Beef in gravy sauce. It still surprised her that the shipboard food had a decent flavor. By Theodore's account, she had prepared for much worse. But maybe it was because she ate at the captain's table again. Either that, or her palate had already degraded to naval standard grade. God, but there was nothing encouraging on that thought. The commodore, for his part, ate in silent consideration. But it wasn't an awkward silence. In fact, it struck her how much of a companionable silence it was despite the uneventful, even disappointing voyage.

Of course, there was no evidence of the pirates' trail from the last recorded position of the attack. They had spent the last three days scouring the ports and coastlines for hidden coves and berths, but continued to come up empty-handed.

She blamed popular media, but she always assumed life at sea to be one grand adventure of action and excitement. Of finding one's prey and engaging in fierce battle, taking the victor's spoils, scuttling the loser's ship.

But so far, this voyage was just lots of empty, blue water and dull, shrub infested coastlines.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dropped her napkin, fishing it out to look at the caller ID. Her gaze hardened as she glanced back up at the commodore. "Do you have a room where I can step away?"

He dabbed at his mouth, rising and pointing her towards the door to his bedroom. "In there. Otherwise, it's the head or the hallway."

She nodded her thanks, stepping inside the bedroom and closing the door as she answered.

"Cutlena." Her father's voice came across the line, heavy with tired displeasure. "Your reports are inadequate."

Of course, he would be well-informed of her EITC reports. She stiffened her posture. "My reports have included all relevant information. We are working-"

"Don't play the word game with me. I taught you to play that game."

"Yes, sir." She licked her lips. "There is nothing concrete yet. We made for the last position of the reported attack, but it has been quiet waters. Our ensuing hunt of the coastline has turned up nothing useful."

"Of course, it's been quiet waters. Pirates don't wait around for the navy to descend." Paper shuffled over the phone. "Let me be blunt."

She knew better than to smart off, but how would that possibly be different from his usual conversation?

"Your tenure there is not yielding the results that the Crown had expected. You've been there over a month. It was expected that we would have an assessment of the commodore's fitness for command by now."

"And my reports have included points relevant to that investigation. My next report is currently in process, and now that I have had a chance to observe him in active operations, there will be much more substance for the board to digest. Especially if he is not able to turn anything profitable from this voyage, then that will be reflected in his appraisal." She sighed, irritated with herself. "I regret to admit that I have been laboring under the misconceptions of popular media regarding the expediency of naval pursuits, but it's a vast ocean. There's only so fast our technology can move, even in this modern age."

"Excuses don't become you, Cutlena. Don't make a habit of them." More papers shuffled over the line. "Something else you should know. Ms. Dalma's lawyers secured her release with no travel hold. I sincerely hope that you didn't pursue the avenue with Jones as I advised."

"Fuck."

"Cutlena. You know I don't approve of that language."

"Apologies, sir."

"Your response is not encouraging."

She grit her teeth. "I secured the most profitable trade turnarounds in Conakry without your help, and I will damn well solve this mess here in the Caribbean without it, too."

"Going forward, you certainly will. I've already spoken in your favor, but I will not do so again. Prove definable progress soon, or swift changes will come to the Caribbean and your position."

"I understand."

"Very well." The line went dead.

She sighed, her jaw tightening as she disconnected her phone. Honestly, it was rather surprising that she hadn't heard anything sooner. She knew very well that her reports weren't making the progress that the company and the Crown expected. But what was there for it? Even the weight of her presence and the threat to the commodore's position hadn't made a noticeable difference in day-to-day activities. She refused to believe that it was because there were no feasible changes to be made, but it was taking considerably more effort to seek out the flaws.

And fucking shit on the news about Tia Dalma. With those simple words, her leverage on Jones evaporated. She could only hope that Jones hadn't received the news yet. If he knew that she was free and without travel restrictions…there's no telling how fast they would both go to ground.

But that's exactly why there were Plans A and B in place. Never put all your eggs in one basket.

