Disclaimer: I forgot to put in a disclaimer. I am making no money from this. It is for entertainment only.
I'm not sure how long this will be. I'm working out the details. Please review. I write faster when I know someone's reading.
Beyond World's End
Chapter 2
By Ecri
Admiral James Norrington stared out across the clear, blue water. He had once again left Port Royal far behind him, but no matter how hard he tried, there were some things that he could not leave behind. It was ironic. He had suddenly achieved all he had ever hoped to achieve, and yet…and yet…
There was no sense of achievement. When he had been promoted to Commodore, he had felt something. A culmination of talent and effort had brought him to that moment. His career had meant something to him then because he had approached it, as he had all endeavors in his life, with honor, with determination, and with confidence. Things had changed.
His admiralty had been bought. He had not achieved it. He had not worked steadfastly toward it. It had not been the justifiable reward for long years of service. He had bought it. Paid for it. Perhaps not with money, but the coin of the realm wasn't the only currency accepted in such transactions. Favors, contraband, marriages, he'd known men who had used such things to advance their careers, and he had always looked upon them with a mixture of pity and disdain. Never, he had long ago vowed, would he stoop to such levels.
It wasn't until he first dressed in his new uniform, the gold braid, the crisp, clean lines, the scabbard and sword. His sword…a sword Beckett had returned to him, but which Governor Swann had first given to him, one Will Turner had made.
Perhaps it was the sword and not the uniform that had placed the sour knot in his stomach and the crushing weight where his heart should be. Perhaps it was the realization that he had abandoned Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann to the mercies and vagaries of chance in order to gain…what? Respect? Rank? He shook his head. He had gained nothing. His admiralty left a bitter taste in his mouth and the weight of failure on his shoulders. He had failed. In bargaining for his rank, his livelihood, his chance to rise from the depths to which he'd sunk while pursuing Jack Sparrow, he had traded not just the inhuman, cursed heart of a monster, but his very ideals, honor, self-respect, and dignity. He blinked rapidly to dispel the heavy weight of water from his eyes willing the drops away. He would not lose whatever scrap of dignity he had managed to maintain by giving in to tears.
Unconsciously, he tugged at the bottom of his jacket, straightening imaginary creases. He was an admiral, and however he'd managed to gain the uniform he would not disgrace it now. He did his best to ignore the faint, but nagging whisper in the back of his mind that claimed wearing the uniform disgraced it. How could it be otherwise since he had not earned it?
He forced the thought away. Wallowing in self-pity would not help.
What would?
He considered the thought. What options did he have? Could he set right what he had done wrong? If a path, once chosen, were abandoned, could a better path, the right path, be regained?
There was much to rectify. It was almost overwhelming to consider it all. Where to begin? The answer was obvious.
Will and Elizabeth.
Resolve hardened his features, and though he could not know it, the newest Admiral of the British Navy looked more like the Commodore he'd once been.
**
Weatherby Swann missed Port Royal, but leaving was necessary if he had any hope to set his own, admittedly feeble, plans in motion. Why Beckett had insisted on departing in such haste aboard the Endeavor, he could not guess. If the man had plans he was reticent to share them. Norrington's ship had barely been in port long enough to obtain supplies before Beckett was ordering them out again, this time, aside from Swann, he'd insisted on bringing that…thing. The very presence aboard ship of that monstrous item turned Swann's stomach.
The same brilliant moon that painted Port Royal with magic and romance lit the ship, but here on the open sea, it seemed forbidding and sinister. Swann could not say if it were just because he knew a disembodied heart rested aboard or if it were his own nefarious purpose that tainted the idyllic Caribbean evening with more than a hint of the macabre.
Swann had been unable to find anything in Beckett's office in Port
Royal, and since the man had taken to the sea, Swann had not had the chance to search his cabin. As Beckett consulted with Jones aboard the Dutchman, the chance had now presented itself.
