A/N: I don't play whist (or indeed many card games other than poker), so I'm sorry if my interpretation is a little wrong, or if the game account seems juvenile.

3

Whist

James frowned. "He seems normal to me. Cold fish, though."

"You didn't see?" Victor arched an eyebrow. "He's a little…" A rude gesture insinuating mental problems.

James rolled his eyes. "Whatever gave the both of you that impression?"

"He drank his soup in exactly sixty-four spoonfuls," Katherine said.

"Each time he took a serving he'd eat it in sixteen mouthfuls," Victor added. "Multiples of four."

"The gloves."

"The coat."

"The way he moved his hand away so fast when it seemed like I might brush against his sleeve."

"…so?" James asked, forcing himself to be patient.

The twins smirked. Katherine reached forward and patted his hand. "Don't worry, James. We still adore you. It's all right."

James glared at them.

"He's compulsive," Victor drawled, as though speaking to a particularly slow child. "You know. Kathie and I have seen some of these people before. They can't help doing certain things, like… oh, having to take a certain number of steps to the bathroom in the morning, washing their hands far too often… it's quite funny, sometimes." Both twins didn't add that they had once, before meeting James, made use of a person's compulsions to torture said person for information. James tended to react badly to those sorts of analogies.

"So not only did you pick someone dangerous, you picked someone… not quite right in the head?" James asked dryly.

"But that makes it fun!" Katherine smiled brightly.

"Exactly!" Victor agreed. A manservant entered, with coffee and what looked like a small stack of blank paper, quill, inkbottle. Katherine moved to sit next to her brother. They took turns doodling what looked like meaningless squiggles.

"There's still something the both of you aren't telling me," James said suspiciously.

"What makes you think that, darling?" Katherine asked, innocently.

James resisted the instant ire he felt at the ridiculous endearment, and instead smiled indulgently. That brought them both up short. Twin arched eyebrows. "Because, Katherine-dear, the two of you have been drinking coffee in copious amounts. Also, you provoked me into leaving the room when I picked up after the both of you. And the two of you insisted on continuing with your double act even though you told me he had caught on to it."

"And? And?" Victor said, in a tone of breathy excitement, obviously meant to irritate.

"Really, Victor," James said sternly, "If you're still trying to annoy me off the issue, I'm sad to say it won't work."

Both twins pouted. Katherine glanced at her brother, then said in a small voice, "I suppose we really should tell him."

Victor sighed. "It'd only be fair, wouldn't it, Kathie."

"I mean, keeping secrets from our darling, that's a breach of trust," Katherine said solemnly. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"

"I'd do it."

"I'm right here, you know," James said mildly.

Victor glanced back at him, and before James could divine his intent and pull his hand away, had clasped it firmly before him with both elegant hands. James tugged briefly to no avail, then asked, flatly, before he lost any further dignity, "Well?"

"You see, James-sweetie…"

"I told you the 'endearments' wouldn't work," James said, in a tone of disdain.

"Well. You see… Lord Beckett is really…"

A dramatic pause that dragged on too long. Impatiently, James asked, "Well?"

"We didn't want to tell you, but I suppose you'd really have found out eventually…" this was from an earnest Katherine.

"If I lose my patience," James said evenly, "I am throwing the both of you overboard."

"Okay, we'd tell you, if you promise not to be angry."

"Much."

"All right, you can be a little angry, because when you're angry you're really sexy."

"Victor. Katherine."

"And you have to promise it'd never leave this room." Victor said, seriously.

"You don't even have to ask that," James said irritably. "Well?"

"Fine." Victor held green eyes with ice-blue ones evenly. "Lord Beckett… is actually… a woman."

James stared at him for a moment, then at Katherine, then lowered his head with a deep, exasperated sigh, jerking his hand out of Victor's palms. The twins burst into gales of laughter. "Fine. Get into trouble, I don't care. I'll see you both in a goddamn hour." With that, he got to his feet, and stalked out.

--

The twins managed to stop sniggering only when they were on their second cups of coffee. "That was cruel," Katherine finally admitted, when they subsided.