She blew another sigh, taking another minute to collect herself before returning to the sitting room. Her eyes couldn't help but look around the bedroom, his inner sanctum. It was rather stark to match the outer room – a sizeable bunk with neat bedcovers, a bureau, and leather chair. A few personal items lay scattered around, but nothing too revealing. Her gaze caught the book on the bedside table, squinting down at the title. The Complete Sonnets , William Shakespeare. The blue leather cover looked old, well-loved, and the page corners well-read. An amused smirk tugged at her lips.

Which one was his favorite? Surely, it wouldn't be the more popular ones. He would probably have picked out a favorite all his own.

She turned her gaze away and reached for the door handle. No sense in lingering too long. "Apologies." She sat back at the table, reaching for her napkin. "But thank you for the use of your bedroom."

"Of course." He set his fork down. "I hope the call went well."

"Regrettably not."

"Hm, that must be unusual for you."

"We all have masters."

He quirked a brow. "Even the great Cutlena Beckett. My, my."

"Cruelty doesn't suit you."

"No, it doesn't – but you're no stranger to it."

She cut him with a sharp look, irked at his tone, her voice coiling tight. "On either side of it. And to that end – I suggest that you think long and hard about the success of this voyage. Or you'll have no idea just how cruel I can be."

She threw her napkin back down on the table, pushing up from her chair, deciding that she was done with her mostly eaten food. The door to his quarters closed solidly behind her as she stalked down the corridor back to her cabin.

The forgotten question about sonnets would just have to wait for another day.

"Contact, sir." The leading seaman at the radar called out. "Two points off the starboard bow. Five klicks out, clearing the island."

She watched Norrington glance up on the seaman's call, turning to look towards the radar station. Other points of contact had been called out in a similar fashion during her past observations on the bridge, and they'd all been forgettable. A radio channel crackled open.

"Have visual. A heavily modified fishing sloop – guns mounted along her port beam. Flying no colors."

Norrington's face hardened. "Color of the hull?"

"Nondescript ,gray ."

"Sir!" The radar lead interjected. "She's changed course – moving away from us and gaining speed."

The corner of the commodore's mouth ticked up. "Why run if you've got nothing to hide? Higgins – match course and set pursuit. Close distance to two klicks."

Affirmations of Norrington's orders rang out as the Providence 's massive engines roared to life, filling the ship with a strangely pleasant hum as the bow aligned on their north-northeasterly course, cutting sharply through the water.

Higgins reported back. "She's continuing to run, sir, but we should close the distance in a matter of minutes."

"Very well." Norrington opened another channel. "Man the guns. Stand ready to fire on my mark."

She turned with a furrowed brow. "Stand ready to fire? We don't know the first thing about this vessel."

"She's armed and not flying colors." Norrington said sharply. "Merchant vessels don't come armed and they all fly colors, not only for allegiance, but for protection. We'll confirm once we're in range, but we've likely just caught ourselves a pirate."

She squinted, staring out the bridge windows. Did it really just happen like this? A blip on the radar and the chase is on? She could see the ship growing larger, but it…it didn't look all that impressive. In fact, it looked tiny compared to the Providence .

"Change in course, sir. Now tracking northwest by north. Distance two klicks and closing."

Norrington nodded sharply. "Simmons – any colors?"

"Negative, sir. And no movement on the guns."

"Acknowledged." Norrington switched a button on his console. "Fire two shots – put one across her bow and another at the waterline."

The command acknowledgement came across the speaker and she barely had time to draw a breath before the massive gun thundered once. Twice. Fantastic sprays of water went up in the distance, the resulting booms muffled across the water.

She licked her lips uncertainly, turning towards him. "And what good did that do?"

"Maritime law," he quickly said. "A shot across the bow requires them to hoist their colors and acknowledge it with a shot."

"If they're pirates, who says they have to follow the law?"

"It's pride at this point." The hint of a mirthless grin flashed across Norrington's face. "No pirate worth his salt would dare leave a challenge by the Royal Navy unanswered – "

"She's hoisting colors. Black and white bones, sir."

