A/N: they're running away with the story, aren't they. TT Also, I'm not sure when the first water gun was invented, but it surely can't be difficult to make a mechanism that squirts water and fit it into a pistol, right? Heheh. Historical inaccuracies continue. Also, it might be a little quick for deductions, but this was really meant to be a short five-part story. TT doesn't look like that's possible now…. Hmm.

4

Piracy

"I refuse to take part in whatever the both of you are planning," James said icily. "I'm working at the moment, thank you very much."

"That be great," Katherine's feigned brogue was as outrageous as her brother's. "In th'light o' those facts, our dastardly plans will surely succeed!"

To James' horror, Victor sheathed his sword, tucked the flag into a belt at his waist, and began to climb the rigging. He motioned quickly at a marine, who took over at the helm, and stalked forward – Katherine stepped instantly into his path, once he was off the bridge, grinning impishly. James glared at her, then looked up at Victor. "Victor! Get back down here this instant!" A glance back at the sister. "What the hell are the both of you doing?"

"M'goin' t'put this 'ere flag up on th'mainmast," Victor said cheerfully, though he paused in his climb to indicate the flag at his belt.

James' mouth worked for a moment as he attempted to process this particular set of ludicrous twins-antics, and he took a deep breath. And another. Then he growled, "Victor. You are coming down here right now."

"Make me!" the Earl stuck out his tongue, and continued to climb.

James rubbed the bridge of his nose. A yelp from above made him look back at Victor sharply – the Earl had slipped alarmingly, though with surprising agility had hooked himself back on the rigging, righted his body, and with another impish grin, grabbed for the next rope. His sister merely giggled, seemingly unaware that a drop, even from where Victor was currently at, could cause broken bones.

With a low oath, James sidestepped Katherine, dodged the grab she made for his sleeve, and made for the rigging. Experience and longer legs meant he caught the infuriating twin before they got high enough for a slip to be definitely lethal – a grip on one slender wrist, hooking an elbow in the rigging, the other deftly grabbing the flag and letting the wind take it. The Jolly Roger fluttered out into the sea. Victor pouted.

"Now. We are going down, before you attract any more attention than you already have," James growled. Below, the few lords and ladies who had decided to enjoy the morning breeze were peering at them in curiosity.

"It's nice up here. Bracing." Victor's velvety baritone was pitched in a whine, one hand holding on to the brim of his hat. Tassels and wheat-gold hair were pulled into a wild mane by the dancing breeze.

"Victor."

"Fine. I'd climb down, if you turn a little bit that way… yes, just like that." Victor watched him until James realized that now, with his back facing the guests on the deck, Victor could…

Cool lips brushed against his own in a brief, playful caress, while teeth gently nipped at a lower lip. James' eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in outrage. "Victor!"

"Whatever you can do in retaliation, it'd still have been worth it!" Victor yelled back cheerfully, as he began to scramble down the rigging.

James snarled, the morning's dark mood forgotten in the light of a sudden need to do violence. "When I get my hands on you two…"

Katherine helped her brother down onto the deck just as James clambered down, furious. Both twins drew their blades with bright grins of pure mischief. "And we say, avast, Navy dog! Ye'd never take us alive!" she crowed.

James would have, even in his current murderous state, still declined to draw steel on a lady, if it wasn't obvious to his trained eye that both twins were surprisingly versed in swordsmanship – in their easy stance, knees slightly bent, blades steady. And they more than deserved a thrashing.

"Prepare yourselves for a trouncing," he growled, and drew his own sword.

--

"Sir?" Mercer, at the door.

"Yes?" Beckett looked up from where he had been perusing a thick volume on the economy in Jamaica.

"There's something up on deck that you might like to see, sir." Mercer said in his inflectionless voice. "A duel."

"Pah. Let my chivalric, bloodthirsty peers kill themselves if they want."

Mercer persisted – unusual, for him. "It's the Rear Admiral, against Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander."

That made him get up and dress.

News of the duel had spread fast amongst those who were awake – marines, sailors and members of the nobility stood in a large ring on deck, occasionally laughing and cheering either side. Near the rail, Norrington and the twins danced in a deadly weave of steel. Norrington's captain's coat was ripped in several places, but neither the Earl nor his sister seemed to be any the worse for wear. The reason for that presented itself in the next moment, as the Admiral, easily sidestepping a lunge from Lady Katherine, whirled, deflected a vicious slice from the Earl, feinted and drove his blade past the other man's guard. At the last moment, the edge turned, the angle changed delicately, and Norrington smacked the flat of his blade into the Earl's shoulder. Recovery and a slight twist, and he parried the thrust from Lady Katherine at his back, without even looking around.

Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander were grinning, a little breathless, as they leaped back, circling, their grace resembling dancers more than swordsmen, though the way they handled themselves – and the wordless teamwork – spoke of more than adequate skill. It was probably unfortunate that their opponent had a reputation, even in London, for his mastery of the blade.

Norrington stood absolutely still, a smirk on his face as he watched the gaily-dressed pair stalk slowly around him. His free hand came up, four aristocratic fingers beckoning in a lazy challenge. The marines cheered their commander.

Victor attacked first, to Norrington's side – a guarded swing, metal shearing against metal as he pushed his weight against crossed swords. The Rear Admiral had obviously been waiting for Katherine to come at him while thus occupied – peripheral vision, likely – and he dodged the kick she aimed at his knee. Her sword arced upwards – and was caught by the barrel of a drawn pistol. Beckett realized that he had been holding his breath.

The twins sprang back again, as Norrington holstered the gun, and at some hidden signal, immediately lunged, one always aiming for his back, seeking flaws in his guard as they seemed to drive him back towards the rail. Abruptly, the Rear Admiral whirled, coat blurring, and kicked the Earl in the abdomen. As Lord Victor staggered back, gasping, against the rail, he parried Lady Katherine's blade, twisted his wrist deftly, and sent the rapier spinning. He caught the hilt on its downward arc, twirled it deftly until he was holding the blade, and threw it like a spear. The blade stuck, quivering, in the mizzenmast.

The Earl, upon straightening up, found the tip of a blade against his throat. "Yield." Norrington said coolly.

Lord Tembury-Lysander pouted, but abruptly sprang to his side. Growling, Norrington turned to chase, then arched an eyebrow when he saw that Katherine had drawn her pistol.

She grinned at him. "Bang. You're dead." And pulled the trigger.

--

The sudden wet on his chest almost made Norrington drop his blade in shock. The twins had… they had…

His brain informed him dryly that unless he had been eating something really odd, his blood was certainly not transparent. Besides, there had been no gunsmoke smell, nor impact, nor pain.

James looked down at the growing damp on his coat, and sighed. "Water?"

"A water gun!" Katherine informed him, merrily. And squirted him again.

"Oh, good grief… hey!" Norrington brought up his hands to shield his face when Victor attacked with his own water pistol from the side. Their audience roared with merriment, as he was soaked, wig included, despite his best efforts. With a growl, he started towards the nearest twin – Katherine – only to find that they were both running for it, laughing like hyenas, disappearing below decks with surprising speed.

James took a deep breath, then shook his head wryly. "Mister Evans. Could you take the helm until I get changed?"

"Aye, sir," the helmsman nodded, without even the hint of a smile, wandering up to the bridge. James turned to the marines. "Lieutenant Forrest, get that blade removed from the mast and have it delivered to my rooms."

"Yes, sir."

A glare at the crowds dispersed them – though James realized that Lord Beckett, wearing a faint smirk, was waiting for him at the stairs down to the lower deck. The silent bodyguard-manservant-whatever stood behind him, expressionless.

He definitely didn't want to handle the man right now, bet or not bet. However, he managed a polite smile when he had to walk past.

"Congratulations on your victory," Lord Beckett said, his tone amused.

"Technically, I lost," James said dryly, as he went down the steps, mildly irritated to realize he was being followed. "Lady Katherine made a good point. In an actual battle, I could have been shot."

"Or you could have shot either of them," Beckett pointed out. "Your skill with the blade is as remarkable as I've heard." It wasn't flattery, just a comment, but (or perhaps because of that) it pleased James far more than it should.

"Thank you," James said, turning to regard the other man, his lips curving into a genuine smile before he realized it. Beckett's eyes widened slightly, and the smirk faltered.

James found himself inviting the man to dinner.

--

After changing, James went to the twins' cabin and nodded at the two guards outside it, entering after a knock. James entered the room and closed the door.

The twins were dressed sensibly again – Victor in a robin-egg blue waistcoat and a yellow silk shirt, embroidered dark leather pants; Katherine in a dress of the same blue, with frothy white lace dusting cleavage and wrists. She wore black gloves, Victor wore white. Both were seated at the rosewood desk in their luxurious chambers, sunk within obscenely plush chairs, papers again in a haphazard mess over the surface, one stack precariously eclipsing two cups of cooling coffee.