"But it's just so hard to resist," Victor agreed, his eyes going down to the sketches – an elaborate code that they had perfected years ago, that allowed them to hold conversations about strategy in silence, keep the records, and still be safe. "And you agreed, we can't tell him what Kingfisher is. Let alone that it's Beckett. He'd worry, then try to do the honorable thing by confronting Beckett about it, and before you know it…"

"That man with the dead eyes he keeps as a bodyguard would likely stick our James full of knives," Katherine sighed. "We could assign Bartlett."

"No, we need him," Victor shook his head. "If we play this right, Beckett shouldn't think James is anything more than he is."

"You saw too, didn't you," Rosebud lips curved into a little smirk. "He definitely was 'looking'. At James. On the verge of salivating, even." That was probably an exaggeration, but it made both twins snicker.

"Yes, I was beginning to feel a little slighted," Victor said, with an expression of mock envy. "I think this one probably would go both ways, if we could get under his repression and the… issue, though."

"James has that little gleam in his eye," Katherine added, a little more seriously. "He's interested. It might be hard to, well, beat him to it, when it goes that way. I think we'd better talk to Mister Evans. More work for James means it'd be easier for us."

Victor nodded. Their scribble conversation was complete. Outside of a few more conventional, crude strategies, all quickly discarded – getting Beckett drunk, or slipping something into his food or drink – were a few other plans that could immediately be set in motion. Unfortunately, to allay suspicion, the whist and cigars tonight would have to be strictly friendly.

"We'd just make it up to him afterwards," Katherine said, as the scribbles and coffee were taken away and a pack of cards was placed on the table.

Victor chuckled. "Perhaps we won't need to. He hardly ever stays angry with us. And besides, he knows he's closer to the truth than we really want him to be. And if he wants the truth, he'd have to make peace."

"It's really cute how he can't help but be worried about us," Katherine grinned.

True to that prediction, when James returned, early, for whist, he had a wry smile and a peace offering of macaroons.

--

"Do we draw for partners?" Lord Beckett asked, when he reentered the cabin, anxiety washed away in a basin in his own. He was unsurprised to note that the third player was Lady Katherine, despite her vivid performance as brainless feminine fluff during dinner. There was a neat stack of cards on the table.

The Rear Admiral glanced at his fiancée, then at her brother, and smiled faintly. "I'm sad to say that when we do draw for partners, it really usually ends up with…"

"Are you suggesting that we'd cheat, James?" The Earl grinned.

"I'm not suggesting that you'll cheat, Victor," Norrington said dryly. "I'm asserting that you both will, if paired with anyone else. In fact, likely the best way to prevent cheating would be for one of you not to play, and for us to hail one of the Lords at random from the ship."

"It's a trick-taking game, James," Lady Katherine smiled sweetly. "Cheating is part of the rules. But of course, it's up to our guest." The dazzling smile was turned on Lord Beckett, who realized to his mild consternation that he wasn't entirely immune.

He found himself agreeing, even as he hastened to suppress the urge to excuse himself again. It was an effort even to prevent his fingers from curling. "The Earl and Lady Tembury-Lysander may pair if they wish." Dryly. "But in that case we don't play for money. I don't wish to be cleaned of my finances before even reaching Jamaica."

Both twins pouted. "But that's no fun, Lord Beckett," The Earl protested. "Winners have to win something."

"Don't agree, they come up with the most undignified dares," Norrington said wearily, settling down in a chair without bothering about seating privileges. Beckett sat down opposite him, and the twins seated themselves. The tension from the stiffly polite dinner seemed to have dissipated, and he wasn't sure what the twins' game was now. Norrington's attitude appeared to be simply that he was used to their caprice and was simply reacting to whatever mood they cared to set at any moment, without really thinking about it. With that open face, it didn't seem like the officer was really capable of subterfuge on the level that the Earl and his sister were.

It could be that they were simply trying to create an atmosphere where he would play whist casually, like the game it was, rather than guardedly. Through the trick-taking card game, a person versed in reading others could glean much information about the other players – it was the main reason why he had agreed to put himself through further 'socializing', rather than pleading weariness.

"I'll deal. James will shuffle." The Earl decided.

Thirteen cards were dealt to each player. The Earl turned his last card face up – three of hearts – hearts was trumps, then. The card was turned back again, as each player fanned cards before them.

James was to lead the first trick, being left of the dealer, and he did so predictably. King of diamonds. Diamonds was his strongest suit, then. Not a good complement – the longest that Beckett currently had was spades…

--

"The two of you have your own room, the last I checked," James said irritably.

