casual, but a sharp poke in the ribs and an amused growl of, "stop walking like you were in there knobbing the preacher's daughter" had him reconsidering. It also, to the shared disappointment of both Will and Jack, yielded no sign of Bill.
"How are we supposed to find him, Jack?" Will despaired.
"I wouldn't fret too much about that, lad," Jack replied. "I think he means to find you."
The younger man simply bled hope. "You really think he'll come here?" His eyes darted wildly around the room, and Jack half expected him to climb atop one of the tables to gain a better vantage point.
"Be the bloody queen mother of all coincidences if after all this time he just happened upon Port Royal the day before your engagement party," Jack said.
"I suppose that's true," Will agreed hesitantly.
"Not the only place he could seek you out, of course. But certainly the most likely."
Will glanced askance at him. "Certainly."
"And it's not as if we can just go door to door looking even if he doesn't come here. Horrendously inefficient, that."
A hint of a nervous tick tugged at Baron Samedi's eye. "Jack, how sure are you?"
"Very! I am very sure that this is probably where Bill will come to find you."
"Probably?"
"Probably."
"Not definitely?"
"Will," Jack said, tapping into a fresh vein of patience for good measure, "this rock was only dropped in my pond a few hours before yours. Gives me something of a head start on settling the ripples down, but not much, savvy? There are a few unknowns at work here."
Will looked briefly indignant, but it didn't last. "I'm sorry. You're right, it makes more sense to wait here than to go out chasing after him. I just…I can't stand the waiting, Jack." He sighed, running a hand through his hair in aggravation. "I can't stand it, and I don't know what I'm going to do or say once it's over." The admission was pained. "What am I going to say to him, Jack?"
He appeared to genuinely expect something sage and useful in reply to that, which Jack found both flattering and awkward. He'd been pragmatically avoiding that particular question, not being especially fond of the sensation of gut-twisting fear and shame that accompanied it, and was actually considering the tactical change of keeping his mouth shut entirely, given the better than decent chance the man he'd led to a watery and premature burial would sooner see him keelhauled than listen to anything he had to say. "Sorry I didn't take your advice about the bad nasty men", while both accurate and earnest, wouldn't quite resonate the way it should.
"Somehow I think anything you come up with will be all right by him," he told Will gently, grateful when it seemed to give the lad a measure of reassurance.
A particular swirl of color approaching caught his eye then, and Jack touched Will's elbow. "Elizabeth," he pointed out with a jerk of his chin. He felt Will tense beside him momentarily. Ah ha, see? Those explanations can be intimidating little bastards, can't they, whelp? He shooed the thought off, but not before allowing himself the tiniest of smirks over it.
"Where in the world did you two sneak off to?" Elizabeth demanded, though not with any real anger. "I was starting to think Jack had kidnapped you, Will." She hesitated then, giving them each a searching look. "Is everything all right?"
Jack held back, silently offering the first word to Will, only to step readily to the rescue when the younger man cast his friend a pleading glance. "William just needed a bit of a reprieve, love," he said. "He's not used to this sort o' wild revelry."
"Oh, yes, it's a veritable bacchanalia," Elizabeth deadpanned.
"Actually, if you two will excuse me for a few minutes, I…I'm just going to get a drink of water," Will announced apologetically, and put on a thin smile. "Socializing is almost as parching as smithing, it turns out," he joked. Elizabeth and Jack each gave him looks of sympathetic understanding as he slipped off, though they were, of course, for two completely different reasons.
"I think even my father is getting bored, though he'd have to have his fingernails pulled out before he'd admit it." Elizabeth shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Poor man. He's gotten his snout caught in two of the birdcages and a cheese plate so far. I'm terrified it'll be one of the lamps next."
"T'would liven things up though, you must admit," Jack commented, and she glared at him.
"I'm not quite bored enough to wish immolation on my father, thank you. Anyway, James took him off for a bit of business talk before he could injure himself or others."
"And how is dear Jamie faring? Capturing himself lots of villainous cutthroats? Making the maritime world safe for king and country?" Jack's dimples threatened to swallow the rest of his face.
"Hush, you. He didn't have to let you go, you know."
"I don't like your implications, missy. I evaded him."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Someone has to chase you before you can evade them, Jack."
"I know. What's he bloody waiting for?" Jack griped, irritated. "I can't best and humiliate him if he won't challenge me. How'd he ever get promoted with such a hideous lack of initiative?"
"Oh, that's another thing. Apparently Lieutenant Gillette has let slip that very same question once or twice."
Jack frowned. "Gillette? That pink toad Will and I plucked the Interceptor from? He's a fine one to be mouthin' off. He couldn't catch the clap."