Obviously, they hadn't been expecting him to visit them – he hardly ever did check in on them in their private cabins, when there wasn't an obvious emergency of bad weather, or a pirate sighting. Arched eyebrows, though their recovery was quick. Katherine got to her feet when Victor's right ring finger curled slightly. "James! To what do we owe the honor of this visit?" Playful. She slipped in front of him, blocking his immediate view of the closest papers, placing both slender gloved hands on his shoulders and pouting. "By the way, I'm terribly jealous. You're my fiancé, but Victor got to kiss you first."

That was true. Although the twins had definitely attempted, many times, over the years, to try and do things to his person (jokingly or otherwise), James had always managed to successfully evade them. The incident in the rigging had been the first slip.

James gently but firmly pulled both wrists away, trying to look over her shoulder without making it seem too obvious. "It wasn't reciprocal, I can assure you."

Katherine pressed her body up against his, purring, breasts distractingly soft and warm against his chest, leaning upwards, lips parted. "I demand fairness. You have to kiss me."

No sound from Victor – that itself was suspicious. James looked over Katherine again – and specifically, at Victor's hands. The Earl of Southsend was surreptitiously shuffling some papers under others.

James carefully pushed Katherine away, exerting his superior strength, and stalked over to the table. Before he could reach it, though, he was tackled by the Earl, who had moved with startling speed. Automatically, he shifted himself to cushion the impact, grateful for the thick carpet, though a misplaced elbow in his stomach knocked him breathless. There was a gleeful laugh from Katherine as her brother sprawled over James' arms, and she knelt down.

For the second time in the day, James found himself kissed against his will. Katherine's lips were softer, but she had boldly made use of James' gasp of surprise to push her tongue into his mouth, flicking it against his, playfully, for a moment, then pulling away, grinning. "Now we're even." The faintest hint of spice.

James propped himself up on his elbows, growling, reminding himself that outrage was exactly what the both of them were trying to provoke. "What was this morning all about?"

"We thought you might want a break from brooding," Victor said, still in his undignified sprawl over James' abdomen and lap, and looking annoyingly comfortable.

So the incident had been staged for his benefit.

Well, he did feel better – he always did, after swordplay. And it had been a relatively harmless way to dissipate the mounting exasperation he had felt at their behavior.

But that didn't forgive them. Much.

"I wasn't… fine. But the fault lies within the both of you," James snapped. "Stop that." He shifted his weight, using the other to bat away feminine fingers attempting to remove his skewed hat.

"We could… make it up to you…" Katherine and Victor purred, at the same time, with the same pause. Victor tugged suggestively at his silk collar, while Katherine leaned forward, emphasizing her cleavage. James took a deep breath, and rolled his eyes.

"You could both make up for it by letting me look at the papers on your desk," he suggested.

"It's just boring, confidential East India Company stuff," Katherine said dismissively. "We don't look at your confidential dispatches, do we?"

"I'm sure you have," James said dryly.

"But not in your presence," Victor added.

"You both owe me for this morning. And I don't think those are dispatches."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell us you didn't enjoy thrashing us at swordplay," Katherine grinned mischievously.

"You hit me a lot harder than you hit Kathie," Victor grumbled, gingerly touching fingers to his ribs. "I'd be black and blue tomorrow."

"You deserved it," James replied, unmercifully. "And I didn't hit Katherine."

"That just makes my point more valid. Gender discrimination." Victor stuck out his tongue. Katherine sprawled against James' back, putting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping arms tightly around him when he tried to jerk away. Perfume. James tried growling in warning – but both twins merely chuckled.

"The both of you could use some work on your stance and technique," James said, hoping to bore the both of them off him. He didn't want to resort to physical violence for the second time in the day.

"We really started with fencing, for fun," Katherine said, jaw moving against his shoulder. "We haven't really done much work outside of using foils."

"You could teach us," Victor suggested, with a wink.

"I'm working." James said pointedly. "And besides, the both of you are adequate enough to take out most opponents, especially if you're working together. Further training is a little unnecessary."

"What did you visit us for?" Victor asked, snuggling to get more comfortable. James tensed, then made himself relax – wrestling with the both of them would likely only play into their wishes.

"To tell you that Lord Beckett would be dining with us tonight, again."

Katherine whistled. "You work fast, sweetheart."

"It's not meant to… I wasn't going to… I didn't…" James began. He glowered when both twins snickered. "What?"