Both twins were again sprawled haphazardly over his bed, slightly flushed from cognac and from their triumph at whist. Beckett had conceded the loss with wry grace, and claimed weariness when challenged to a fourth round. He was a cautious player who tended to save trumps for the last few hands, a player who saw a partner only as an asset not to be fully trusted, giving out almost no cues at all as to his own suits. On the other hand, he seemed excellent at deducing the strong and weak suits that the twins held.

Katherine giggled, obviously tipsy, and to James' exasperation, burrowed under the sheets. Her brother rolled over onto his side, back to the Rear Admiral, and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Oh, for God's sake," James sighed. "I have to wake up early tomorrow. Please."

"You don't have to, you're a guest here, sweetie," Katherine's voice was slightly muffled under the sheets.

James snorted, deciding to let the provocation slide for the time being. "I still want to sleep."

"No one's stopping you," Victor pointed out.

"And where, exactly, do you suggest I sleep with the both of you occupying my bed?"

"It's a decently big bed. Enough for three, if none of us kick," Victor's wicked grin could be vaguely seen under the pillow, as he rolled over. "Why don't you change? I think we've never seen you in a nightshirt before."

There was a muffled "Ooh. Hot," from under the blankets.

"I remember Katherine saying that you were ticklish," James said, as menacingly as he could, as he approached. Sure enough, Victor sat up, pillow held protectively to his abdomen.

"You wouldn't!"

"Get off the bed and I won't."

"I happen to be the Earl of Southsend," Victor said in a forbidding tone, rather marred by the tousled hair, flushed cheeks, the unsteady finger waved in his direction and escaping locks of wheat-gold hair that curled over a rumpled collar.

James smirked. "And?"

Almost in reach. Victor yelped and backed against his sister, who wriggled out from the sheets, laughing at his predicament. He bared his teeth at her, then let out a sound suspiciously like a squeak as James, using the distraction, pounced. A few confused moments, flailing limbs, writhing bodies, and squeals later, Victor was off the bed, pouting and breathless, followed by his snickering sister. That was one thing about the twins – if one went one way, the other followed. So evicting the both of them was not too difficult (unless they had made up their minds to stay) if one had the means to evict either. If one was willing to sacrifice some dignity (in the name of sleep), that is.

"Out." James pointed.

"But James," a whine, from both twins.

James permitted himself another smirk. "Good night."

--

Beckett chose to have breakfast privately, not particularly feeling capable of handling civilized company at the moment. As he ate, he went through the details of the dinner and the whist game again. What were those two up to?

He doubted it was simple friendliness, or they would have kept up the guarded double act through the card game – or actually, they would likely have simply asked around for a fourth player, with Lady Katherine retiring early. At least, that was what he would have done, in their place, and it was safe enough such that no one would call question of a lady's wishes to rest – whist was more often than not played by gentlemen, and the invitation had specified whist and cigars.

One reason why he could see that they had stayed and dropped the act was that they wanted to win the rounds of whist. It would have been too facile to keep up the fluff-brained mask when partnering so skillfully in the game. But why would they want to win? There had been, at the Rear Admiral's insistence, no bet at all.

Assuming (and this was a safe assumption) that they wanted to see his play when up against difficult odds – well, Beckett would be the first to admit that a fundamental flaw in his character, based on his vocation, made it difficult for him to rely on partners, let alone a total unknown, even if it were a card game. And Norrington was a difficult partner – although he could, with officer-precision, school his face into an expressionless visage, he never bluffed his suit. Though it could just be that he never did so when playing against the twins.

So, if they wanted to see how he played whist – but why? He was fairly sure that he had taken all the usual steps to make sure that his posting to the Caribbean was above suspicion. Even if they had somehow managed to get their hands on his official file. Many Lords switched postings often, claiming a love of travel, after all. And there was no mention in the file regarding the unfortunate instances that occurred to rival Lords in the area (he was almost never posted to the same post as said Lord, but only to a close one – and he was always careful to make sure that their inexorable demise or ruin seemed unrelated to his arrival).