Another grin, this time decidedly more pleased, lit the commodore's face. "And much like Icarus, that pride will be his downfall." He flipped a switch. "Helm – reduce speed. Gunnery - rake her stern."

The closer the Providence advanced, the clearer she could see the other ship - still executing the course change, turning to present the port broadside of the ship rather than her stern. But the Providence 's guns sang out, the ship shuddering with each thundering boom. Smoke and fire erupted on the back end of the other ship as the shells hit their marks. She stared at the destruction, transfixed.

Would the other ship retaliate? Norrington hadn't commanded the crew to brace for impact. Did ship captains do that in real life? Or was that more of a movie thing?

No one else on the bridge seemed bothered by the attack. Maybe this was just another day in the life for them.

"All hands brace for retaliation." Norrington's words sounded in her ears as she continued to watch.

Would they have any kind of warning?

"Sir – she's, uh – she's striking her colors."

Norrington turned from the window with an uncertain pinch to his brow. "Come again, watch?"

"She's striking her colors."

"And waving the white?"

"No white yet, sir."

Thick black smoke continued to billow from the deck on the other ship's stern.

"Sir," Higgins at the helm looked over, "shall I lay in a course to come alongside?"

"Not yet." He quickly returned. "I will not present our broadside to her until the white flag of surrender is raised."

She swallowed thickly. "Even then, couldn't it still be a trap?"

"It's possible. But that's a thick plume of smoke. She's likely badly damaged to keep smoking like that. A good captain knows that prison is better than a stranded crew at sea."

It took less than five minutes for the white flag to fly, and less than thirty for the Providence to pull alongside the damaged pirate ship. The crew made efficient work of rounding up the pirate crew and assessing the state of the wounded vessel. The efficiency and familiarity with the motions shouldn't have surprised her – this wasn't their first captured pirate vessel, after all – but it was quite something to see it all unfold firsthand.

Norrington strode across the gangway with the full authority of his station, addressing the reports relayed to him and issuing commands in return. She trailed behind him and Theodore, taking in the organized hustle and bustle.

Theodore recounted the numbers as they crossed the deck, the sun glinting off their navy-blue operational uniforms. "The crew of 23 persons is being transferred to the brig. A shell hit the auxiliary lube oil system, disabling the engine, but there's no structural damage so she should stay afloat."

"Then, we'll tow our prize to the nearest port." Norrington took to the stairs leading up to the bridge. "I'm sure there has to be something of value about her." He pushed open the door to the bridge, a lead seaman announcing his arrival. The other Providence sailors snapped to attention, but the two pirate commanders sneered, scoffing derisively. One of them – the taller, burlier man – laughed a snide sound as Norrington stepped up to him, face stone-cold impassive.

"Well, well," the hint of a smug smile tugged at Norrington's lips, "Captain 'Fearful' Phineas Togg. Or was it 'Fearless'?"

Togg spit down at the commodore's feet. "Bloody Norrington. How 'ave they not hung you out to dry? What with all that disgraceful business off Tripoli. Quite embarrassing."

"And yet, you were still apprehended by the likes of me."

Togg chuckled. "Well, I certainly didn't expect the honorable Commodore to be so ballsy."

"Your mistake, clearly." He fixed Togg with a hard look. "What do you know of Sparrow?"

Togg snorted. "Sparrow? He owes me money, that's what I know. A pretty penny, too – well, honestly, far more than a pretty penny. That – and, Jones is after his soul."

Her ears perked on the mention of Jones' name. What else did Togg know about him?

Norrington nodded sharply. "I had heard that Davy Jones brought the Dutchman back to these waters. A curious business."

"The story goes that your lot nearly had him off Singapore, didn't they? What happened? Can you navy lads just not keep up?"

"And you wonder why we have to start taking more aggressive action."

"Careful, commodore." Togg sneered, glaring hard, licking his lips in salacious intimidation. "You hide behind that righteous uniform. But I look forward to the day when you no longer wear it, and you're ripe for the picking."