"We told you he was your type," Victor smirked. "Repressed young English Lords. I bet he's the vocal sort in bed."

"The type who'd spread his legs and beg for more," Katherine purred, in a salacious tone absolutely unbecoming of a young lady of breeding.

James flushed, then bared his teeth, shaking his head. "The two of you are incorrigible."

"We're right, you'll see," Victor grinned wickedly. "We are going to win the bet, you know. When we find out, we'd tell you."

James had a sudden, disturbing mental image of Victor, Katherine and Lord Beckett in stages of undress, with Victor between open thighs, Katherine lazily claiming kisses from whimpering lips. Pinned, delicate wrists.

The type who'd spread his legs and beg for more. In a voice normally distant and cold.

Not a good mental image.

Definitely.

Very disturbing at that.

Ahem.

He shifted a little uncomfortably. Victor's eyes gleamed. "Why, James…"

James growled. "Get off my lap."

Victor pouted, but didn't budge.

Katherine was chuckling. "We really should be insulted. That you don't find us attractive, but when we speak of Lord Beckett you… heh." Another chuckle.

Flushed, annoyed, and embarrassed, James said the first thing on his mind. "That's not true."

"What's not true?" Victor inquired, with a smile of pure innocence. "The bit about not finding us attractive, or about Lord Beckett?"

James began to speak, then clamped his lips shut. He refused to dig himself in any deeper than he already had. Through the maddening irritation and embarrassment, he remembered. Papers. On the desk. That Victor had been hiding. He took a few measured breaths, then rolled suddenly to his feet, forcibly displacing the Earl of Southsend, prying apart the arms around him. Dodged the grab they made for long legs, and reached the table in a stride.

If memory served right, some of the papers Victor had hidden were right there…

He pulled out some pages – and frowned. There was a small painting of a bird with iridescent blue plumage and a white breast, a long, sharp beak that speared a fish. Vague memories of London and his mother, who had been an amateur ornithologist, provided the name. "A kingfisher?"

The text under the picture, though neatly written, was obviously encrypted. Doggerel. James managed to glance briefly at the scattered papers before someone – likely Katherine, by the size of the fingers – clapped hands over his eyes. The paper was jerked out of his hand, and from the sound of it, the papers on the desk were being pushed into rough stacks.

"You're terribly single-minded, darling." Katherine sighed, from behind.

James decided to put his faith out on a bluff. "If you both don't tell me, seriously, what is going on…"

"Mm?" Victor was pressed against him, from the front. Finished with the papers then. Warm breath against his neck.

James took another steadying breath, and decided that, whatever could happen to their peace of mind if the bluff turned out to be well placed, it was a long time in coming. "If you don't tell me, then at dinner, I'm going to mention the word 'kingfisher' to Lord Beckett."

From the sudden silence and the stiffness of Victor's slighter body, he could tell that the wild guess had struck home.

Gloved fingers slipped from his eyes. Katherine pressed into his back. Arms encircled him tightly from both sides. A low voice, against his spine. "You don't want to do that, James."

He looked down. Victor had buried his face against his inner coat. Their obvious distress tugged keenly at his heart – he even began to feel a little guilty, for threatening them. James sighed, and patted fine gold hair. "Really. What's wrong?"

"Don't want to tell you." Victor murmured.

"Don't want to lose you," Katherine added.

Faced with that, he couldn't find words. Stood and breathed evenly for a while, felt the heartbeats against his chest and back, heard the slightly unsteady, hitched breaths on either side of his frame. Closed his other hand over feminine fingers pressed in Victor's side. Perfume, aftershave, coffee and cigars. Warmth from two bodies. Eventually he whispered, "It may not be obvious, but I care."

A soft laugh – Katherine's. "We know."

"And the both of you don't need to protect me."

Victor shook his head, face still pressed into starched fabric. "Not in this case."

"What is 'kingfisher'? What does it have to do with Beckett?" James asked, as gently as he could.

"James." Katherine's voice was almost inaudible. "Throw the bet."

"What?"

"Let us win," Victor elaborated. "We'd let you approve the name for the ship beforehand."

"To hell with the damned ship. You want to win – why?"

"Or…" Katherine continued, "Just drop the bet altogether. We'd leave you in peace for the four agreed months. Word of honor."

James took a deep breath. "Victor, Katherine. I'd rather be closeted with the both of you, for a bloody year, at your most troublesome, than have anything happen to either of you."

Fingers shifted and tightened in his coat. Another sigh. "Sorry. James, we just can't. We can't." Katherine moved her head – cheek against his back now. "Don't insist. Please."