It wasn't that none of his targets had guessed before – Lord Hailsern in Manila had, five months before the wheels that Beckett set in motion crushed his spirit with scandal, two months too late to prevent it. That had been several months of checking his food for poison and barely evading accidents on the street. It had been amusing – juvenile, but amusing.

But if he recalled, none of his targets had ever deduced that he was Kingfisher, at the beginning. He was young, he always only traveled with Mercer (no other lackeys), and many Lords thought that 'Kingfisher' was not a name for an individual, but a number of individuals. And some of those men he had faced against in the past had been rather disturbingly paranoid.

On the other hand, he had never shared a voyage with any of his targets before, either. It was possible that he had somehow slipped (and so distressingly early in the game), while so much out of his comfort zone. That would unnecessarily complicate his plans. Perhaps more so that he had realized, a little irritably, that he found Rear Admiral Norrington's startling green eyes and parted lips ludicrously attractive.

Given his vocation and the need for an unbreakable armor, Beckett had never previously even allowed himself to consider emotional estrangements. But it didn't mean he couldn't admire beauty when he saw it. The twins, as well, were a refreshing change from facing wrinkled, hard-faced old men. They flaunted their allure, however, while Norrington seemed only half-aware of his own, if at all.

Beckett watched as Mercer cleared the plates, and began to drink tea, opting out of sugar and milk. Lingering on the bitter taste.

That was an issue he did want to consider. If Norrington was interested in men, then the marriage was likely one of convenience. Either that or he could be reading far too much into it – Norrington hadn't exactly attempted to flirt, and just looking was well within the bounds of propriety. And for him to be aware of the double-act, it seemed the twins had accepted him into their secret. Which meant they likely had an emotional tie to him.

Norrington was the chink in their armor. The intuition that had served Beckett well in the past confirmed this. Granted, it would be a difficult weakness to attack – the man's record of commission was spotless – but he wasn't perfect. And if the twins shielded him from the machinations of power – which he was fairly sure they did – then he should be unaware of the preparations one should make when faced against a player in the game. Let alone the East India Company's Kingfisher.

Since he wasn't at his best on a ship, he should really plead seasickness or weariness and keep to himself until Jamaica. And then – since he would be at Port Royal, with the Rear Admiral, and the twins would be in Montserrat – he could begin his work.

With his strategy tentatively in place, even the anxiety seemed to fade away. Just in case, he drank his tea in sixteen gulps.

--

Norrington loved morning shifts at the helm. Crisp weather, sleepy sunlight, and best of all, no chance of any appearances by the twins – they weren't very good at waking up until it was nearly the afternoon. And with the amount of cognac they had drunk last night, it was possible that they would sleep well into said afternoon in the first place. Which meant at least a third of the day could be spent in blissful peace.

As Captain, technically he didn't have to do shifts at the helm, but it was where he felt best attuned to a ship – where he felt his most comfortable. His marines knew better than to disturb him except for emergencies when he was there, not even needing to be fully conscious of wind directions and the currents. In the calm, he could think, and more often than not since he had agreed to the arranged marriage, said thinking centered on twins-caused trouble.

Damn them both.

There was definitely something about Lord Beckett. The way they were taking such pains to be evasive was already telling, on that point. And they had seen something important at whist, enough to celebrate by breaking out some expensive cognac. James frowned – he really couldn't tell anything about the Lord from his gameplay, other than he preferred playing solo. That didn't tell him anything – many whist players chose not to make full use of their partners. And besides, that didn't seem incriminating or even interesting.

Why would they be worried about Lord Beckett?

The most obvious point James could come up with was that the man was being posted to Port Royal, which was well-within their sphere of influence. But they had never seemed worried about any other Lord that had been sent there in the past. Or was it because they were to spend a long voyage with Beckett?

The frigate was large enough of them to ignore each other if they wanted to. Though it wasn't in the twins' nature, admittedly, to simply pretend a problem didn't exist, compared to attacking it head on.

That would explain the evasiveness, at least. The twins had made it clear, at one point, that as much as they wouldn't interfere in James' so-called 'Navy business' (save where it touched on their own), they expected James to extend them the same courtesy and not pry into their own politics. For his own peace of mind, and because it was 'terribly boring', they said – but James knew what they weren't saying, behind the coy winks and playful grins. The world of politics that they moved in was dangerous, and they didn't want him to get involved – were very careful, at all times, to make sure he stayed as uninformed as possible.

