Chapter Two

Just five minutes after six bells, Gillette walked out of the officer's quarters, still buttoning his jacket. Not seeing the captain on deck yet, he allowed himself to survey the Gorgon minutely. She was a smaller ship-- not unlike the Interceptor, but Gillette preferred not to dredge up memories of the beloved ship. The Gorgon was, he thought, inappropriately named. She was a lovely ship, new rigging reaching to the highest spar, fresh paint coating the railing on each side of the ship. Being a ship of His Majesty's Navy retired to work in the East India Trading Company, she had seen battle. Those who knew her every line were proud of the few scars she had left to show-- bullet holes in the mast, and a still broken spar on the mizzen were slight inconveniences that seemed to hearten the men for some reason. Being a man of the navy himself, Gillette smirked whenever he passed those scars.

Now his gaze fell beyond the foredeck and onto the calm blue sea before them. The fingers of dawn were stretching across the horizon, illuminating the stark white sails of the ships surrounding the Gorgon. The head ship, Beckett's own Valor, headed the procession. Next followed the trade ships Intrepid and Apollo, each carrying its share of profits from their joint voyage. The Gorgon had joined the pseudo-armada two days ago at the signed request of Lord Beckett-- no doubt concerning Norrington and whatever bargain the two had come to. Gillette still doubted the story of Davy Jones' heart, but he knew that Norrington was not one to openly lie. The Valor was easily the largest of the four, and so the two trader ships took after her build. But the Gorgon was different-- sleeker and smaller.

Built for war, but serving a much lesser purpose.

With a start, Gillette realized that this applied to Captain Norrington as much as it did to his ship.

As he thought this, the captain stepped from his cabin and onto the deck. From his position near the wheel, Gillette saw the worry that had situated itself under the eyes of his captain. The fresh morning breeze stirred his coat jacket, and he placed his balled fists on the port-side railing, staring out to sea. Norrington's eyes were fixed on the Valor, staring contemptuously with a weak constitution. Gillette began his descent to meet Norrington where he stood. He turned as the first mate approached, but no inflection on his features told of either ire, gladness or even apathy.

"Gillette," he began, his voice telling of a sleepless night. "I am sorry to have kept you. Did you wait long?"

"No, sir." He paused, feeling as if he had stumbled on a conversation he was not meant to hear. "I'll order the longboat ready." He moved off faster than he had planned, heading toward some idling midshipmen. Norrington watched his progress for a short time, then turned again to the sea. Directly off port, long away, sailed the Apollo. Her colors were flying brilliantly, speaking of the wealth they'd brought in for Beckett and his damned company. He grinned, thinking off-handedly of the Black Pearl coming up along the Apollo and firing a broadside against her hull.

He was even more surprised when he wasn't angry with himself over the candid thought.

Norrington painfully tried to rub the sleep-- or lack thereof-- from his tired eyes and returned his gaze to the sea.

Where would Sparrow and his crew be now? he wondered. Would Jones' crew have caught up with them? He smiled to himself. Would I have liked to see the look on Sparrow's face when he found the heart missing... His smile faded. What of Elizabeth?

"Captain Norrington," Gillette's voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned. "The longboat is ready, sir."

Norrington nodded wordlessly. Gillette cornered him with a concerned look.

"You haven't slept."

"Brilliant observation, Gillette," Norrington said, brushing the man away with a sweep of his arm. "Now, I would rather arrive early than late to our briefing . Lord Beckett is adamant on keeping appointments, let me assure you."

"... Sir," Gillette answered hesitantly. The two men headed for the longboat that had been lowered down the starboard side. The wind was being spilled from the Valor's sails as it prepared to allow the men to board. Norrington turned to the balding second mate, Fredricks.