Silently, he crept to Beckett's quarters. He began by searching the
desk, but found nothing of interest. His eyes had avoided the safe that held the bag...that awful cursed bag, that held the still-beating heart…but he could no longer ignore it. He knelt before it and, having carefully observed Beckett opening it the day before, he easily opened it. The thing repulsed him, but it could be all the leverage he would need. He could order Jones to find his daughter, return her to him and then he could destroy the heart. He knew little of it and the curse that made the thing beat and pulse when it should be dead and decaying, but he knew no good could come of it. He slipped the ties of the bag onto his belt and continued his search. He still needed to find a way to absolve Elizabeth of the crimes Beckett held over her head.
He moved to the bookshelf, methodically pulling out each book, inspecting the spine, and shaking out the leaves to see if any notes or such fell out. When that proved fruitless, he searched through the mapmaker's notes. Frustration crept up on him each time he failed to find something, anything, incriminating.
Desperate to prove his search wasn't wasted, he knelt on the floor and began knocking on floorboards hoping to find some secret cache of information. After twenty minutes, his knees screamed for mercy and his knuckles were numb. He sat back on his heels wondering where to search next when he felt the kiss of cold steel on the back of his neck. He held his breath daring not even to turn around to see who had caught him.
"Swann, you show very little imagination for a man of your position."
"I dropped a ring of some value..."
"And you thought perhaps it might have slipped beneath my floorboards?"
Swann laughed, but there was more of nervousness in it than humor. Cautiously, he shifted his weight and moved to stand, his knees stiff and
yet wobbly at the same time. Beckett did not move to stop him. "Stranger things have happened. I've looked in all likely places. It was time to move on to the unlikely."
Beckett allowed Swann to put some distance between them and Swann breathed a bit easier for it.
"Come now," Swann began with false bravado. "Come have a drink with me." He forced a joviality he did not feel into his tone.
"I think not." Beckett replied.
Swann's face fell. For the second time in his life, he understood that he was not in control of the situation. Beckett underscored that by bringing the sword to bear. "What are you doing?" Swann asked, his hand slipping toward the bag at his belt.
"I am ridding myself of the nuisance of your company."
"Ah," Swann whispered, and in perfect mimicry of Beckett's earlier words, he added, "I think not." The bag containing the heart was in his left hand, and he ignored his urge to fling it far from him, instead slipping a knife from his pocket and holding it above the horrendous thing.
Beckett smiled. "You do realize what you propose to do?"
"Rid the world of at least one evil and rob you of your control over
it!" Swann's raised his voice in triumph.
"No. You propose to take the captaincy of the Flying Dutchman for
yourself."
"I...what?" Swann felt the color drain from his face, certain he was paler now than even when he had first arrived in Port Royal from London.
"The Dutchman must have a captain. Whoever stabs the heart must place
his own heart in the chest...or bag, as the case may be...and take on the responsibility. You volunteer for immortality, sailing the seas for all eternity."
The bag slipped from his hand, spilling the heart onto the deck, and Swann could only stare at it as it continued to beat.
Beckett stepped forward, and as easily as if he were slipping his sword into it's sheath, he slipped it instead through Weatherby Swann.
Beckett's tone turned venomous. "You will not destroy my plans. They have been too long in coming."
The former Governor, looking more surprised than anything else, saw the sword hilt sticking out from his chest. Swann felt his life leak away. He could find neither words nor breath to speak them, but his last thought were of his daughter.
**
They were well on their way to Singapore. The winds had been kind, though they had all but disappeared earlier in the day. The sails hung almost uselessly, and Barbossa had ordered them down. Elizabeth sat on deck staring at the stars. She felt she should have been excited beyond belief. Sailing to Singapore to see the Pirate Lord Sao Feng...it sounded adventurous, romantic...and yet, she was empty. No, that wasn't right. Something filled her. Anxiety over what she'd done, fear of the memory of her deeds, and an inability to live with them...now she knew, no matter what Jack Sparrow had said to her, she was no pirate. A real pirate would feel no remorse at securing survival even if the cost were a friend's life. She cringed from the very thought. She could not forget what she had done, nor could she ever forgive herself. She sailed now to free him hoping for absolution, but even if Jack readily gave it, she did not see how it could erase what she had done or help her to live with it.