Sometimes it annoyed him immensely.

Unfortunately, he was aware that in their relationship there was a fundamental lack of trust that could possibly never be patched – he wasn't sure if it stemmed from their wish to keep him out of 'their' world, or if it was the cause of said decision. On his part, he was so used to handling confidential Naval information that he too, without really being conscious of it, kept them out of 'his' world as much as possible. So both sides were equally guilty, except that the motives were nothing similar. He wasn't protecting them by withholding Naval issues – they, on the other hand, were trying to protect him, and likely themselves – 'the less he knows, the better' – had far more connotations than one.

The last time they had been this worried, they had later lost one of their guards in an assassination attempt that had come far too close for comfort. And he hadn't found out about it until their mother had let slip some detail (thinking that he had known about it) when he had next visited them in Montserrat.

The following angry conversation with the twins hadn't gone well.

"You could have told me," he'd hissed, when he managed to corner them in their drawing room. They had looked at each other, thoughtfully, as though trying to decide how to play to him, then glanced back, with identical, lopsided smiles. "I could have helped."

When Victor spoke, however, his voice was cold – that startled James. With him, around him, they were almost always playful. "It's none of your business, James Norrington."

"I can assure you," Katherine's voice was as glacial as her brother's, "That we can take care of ourselves, and we have always done so."

"In our agreement, neither of us have an obligation to account to you," Victor continued. "As you have no obligation to account to us."

It had taken him a month to even speak to them again for that, let alone forgive them. Despite their best efforts.

He wasn't even really sure why he cared as much as he did. It was, after all, logically obvious that they were, as they had said, very capable of taking care of themselves. If not for the (rather unforeseen) hurt from realizing they hadn't even told him about it – if the mother hadn't spoken, he would likely never have known – he would have approached them in a more rational manner. And likely wouldn't have provoked that chilly, defensive response – or so he thought. Hoped. Their defense was still difficult for him to navigate, and until now he wasn't sure how they perceived him. There was fondness (probably), but outside of that… it was entirely possible he was just a pawn in their little games, and never knew it.

Faint resistance in his palms spoke of currents. Absently, he adjusted the course without even thinking.

That was an unpleasant thought that he never liked to linger upon. Wondering if the affection (yes, he wouldn't admit to that, but it was there) was one-sided, or skewed. At the heart of the relationship was the damned… contract. The arranged marriage agreement. And that, by definition, was fairly cold, by itself.

Obsessing over detail on a fine sailing day.

Brooding, James almost didn't notice the twins saunter out onto the deck.

What in the… he looked up sharply at the sky.

It was still morning.

And what the hell were they up to, dressed like that?

Theatrical buccaneer costumes.

Theatrical pirate costumes.

Victor wore a black coat with oriental serpent designs up the sleeve, picked out in crimson thread, a black tricorne hat on his head stitched ridiculously in gold with the Jolly Roger. His hair was loose and partially braided with maroon tassels, and his scarf was shimmering gold silk. An elaborate belt with an antique silver buckle set with a crossed-swords design ran from shoulder to slim waist, which was hugged by a crimson sash and several unnecessary belts, including scabbard and holster. A crisp white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, half-open, light brown pants, bucket-topped black boots with gold braid trim, and a heavy ring on nearly every finger.

Katherine wore a crimson coat with a soft white fur trim and intricate gold-stitched concentric designs, cut to fit, over a cream blouse with delicate cuffs of lace. She too, wore a tricorne hat with the Jolly Roger design – though red, in her case. The belt across her chest called undue attention to her curves – the buckle was gold, the design a dancing lion. The sash at her waist was blue, and instead of a scarf at her neck, she wore a black leather choker heavily encrusted with gold weave and white pearls of the finest water. A loose, knee-length cream skirt with a black lace trim brushed against brown bucket-topped boots with a silver braid trim. She too had a sword and a pistol at her hips.

They grinned at him. Victor had drawn his rapier – the guard an elaborate fancy of feathers picked out in white gold – and was pointing the blade in his direction. "Avast, ye Navy dog!" In his other hand he held a black flag that looked like… yes, there was a white Jolly Roger.

James groaned, and rested his forehead briefly against one of the spokes on the wheel.

This did not promise to be good.