"So does everyone else that I've arrested." He turned to Theodore with a disinterested look, stepping away from Togg. "Lieutenant, take him to the brig."

Theodore moved forward to carry out the order and her eye couldn't help but follow them out. Assuming that Togg would stay in the brig for the duration of their return journey, he should be easy enough to find. Surely, she could carve out some time to force a discussion.

There was more that she needed to know.

xxx

She stepped out from the command booth, latching the door behind her. The junior seaman had not been pleased with her order, but it didn't directly counter one of Norrington's orders and she was the highest-ranking official on the ship. What choice did he have?

She pushed down the corridor, wrenching open the solid submarine door to admit the dingy, musty interior of the brig. Most of the crew was locked up in the opposing cellblock behind the soundproof door, but Togg was isolated and kept just ahead in a small holding room. The door, painted with only a row of blocky, black numbers, had a small viewport. The sailor in the booth had told her to simply slide the viewport door back to speak with Togg.

She waved over her shoulder with two fingers. The signal for the audio and security camera feed to drop out. She looked down to her watch and started the timer.

The viewport door slid back with a metal groan. "Phineas Tog. Stand present."

A shuffling sounded from within, overlaid with a surprised chuckle. "A lady, eh? Oh, is it you? The one that slunk around in Norrington's shadow on my bridge?"

"The same."

The gruff, unshaven face of the pirate came into view. His foul breath wafted out on his words. "And what you want, girlie? Is the good commodore not man enough to really give it to you? Come down here to get a piece of ol' Togg?"

She fixed him with a flinty gaze. "Davy Jones. When did you last see him?"

"Jones?" He scoffed derisively. "And why would I do anything to help you, hm?"

"You don't know who I am, but I don't answer to the commodore. I have the power to see you released from here, or to see you die slowly at the hand of a flaying knife. Your choice."

His eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion. "You say that…but if I give you Jones, I got no guarantee of your word."

"You're only wasting time, and if you give me Jones – that's a hell of a bargaining chip."

He held her gaze and she stood her ground. "I saw Jones last week. He wanted information on Sparrow. Popular lad."

"Indeed. What did you tell him?"

"Told 'im that I ain't seen Sparrow for at least a fortnight. Didn't give anything away last I did see scurvy Jack, but he was hunting for a map, I think. Or was it a key? Maybe a compass?"

"Where did you see him?"

"Middle of the ocean, doll. Between Barbados and St. Lucia."

"What bearing?"

"Northerly. I didn't pay too much attention."

"What else did Jones say?"

"Like I said – he's after Sparrow's soul. Something about trading a soul for a heart."

A wicked smirk curled her lips. "Glad to hear it."

Togg's brow pinched. "Say now…what's the…" He stepped up closer to the port, his pungent breath burning her nose, but she refused to back away. "Is it your fault? Are you the bitch that Jones was moanin' about? Makin' him grumblier than usual. And far more quick to temper."

"Jones' love problems are his own. I'm a businesswoman, plain and simple."

"Ain't nothing simple 'bout you, lady." A gleeful light caught in his eyes. "Oh, but just wait until I tell the commodore. Won't he just love to know that he's got a pirate spy in the midst of his navy nest. In his own bed, perhaps."

"You'll hold your tongue, or I'll have it cut out."

"Not without due process."

"Fuck due process. Test me at your own risk, bastard." She cast a glance down at her watch. 30 seconds left. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Go to hell, bitch. If Jones don't roast you first, then I hope the commodore fucks you one over good."

"Charming. Thank you." She slammed the viewport door closed with five seconds to spare. She reset her watch, dropping her hands to her side. The security camera had to be recording again, and it would see her still standing as she was before the camera blipped out.

She turned from the cell and left the barren dank of the brig behind, replaying Togg's words. At least, it was satisfying to know that Jones took his orders seriously - and hopefully the news about Ms. Dalma still hadn't reached him yet. A soul for a heart, indeed. If Jones did ever hope to see his lady love again, he would hand over Jack Sparrow - or they would simply find Ms. Dalma again.