"Mr. Fredricks, you are to act in my stead while Mr. Gillette and I are aboard the Valor. I trust your judgement, and that you will know the consequences of your failure." He lowered himself down the side of the ship before Fredricks could salute. Gillette followed him. Sitting beside the oarlocks were two men that Norrington recognized from his crew, but could not, for the life of him, remember their names. One was young, hardly old enough to serve-- perhaps some young relation of Beckett's sent to sea to appease a suffering parent. The other was a face hardly seen but very distinctive, with the long scar completely obscuring his right eye. Norrington made no show of disgust-- he had seen far worse in his time as a pirate. Gillette sat beside him as the longboat was pushed off from the side of the Gorgon and began rowing for the Valor, which had just dropped anchor. Norrington could hear the other three ships answer almost in unison with their own anchors. Soon, he and his longboat were the only moving objects as far as the bend of the horizon could tell.

Strange hands pulled up the captain and the first mate of the Gorgon. Norrington brushed off his coat and motioned for Gillette to follow him toward Beckett's personal cabin. He straightened the cuffs of his sleeves as well as his collar, which hugged his neck more than he would have liked. Gillette followed his motions as Norrington rapped loudly on the wide doors. The woman in a maid's bonnet, the same from the night before, greeted the two men at the door.

"You're early," she said almost timidly, but allowed them passage. "Lord Beckett was expecting you at seven bells."

"I am not a man to wait," he said stiffly, cracking his neck slightly before battle. "Excuse me," he said to the woman, and he and Gillette entered the cabin. The doors, their retreat, closed behind them. Sunlight poured through the wide open windows encompassing the entire back wall of Beckett's cabin. The man himself sat at his magnificent desk, inspecting charts with a compass in hand. He did not glance up as the men entered.

"I said seven bells," he droned, his voice indicating he did not care whether it was seven bells or the dead of night. In the silence that followed, a deckhand rang the brass bell seven consecutive times. Norrington's cocky grin got the best of him, and he crossed his arms defiantly.

"Seven bells, sir."

Beckett looked up with lazy eyes. "Impeccable timing, Captain." His eyes moved from Norrington's face to Gillette's who was fiddling with a cufflink behind his back. "Good morning, Mr. Gillette. I trust you had a pleasant sleep?"

Norrington's smile soured, and Gillette ceased his fiddling at once.

"Sir?" He asked, for clarification. But Beckett had moved on, and was standing behind his desk.

"Last night," Beckett droned in his unvarying voice, "I set in motion the plan that you and your men are to carry out within the next few days." He began to toy with the objects on his deck, slightly shifting the position of the compass, flicking at the curling edges of a map, his fingers dallying around a drawer that no doubt held the pistol he kept near him at all times. "You are to take the Gorgon and sail to Isla Asilo west of Tortuga." He rolled up one of the maps on his desk and handed it to Gillette. "You will find it well marked on this map." He turned on heel, hands clasped behind his back, to stare out at the sea. It was clear and sparkling in the rising sun of the Caribbean.

Gillette handed the map to Norrington, who unrolled it just enough to find the mark in black ink where the Isla Asilo lay. He glanced up over the edge of the map as Beckett continued.

"I have sent word through a known pirate channel that this is where the heart is waiting, and its new owner is willing to negotiate with Jones to ensure that nothing happens to the heart." Beckett glimpsed Gillette's strange expression and seized his opportunity. "Seeing is believing, is it, Mr. Gillette?"

Before Gillette could answer, Beckett was holding the bag once again. It was still beating as healthily as the day Jones tore it from his own chest. Beckett admired it, turning it to see it at every angle. Gillette watched it amazement, unable to take his eyes from the pulsating bag that Norrington had carried against his chest for days until Beckett's ship had found him adrift. Norrington took a deep breath and re-rolled the map quickly.

"Yes, we know that you have the heart," Norrington said with agitation. "If all we need is this map, then we will be on our way." Beckett, the upper hand taken from him at the crucial moment, set the heart back on his desk with a huff.

"Impatience never won a war, Captain."

"Is it a war we are starting, then, Lord Beckett?"

Beckett lowered his brows defensively against the onslaught brought on by the accusing eyes of Captain James Norrington. The air grew tense, and even Gillette felt uneasy as the two leviathans battled to best the other without saying a word. Finally, Beckett turned again to the window.

"Norrington, you are to take the Gorgon to Isla Asilo. Jones will come. I know him better than you think."

"As you know Jack Sparrow?" Norrington challenged. He could feel Beckett's smug grin even if he couldn't see it. Beckett turned only to show his profile.