Elizabeth let out an unladylike and very loud bark of laughter, slapping a hand over her mouth. "James said Gillette's taken issue with his methods. And earlier today they had words. Evidently, Gillette was a bit too freehanded with certain information on some prisoners. Things that probably shouldn't be public knowledge."
"Like which of them sleep in the altogether?" Jack suggested.
"Ugh, Jack," Elizabeth groaned. "No. As a matter of fact, someone came 'round asking questions about Barbossa's old crew. The ones who haven't been executed yet. Wanting to know about where they were being held, what sort of watch they were under…that sort of thing."
Jack felt something twist inside of him. Sliding home like Barbossa's blade in his belly, cold and penetrating and horrible.
"And Gillette laid it all out for him. Needless to say, James isn't happy." Elizabeth glanced over at him, and she froze. "My God, Jack, what's wrong? Are you sick?"
For a moment he thought he was going to be, thought he was going to drop to his knees right here in the middle of the floor and retch with the comprehension that had come upon him like a fever.
All around him, the party whirled on, oblivious. He saw Will, making his way back through the crowd. As he came, Will passed close by one of the open windows, just as the storm outside gave birth to another flash of lightning. It lit up Will's face, in its painted-on death mask, and the wind blew the white curtains up to tangle around him like a shroud.
This was the likeliest place, Jack had believed, and really, he'd been right about that. This is where Bill would've come, if he were looking for his son. But as he watched Will come closer, wearing the face of a corpse, Jack realized his mistake.
He isn't here for Will. He's here for them.
Beneath his fingers, clenched involuntarily into a white-knuckled fist, Jack could feel the scar. A superficial wound that had stung viciously, bled just enough and itched in the healing. Quickly inflicted and quickly mended. Just like Will's.
But Bill would've had no way of knowing that. He would have known only that his blood had been spilled from another body. That Hector Barbossa had his only child.
His first breath would have come with the belief Will had drawn his last.
"Jack!"
Elizabeth's voice, truly frightened now, cut through the whirlwind of his thoughts. But Will was coming up behind her, and it was to him Jack gave his attention.
"He's not coming here, Will."
Will sagged. "But you said"
"Yes I know, I was there when I said it. The situation isn't quite what I thought it to be at the time." Jack slipped a finger under the mask to scratch delicately at his temple. "In point of fact it may be quite a lot worse."
"Worse," Will echoed. "How much worse?"
Jack took hold of Will's elbow and started looking for an escape route. "Bad enough that we really should have been running before you asked me that question."
……………………………………
All things came down to perspective, really. A storm at sea could be thrilling and beautiful if you were watching it from your safe spot on dry land. The patterns of a fine blade in skilled hands looked artful, unless your entrails were going to end up part of the masterpiece.
The noose sounded like the worst of all possible ends when you were awaiting it penned up like a veal for weeks on end, until the grim reaper showed up in person outside your cell, scythe in hand, prepared to cut out, if you will, the middleman.
Clammy with sweat, Pintel eyed Bill Turner, searching for signs of a bluff. After all, this was the same man who'd stuck his own neck on the block over what he'd seen as a question of honor, in protest of a terrible wrongdoing. Bootstrap worried about shit like that. He had morals.
Pintel started to take a challenging step forward, and at the movement, Bill's eyes swung to him, halting him in his tracks.
Then again, Turner's morals – and, for that matter, his sanity had been soaking at the bottom of the sea for a very long time.
"I'll keep this simple, for the benefit of the not-so-bloody-bright among you." Bill's gaze finally lifted from Pintel, sweeping over the rest of the group. "I have questions. I am going to get answers to them, either with your cooperation, or without. Does anyone not understand?"
"And why should we cooperate with you, Bootstrap?" Pintel demanded. "We're all dead men here, anyway." There was a gruff chorus of agreement. "Seems to me there ain't much incentive for us bein' cooperative."
"Yeah!" Ragetti chimed in. "What's in it for us? You gonna let us out of here if we help you?"
Bill cocked his head to the side. "You know, I don't think I will." And in a liquid movement of muscle and steel, he jabbed the cutlass through the bars, slicing off the top of Twigg's right ear.
Twigg screamed, clutching at the side of his head, blood-slippery fingers clawing frantically at his scalp, and probably would have dropped like a stone if not for Bill's hand at his neck, holding him trapped against the door. A hold that turned strangling once more, crushing Twigg's scream into a gasp.