She couldn't help a dark chuckle as she took the stairs back up towards the main deck.

Norrington was in a race that he didn't even know about. If he failed to capture Sparrow, Plan B sounded on track to accomplish the same goal. Either way, it was just a matter of time now.

Sparrow would be brought to justice. Jones, too. And if Togg had to suffer the gallows to ensure his silence, then so be it.

Would this storm never end? The ship pitched and yawed in the seachurn long before sunup and had not abated since. She hadn't even kept track of the time from her current position, slumped against the wall of her head.

The Dramamine wasn't strong enough today. Her head spun and her throat burned from the stomach acid that continually refused to stay down. She hadn't even been able to summon the constitution to get dressed, let alone walk to the bridge or mess.

She groaned as another wave of nausea rolled through her, hugging her midsection. God, but this seasickness business was hell. At least she'd finally emptied her stomach and now it was just dry heaves. Like now. She lurched forward as the ship rolled, miserably heaving with the involuntary reflex but there was just nothing left.

She shifted back to lean on the bulkhead, her eyes slipping closed. Wasn't there some way to sail around this damnable storm? Didn't the weather radars give them any kind of advance warning?

She was too wrapped up to hear the opening of her cabin door or the soft footfalls on the floor. But when she heard the quiet clearing of a throat, she cracked an eye open to see Norrington standing there. She knew how she must look – face gaunt, hair bedraggled, in her cotton pajama trousers and t-shirt – braless. It was completely unfair that he looked just as put together as always, giving no outward sign that this shipboard day was any different from the last.

She sighed, hoping there wasn't vomit on her face or in her hair. "What a mess, hmm?"

"I've seen worse."

She tried to affect a laugh, but her throat was just too raw. "Thanks for the lie."

A small grin cracked his face, but there was nothing teasing or mocking about it. "When I didn't see you on the bridge this morning, I figured you might be under the weather. I've brought you some benign food, in case it helps."

That's when she noticed that he held a small plate of scrambled eggs and applesauce in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. Warmth burst in her chest and she felt a slight blush creep to her cheeks. "You didn't have to do that."

"You didn't really think everyone would leave you alone all day, did you?"

The ship pitched forward, and she groaned, fighting back another nauseous wave. A moan punched out of her as she scrambled forward, wracked with another bout of dry heaves. Her cheeks burned with the full force of shame, unable to shake the knowledge that he watched her, utterly exposed in her weak moment.

It passed at last, and she slumped back to the wall, again hugging her midsection as she gulped down air. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him. "There's just nothing left anymore."

"Then, you should at least have some water." His voice was unflinchingly kind. She'd never heard him sound so gentle. "I don't want you in sickbay from dehydration. And perhaps a little food might settle out all the churned-up acid."

His shoes thudded on the thin linoleum as he approached, and a knee popped as he crouched beside her. She could smell the scent of soap about him and grimaced to think how she must smell by comparison.

"Come on, Cutlena." The barest of hint of a command laced his soft words and it forced her eyes open. He held out the bottle of the water and she reached a shaking hand up to take it.

Admittedly, it was a welcome relief as the first sip passed her dry lips. She took another tentative sip, waiting for the inevitable. But then she took another, larger drink, swirling it around her mouth before swallowing it down. Maybe he was more an angel of mercy than she wanted to admit.

She met his green eyes, creased with concern, and felt her lips tug into a small smile despite herself. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He extended the plate forward, nodding at the small bowl of applesauce. "Now, just take a few bites."

She eyed the food skeptically, unsure if she should really trust it to her stomach quite yet despite her gurgling belly. At length, she set the bottle down, reaching out for the bowl and accompanying spoon. What did she really have to lose? "Would you mind waiting out there…and closing the door? Just in case."

"I told you I've seen worse."

"Not from me you haven't."

He offered a closed-mouth smirk that was just a touch sympathetic but still unmistakable. "You may be a bigshot at the EITC, but you're on my ship – eat."