"Sparrow is dead," he said coldly. Norrington held a long breath, then continued.

"And how I bargain with Jones is up to me?"

"I offer to protect the heart as long as Jones is willing to follow my command." He felt stronger suddenly, and he faced Norrington fully again. "Somewhat like yourself, actually."

Norrington pulled his lips tight in a straight line across his face. He lowered his head slightly, never taking his eyes off of Beckett's. "Sir," he said, then turned toward the door. Gillette moved to follow him, but Beckett raised a hand in the air to stop him.

"Mr. Gillette, can I trust you to keep an eye on our friend Captain Norrington?" Gillette saw Beckett's fingers twitch as they sat atop his coin purse on the desk. The first mate watched Beckett carefully, before sighing, looking to the money again, and nodding infinitesimally. A grin to match Norrington's flashed across Beckett's features. "Good man." He tossed the coin purse in Gillette's direction, and he caught it mechanically and followed Norrington out to the doors they had come in through. Beckett sat behind his desk once again, checking the compass and inking in another spot on his map.

Sparrow dead?

Norrington stared straight forward as the coxswain turned to boat away from the Valor, Apollo and Intrepid. They were headed back toward Tortuga. A place Norrington knew well. Or, rather less-than-well, remembering that he had been drunk most of the time spent there. He'd been hired there, by Sparrow himself. He and Elizabeth.

Good God! If Sparrow is dead...

He tried his hardest not to think about it.

He tried instead to think about the three day passage to Isla Asilo. The weather was fair and he had the assurance of Davy Jones' heart locked safely away in Beckett's personal safe. The map was well-marked and the wind was at their backs.

But he could not keep the dread from creeping up his spine. Beckett knew more than he was letting on. Either that or he was bluffing about Sparrow just to rile him. Ruffle his feathers to keep him in line. He ran a hand through his hair, loosing more from where it was tied behind his head. He couldn't trust Beckett with much of anything, but could he take his word on Sparrow?

If Sparrow is dead, then Elizabeth...

Norrington broke from the railing and stormed across the deck to the door of his cabin. He shouted at a crewman who was doing a fine job to hurry up and loose the sails. The door to his cabin was thrust violently open and jammed shut with as much force. Once there, noting the crumpled mirror frame sitting dejectedly in a corner, Norrington began to pace. He was no stranger to pacing-- at least, the Commodore had known the paths quite well. As for the piece of himself that refused to die, that grimy, almost half-human part of him that still slept in the hold of the Black Pearl, he had never had the taste for pacing. Rum has a way of discouraging a body from walking in any sense. This only increased the fervor of his pacing. He wished to God he had a stiff drink.

If Sparrow is dead, then Elizabeth may well be dead, too. You imbecile! Raving, mad imbecile, you hand-picked her death and fed it to her! Treason against a pirate is still treason-- you've killed her!

Norrington held a hand against his pounding head. Beckett was lying. He had to be. Norrington knew Sparrow well enough to know he wouldn't go do easily. And he knew Elizabeth and Turner well enough to know that they would go with him if they could.

"Even if Sparrow is dead, how am I to know the fault lies with me?" Norrington asked the air around him. His own mind answered for him.

You knew Jones was after him. After the Black Pearl! Damn you, Elizabeth was on that ship! Do not deny that you still love her, for you know it to be a bold-faced lie.

"No," Norrington shook his head. "Elizabeth isn't dead. Sparrow maybe, but not Elizabeth." He stopped his pacing suddenly, believing every word he'd just said. Closing his eyes and lowering himself down onto his bed slowly, he repeated it to himself. "Elizabeth is not dead."

Norrington informed Gillette not to let any sailor into his cabin until they reached the port at Isla Asilo. He had too much on his mind, he said, and he trusted Gillette to get them there safely. Gillette absently fingered the coin purse that lay heavy in his pocket before ordering another sail be loosed.


AN: Ah! Twists already! I'd like to thank my reviewers who encourage me to go on. I hope I keep living up to expectations! It'll get more exciting later, I promise! Next chapter... Davy Jones!