"Dead men you may be, lads," Bill said, and he brought the blade to the other side of Twigg's face, laying it against the skin with no pressure, but plenty of promise. "But you can go one way…" he tapped with the blade, drawing a whimper instead of blood, "…or you can go another. As it stands, I've no other plans for this evening. Nowhere else I need to be. This can take as long as you all decide to make it."
"Or until the guards come runnin'" Ragetti hissed, with a bravado rather undermined by the way he shifted his weight rapidly from foot to foot.
"Ah, well…the guards," Bill muttered, a dry sound that wasn't really a laugh escaping him. "The guards, Ragetti, are a bit preoccupied with other troubles right now, from the sound of things. I don't think we need to worry about them disturbing us for a while."
The blonde's working eye flicked towards the direction of the noise that, now that he paid it some mind, still hadn't died down. "No guards?"
Bill shook his head. "No guards."
Ragetti licked his lips. "The…the lieutenant"
"He won't be joining us, either, Ragetti," Bill said, and the lack of elaboration blanched more than one of the grimy faces before him.
Twigg took that moment to piss down his own leg.
…………………………
Thunder split the air apart, and Jack ripped off the hat and the mask, swiping at the rainwater pouring into his eyes with his sleeve.
"You're wrong, Jack," Will nearly had to yell to be heard over the rain that was drenching them in undulating sheets as they tore through the streets towards the fort. "He wouldn't do anything like what you're suggesting." He glared out from behind the dripping hair blown into his face. "Damn it, Jack, listen to me! I know my father!"
He pulled up short, stumbling, when Jack stopped abruptly, right in front of him, pivoting to peer intently up at the younger man. "The Mercedes and the Magdalena," Jack announced, like it solved a puzzle.
Breathing heavily, Will shoved the soaked hair out of his eyes. "What?" he said, taken aback.
"The two ships Bill burned to flotsam and memory after their owner flogged me down a shirt size," Jack clarified. "Those were their names. The Mercedes and the Magdalena. Don't remember if I mentioned that when I told the story before."
Will clenched his jaw, clinging to defiance as if to prevent it from washing away in the downpour.
"I know him too, Will," Jack said, tucking a wet lock of hair behind Will's right ear. "And I'm asking you now, please…shut up and run."
…………………………
Pintel found the nerve to step forward again. "Look now, Bootstrap," he began, in the sort of voice people use when they're saying things like "nice doggie", "if this is about what we done to you…that was Barbossa's doin', mate. You know that. Not like we could very well have defied him, is it?"
"Not unless any of you had balls hidden somewhere you didn't tell anyone about," Bill replied. "Bigger ones than it took to ambush an unarmed man while he slept, that is."
"Ah. You still sore about the mutiny, then?"
The chill that slithered through the cells should have left frost in its wake and frozen the puddle under Twigg's foot.
"'Cause, uh, you know that was all Barbossa's schemin', too," Pintel went on. "Not…not like the rest of us turned out any richer under him than we would've under Jack Sparrow."
Bill shuddered; the only part of his body the tremor didn't touch was his sword arm. He breathed deeply and swallowed down the rage clawing its way up the inside of his throat.
"Right!" Ragetti agreed, a bit too zealously. "We was only doin' as he said we should!"
"True enough. No one would ever accuse you lot of thinking on your own." A few of them were wise to the fact that they should be insulted, but none complained. Bill looked them over contemptuously, disgustedly; like they were ants he'd found in his honey. Nothing but a pack of drooling, stinking, stupid dogs running to their master's every whistle and call. Fetching when he points. Attacking when he orders. Snapping at each other over scraps and rolling in your own shit. "No, there's not a one among you has ever done other than he was bid. And I know right well where the blame lies for all that was done to me." His voice roughened, as shredding as a reef. "And mine."
Ragetti nodded eagerly. "Barbossa!" he burst out.
"Barbossa," Bill breathed the name like opium. "He's all I want. You give him to me…you tell me where to find him…and I'll go away. I'll leave you to whatever time you have left, here in your cages."
The men threw glances at each other, shifting, one after another, out of their rigid, fearful paralysis. Ragetti blinked wildly, one eye a bit faster than the other, and his long limbs slackened with sudden relief.
"Well if that's what yer wantin', Bootstrap," Pintel said, "all you have to do is find yer way back to la Muerta."
"He's still at the island?" Bill demanded.
"Aye. You can spit on his bones right where they fell if you like."
Bill stared at the shorter man blankly. "His bones," he echoed.
"He's dead, Turner. Died the night our curse was lifted."
"'s the truth!" Ragetti all but tripped over himself confirming it. "He's gone, Bootstrap! Dead and gone!"
"Dead." The cutlass clanged against the bars as Bill slumped, letting it drop, letting it slide from the door to hang from nerveless fingers at his side. He pressed his forehead against the rough metal, eyes almost closed. "Dead."