She exhaled a displeased sigh, doing her best to scowl up at him even though she knew she wasn't overly intimidating from her present vantage point. Not that she had ever matched his height even when they were both standing. She took a small bite, swallowing gingerly.

In fact, his height had always struck her for a naval officer. Tight ship corridors and cramped quarters were surely obnoxious for him, but not that he would ever give an indication. She took another small bite. That was probably why he served on surface ships instead of submarines.

Surprisingly enough, the food did seem to help. She swallowed another bite, looking tentatively up at him "May…may I have the water?"

He reached for the bottle at her side, handing it over as the ship rolled. She closed her eyes against the movement, clenching her mouth shut, dreading the rise in her stomach. Mercifully, nothing followed. She placed the bottle to her chapped lips, taking a small sip. The cool slide down her throat was most welcome.

"Has it always been this bad?"

She shook her head slowly, taking another small sip. "I've been on yachts several times. As a kid, I never got sick. But about three years ago, it started. And the last time – the last time, I struggled. But it was nothing like this storm." She burped on the word, relieved when nothing else followed it, despite the lurching ship.

"This storm?" He cast his eyes ceilingward, as if looking out to the storm beyond. "I hate to tell you that this is just the storm's outfall. It would have been much worse if we were in the heart of it."

"Like that storm off Tripoli?"

"Yes," his voice was soft, far away, "like that storm."

She bit the spoon hesitantly, taking a deep breath to help stall the nauseous wave rolling through her. "That…that must have been hell beyond measure."

"It was. For all of us. And it didn't end when the storm passed."

"I know that." She took another deep breath and another sip of water. "In fact, one might say that you're still in that shitstorm."

"Quite so." He kept his tone guarded, but his green eyes shone with much more that he didn't say.

She couldn't say why, but a chord of regret stung in her. He had come to help her and she had still managed to deride him. Maybe she was just a bitch at heart.

She glanced up at him, offering a weak, apologetic look. "Sorry, I…I should just thank you for helping. So…thank you."

His lips pulled to a soft, kind smile. It really shouldn't make her stomach flip – or was that still the ship?

"You're welcome. Though, really, it's Groves you should thank for the applesauce – that was his idea." He watched the corner of her lips tug up, curiosity brewing in his eyes. "I know this isn't, strictly speaking, official business – but the mutual affection shared between you and Groves isn't lost to me."

She tried to affect a laugh and failed. "Is that meant to be a threat? Or is that jealousy talking?"

"No. But it is a curious thing." He tilted his head in consideration. "Rather begs the question if you two are in league to guarantee my removal, whatever the cost. Groves stands to profit largely if I should lose my post."

"You couldn't be more wrong. I don't need to fall in league with Groves or anyone to do my job." Another burp worked its way up her throat and she pinched her eyes shut against another rolling wave. "He…he just wants to rekindle an old flame. That's all."

His face hardened with inscrutable lines, a face she recognized from official command meetings. "Is that what you want?"

Anger sparked in her eyes. "And what sort of question is that? Didn't you already admit that it wasn't official business?"

"Not official business, but it is my business to know everything that happens on my ship."

She scoffed. "Well, you needn't worry about that on your ship. Especially not right now." She vaguely gestured at herself. "Nothing about this is desirable at the moment."

He merely pursed his lips in a tight expression, looking down to the plate still in his hand. "Would you like to try the eggs?"

She tipped her head back against the bulkhead, swallowing. "No. Not right now. I want to make sure the applesauce settles, first."

"Reasonable enough." He turned from the doorway, walking back into her cabin. "I'll secure them on the desk for you, but I need to return to the bridge. If you don't show up for morning mess tomorrow, I'll come back to check on you."

"Reasonable enough." Her echo of his words came out more as a mockery. She could just make out the small, amused lift of his lips from where he stood.

"I hope that you feel better. We should be past the outfall within the next couple of hours."

She nodded her thanks, tipping the water bottle in a farewell salute as he turned for the door.

With any luck, she wouldn't die before then.