She knew that Will sensed something was wrong, and hoped he thought it was just sorrow at a friend's death...the noble sacrifice she'd invented as Jack Sparrow's last deed...she thought it fitting at the time. So many of the legends of Captain Jack Sparrow seemed to be little more than exaggerations to tell a good tale. Fitting that his last legend was as much a lie as the sea turtles.
And yet…
She was lying to herself as well. She'd considered telling Will what had happened, but it was her burden. He could not be told. What if he thought less of her? What if he found he could not marry a woman who turned out to be a murderer? That was what she was. Will was the noblest man she'd ever met. Murder was surely something he could not forgive, and she could not risk that. She stopped her thoughts as realization hit her like a lightning bolt. Marrying Will was what she wanted. What she had always wanted. She probed her memory. She had been attracted to the idea of a life as a pirate, but never had she truly considered a life without Will Turner at her side. Even when she'd fantasized about perhaps joining Jack's crew, the pictures in her mind's eye had always included Will Turner swashbuckling by her side. She'd been enamored of Pirate tales and legend from an early age and had listened to tales from any who would tell them. Gibbs had obliged her when she'd been a child, when he'd served under Norrington. She'd learned from others as well. Many sailors had been willing to answer her questions knowing she was the Governor's daughter and she'd taken full advantage of that, learning the Pirate's code, and any legend anyone saw fit to tell her.
She had loved the life...the hint of freedom that Piracy and Jack Sparrow promised. She saw it now. Had known it in her heart, but her grief over what she'd done to Jack had blinded her. She loved Will. She had always loved Will. She would always love Will. She rose from the deck, her only thought to find Will and confess everything. Together, they could get through anything. Why had she doubted that? Why had she doubted his ability to forgive her?
The ship was quiet at this hour. It didn't feel like the Pearl. The sounds it made weren't like the sounds of the Pearl. She'd never given it much thought, but the Pearl had a unique feel to her. She tried not to think that she'd destroyed that as well when she'd left Jack to the Kraken.
She slipped below deck and headed towards Will's bunk, but stopped in her tracks at what she saw. Tia Dalma stood over Will. One hand rested lightly over Will's heart and the other caressed his cheek. Elizabeth's possessiveness flared and she took a hurried step toward him, but stopped herself. Perhaps Will had also made a choice. She looked more intently at the pair. Tia Dalma was smiling, though Will was not. She craned her neck to see his eyes. Will's eyes could hold no secrets. His heart was always in them. She moved then to get a better view, but in that moment, Will seemed to jerk awake sitting up and staring at Tia Dalma.
Confusion was painted in broad strokes across his face, his eyes still somewhat clouded and unfocused. "What..."
"Hush now, William Turner." The woman instructed him.
"What are you doing?"
She still hadn't moved her hand from his chest, though the other no longer touched his cheek.
"Not a t'ing, boy. Not a t'ing. I..."
Will shook off her touch and leaped to his feet. He looked her in the eye, but pulled back and looked away as though not liking what he saw there. "I...have to go." She touched him again then, her hand once more on his heart, and then she moved in closer to him. He backed away, but there was nowhere for him to go. She looked deeply into his eyes, and she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Elizabeth expected him to move away, to push her away, but instead, he allowed the kiss. He more than allowed it. A second later, he was returning it.
Elizabeth turned and fled racing back above deck and gulping greedily at the air as though she'd been deprived of oxygen.
**
Below deck, Tia Dalma released Will and her gaze followed the retreating form of Elizabeth Swann, a smile teased the corners of her mouth. As she did so, Will, still unaware of Elizabeth's fleeting presence, took a step back and placed a hand on his head. He swayed as though dizzy. Tia Dalma reached out a hand to steady him. "You take a bad step, Mr. Turner?"
"I...I don't know...I was...sleeping..." His hand moved to his head again, and he shook it. "I..." he looked toward the stairs leading above deck. "...need some air."
"What you need, Mr. Turner, is to sleep." She took his hand and led him back to his bunk.
He shook his head even as he fell into his bed. His bewilderment was still plain upon his face and prominent in his voice. "No, I..."