Twigg, still holding his mangled ear, felt the hand on his throat loosen and slip away, and he sucked in a full, unhindered breath, releasing it in a noisy sigh of relief as he tipped back against the door, legs shaking.
The eerie keening that rose up behind him was his only warning.
Bill's wail became a scream, and he drove the cutlass two-handed through the cell door, and, consequently, through Twigg, who was momentarily distracted from his dangling ear by the six inches of dripping metal that suddenly burst from between his ribs. Only momentarily, of course.
After that, he was just dead.
"He was mine!" Bill raged, planting a foot on the door and pulling his weapon loose. "He was my kill!" A wide swing struck sparks on the cell bars. "Mine!" An overhead strike obliterated the nearest lantern. Bill paced like a frenzied tiger, not even noticing when the cutlass slipped from his grasp. He raked a hand through his hair, leaving bloody streaks behind. "No," he moaned, "no. No. I was supposed to kill him. I was supposed to kill him. It was supposed to be me. It was supposed to be slow. He was supposed to suffer." He whirled, grabbing the bars and rattling the heavy door on its hinges. "He was supposed to suffer!"
The rest of the men cowered, those that could find their voices screaming for aid from the guards. Through a haze of trapped rabbit panic, Ragetti caught the gleam of metal on the floor outside the cell.
He skinned his shins and his knees in the dive for the weapon, thrusting his outstretched hand through the bars, against the floor, fingers scuttling, spider-like, until they closed on the hilt.
Bill's boot came down on Ragetti's wrist with a sickening crunch, and the pirate howled. Hands wrapped around his arm and yanked him, face first, into the bars. When he'd managed to blink the starbursts from his vision, Ragetti was looking right into Bill's face.
Not only was there no one home, the house was burning down.
"If I can't have Barbossa's blood," Bill said raggedly, "I'll settle for yours." He tore his eyes from Ragetti to look at the rest of them. "All of yours." Before eight pairs of terrified eyes, Bill reached into his vest and pulled out a ring of keys.
"Please, Bootstrap," Ragetti whimpered, trying to wrench himself free. "You're the good one. Have a little mercy, mate?"
Bill stared at him, and started to laugh. "Mercy. You would dare talk to me about mercy." The laughter deepened, shaking his whole body. "Fine," he snapped, moving his grip to Ragetti's hair, pulling his head up. "How 'bout this, mate?" The tip of the cutlass was suddenly hovering just in front of the pirate's good eye. "I won't kill you, Ragetti," Bill said, "but I'll still be the last thing you ever see."
Ragetti screamed. Over that, from somewhere to his left, came another cry.
"Bill, stop!"
He had no time to turn before someone grabbed his shoulder, strong hands intent on pulling him back from the cell. Snarling, Bill came out of his crouch in a spin, catching his assailant by the throat and shoving him brutally against a wall. He drew back his sword arm, flinching against the ferocious brilliance of the lightning setting the sky on fire. And then he froze.
One thousand one.
One thousand two.
One thousand—
Thunder shook the earth and the sky, so loud it was as much physical sensation as it was sound.
Jack made an attempt to smile reassuringly at the man connected to the hand that was getting uncomfortably intimate with his windpipe. Abruptly, the pressure was gone, and Jack was gasping and coughing and rubbing at a neck that was going to be as multicolored as the rest of him come morning, from the feel of things. "Having a bad week, Bill?" he croaked out.
The cutlass clattered to the floor, and hands were cupping Jack's face, startling him more than the near-throttling had.
"Jack?" It was spoken by two voices at once, and Jack felt his flesh break out in goosebumps.
Will came loping down the stairs. The rain had made a mess of his paint; the white skull's face was still discernable, but it was streaked with rivulets of black, like melting candle wax. Or old blood. Will stopped at the foot of the steps, looking from Jack to the taller man standing before him.
Bill was half-turned, one hand still soft against Jack's cheek. He looked like someone who'd been shaken too quickly from sleep, and was still a step out of time with the waking world.
Jack laid his hand over Bill's where the older man touched him, gently drawing Bill's focus back. "You know him, too, Bill. Look closely." Brown eyes rolled thoughtfully. "And…maybe imagine him a bit shorter."
Will came cautiously towards them. He caught sight of Twigg's body, and stiffened in horror. His eyes asked the question of Jack, and the grief that pinched the pirate captain's face gave him all the answer he needed. "Oh, Papa, no…" he lamented softly, heartbrokenly.
The color bled from Bill's face, and his legs gave out beneath him.
TBC