"You're both trying to protect me." It wasn't a question.

"Some secrets are dangerous," He felt, rather than saw, Victor's wry smile.

James looked at the table. Some names could be seen on the scattered sheets. Well – there were other ways of finding out that didn't involve upsetting the twins. It was distinctly unnerving, seeing them this way.

"All right. I won't ask either of you further."

Twin exhalations of relief, then Katherine tensed first. "You'd better not ask Beckett."

"Oh please, I have better sense than that," James drawled.

"And the bet?" Victor asked, suspiciously, finally looking up.

"Is still on." James smirked, and pressed his lips to soft wheat-gold hair, squeezing Katherine's gloved hand gently as he did so. Narrowed blue eyes. James gently disentangled himself, and grinned at identical sets of worried features. "See the both of you at dinner."

"James…" Exasperation, from both twins.

James glanced back at them, with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. Now you know how it feels like.

They were silent, as the door closed.

--

No whist tonight – the twins had apologized, claiming exhaustion from the morning's duel, merrily blamed the Rear Admiral, and retired first. Beckett had managed not to frown. As much as their act had been spotless, again, there seemed to be something a little off – they appeared slightly distracted. It could, however, simply be weariness from the morning's duel, of course.

"Coffee?" Norrington asked, as servants brought in a pot and cups. Beckett hesitated, then nodded and remained in his seat. A faint and irrational sense of unease at being left alone with the Rear Admiral caused the suppressed anxiety to surge back, which he forced down with some effort, deliberately scalding his tongue on the hot liquid. The pain cleared his mind.

He settled for safe topics, up until it could be polite to leave. "What is Port Royal like, Admiral?"

"It's not a big town," Norrington said, with a faint smile. "And mostly it's a Naval port, I'm afraid. Trade around the area is usually handled in Kingston. I'm surprised, actually, why the East India Company chose to base its offices in Port Royal rather than in Kingston."

"I do believe it has to do with tradition rather than practicality," Beckett said, allowing a disinterested tone to creep into his reply. "The previous set of offices was in Old Port Royal, after all. And besides, the role of the Port Royal posting of the East India Company is partially for the purposes of Naval relations."

"The previous Lord didn't give me that impression," Norrington chuckled. "He was always around the fort demanding something or other." Wryly, "I'm afraid the marines had a name for him, behind his back. It wasn't particularly flattering."

"Lord Sythe, I think?" Beckett purposefully sounded vague, and neutral. "Poor man. Weak heart. Don't worry, Admiral. I can assure you I'd be somewhat less of a pest." A faint sneer.

Norrington's eyes darkened, and when he spoke, his voice was a deep purr that (to his consternation) created a stab of heat in an inconvenient aspect of his body. "I doubt I'd mind having you around the fort, Lord Beckett." Just as quickly, the Admiral's demeanor changed, returning to his normal equilibrium. "I suppose having Lords of the Company about is better than pirates."

"Pirates?" Beckett repeated, struggling for a moment, anxiety from the worry that he could just have slipped warring with rationality. Self-control won out. Lord Beckett smirked. "I do beg your pardon, Admiral, but I find it hard to believe that pirates would dare to set foot in the heart of your jurisdiction. You are the 'Pirate Hunter', after all."

"Sane pirates don't," Norrington nodded, a little wearily. "Insane pirates, unfortunately…"

"Insane… pirates?" He curled fingers into the armrests. No, no…

"A fine specimen of a mad pirate, known popularly in the Caribbean as Captain Jack Sparrow, seems to have taken it upon himself to wander about Port Royal whenever he has nothing better to do," Norrington said wryly. "Despite the best efforts of the marines. He has the devil's luck. So don't be too startled if you happen to see him being chased about town – it's almost becoming commonplace."

"I… I see." Beckett took a slow breath, inwardly cursing himself for stammering. His fingers were clamped tightly on the rests now, and they felt… no, they shouldn't, he just washed them before dinner… but they felt…

"Lord Beckett?" Concern.

Beckett managed to keep his voice steady and his mask in place. "I must apologize, Admiral, but it seems I'm feeling a little under the weather. Please excuse me."

"Of course," Norrington said quickly, getting to his feet. Beckett managed to keep his hands from shaking until he was out of the cabin and next to Mercer.

--

Within the Manticore cabin, James leaned back in his chair and finished his coffee, his eyes half-shuttered, lips curved in a thoughtful, languid smile.