"Shhh...just sleep." As he fell into a deep sleep, she smiled and whispered more to herself than to him. "Aye, it be a touch of destiny, William Turner."
**
Days had turned to weeks, and Will had yet to speak to Elizabeth. He wondered at her ability to avoid him. She'd kept him at bay all this time. Truly, he had not felt himself on this voyage. His sleep was disturbed, and the one he wished desperately to speak to would not give him a moment. He wished he could speak to her of his plans. He had thought of nothing but his promise to his father since he'd left the Flying Dutchman. His father lived a life of unending servitude, and Will had vowed to see him free one day. Whether that meant free to spend time with Will or free to continue in a life at sea was not his concern. He wanted to speak to Elizabeth of it, to explain everything, but he could not if she would not.
No matter how he thought of it, the only answer was that she loved Jack and couldn't face telling him. No other reason could he see for her avoiding him. It broke his heart to consider a life without her. She had been all he'd dreamed of since they'd met. He had kept carefully apart from her, forever reminded of his station. He could not have hoped to win the love of the Governor's daughter, and yet…a pirate had done so. A pirate. It was almost beyond belief.
He could think of no alternative for himself, however. If she would not have him, then once she and Jack were reunited, he would have to find some other life. He could not return to Port Royal. Aside from the fact that, as far as he knew, there was still the matter of a death sentence hanging over his head, he could not face her father with news that his daughter had become a pirate, and he could not face a life Port Royal without her presence.
He could become a pirate himself, but serving with Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth would be too painful. He could not imagine serving with another crew on another ship. Perhaps he could find passage to some other land…not England or Europe, but perhaps America or Africa or India…he put the thought from him. This was not the time for such plans. There were only two objectives now; rescue Jack and save his father. Elizabeth's love for Jack had not changed all of Will's goals.
**
My goals have not changed, she told herself. Rescue Jack, marry Will…she paused. She still could not reconcile what she had seen. Tia Dalma and Will…it could not be! He would not so soon toss her aside. He still looked at her as though he loved her, but her experience with men was not so extensive that she could be sure this wasn't merely guilt that he had fallen out of love or had mistaken lust for love…or perhaps it was not guilt, but regret. He regretted having professed to love her.
She could not be sure. She wanted desperately to talk to him, to explain what she had done and why, to feel his strong arms embracing her, and the sweet, soft words he would whisper in her ear to comfort her. She shook her head as she realized she could not do it. Confessing her actions would be impossible whether he loved her or not. If he did love her, this would surely convince him of his mistake. If he did not love her, then he would not be willing to comfort her. Besides which she was not sure she deserved to be comforted. No, this was her burden.
Her thoughts returned to what he had seen of Will and Tia Dalma. Something about it was puzzling. Will had seemed, well, not himself at the very least. Was it stress from the voyage to Singapore? Was it that he mourned Jack? Was it that his current predicament—sailing with pirates to save another pirate from beyond death—had overwhelmed him? Was it something else entirely? She knew Will had met his father aboard the Flying Dutchman. Had that been too much for him to bear? Will had sought his father for a good portion of his life. He'd never truly given up, and any day he might have to himself while he was apprenticed to Mr. Brown, he'd always spent at the ports asking questions and seeking information from transient sailors on the whereabouts of Bill Turner.
She knew that he'd spent a fair share of the pittance he'd earned over the years on bribes and drinks for merchant sailors trying to buy information. Most of what he'd gotten had been of little use. Many of the sailors had seen Will as an easy source of income…promise him information, lead him on a bit, take his money.
She recalled a day…she had been about 16…she was accompanying her father and a few servants to the port to say farewell to Lord and Lady Braxton, who were returning to England. While her father spoke to Lord Braxton, she'd found her attention wandering. She'd come to wonder how Lord and Lady Braxton could consider returning to London. The sky here was so blue, the air so clean and scented with exotic aromas. The sound of the peculiar patois of the natives, the lap of the waves on the shore, the songs of merchants trying to sell their wares…and…she frowned as she realized what else she heard. Moaning. A soft moan had come to her attention and just as she turned to scan her surrounding to see what she might see, the sound stopped with an abrupt intake of breath. Someone was injured. She was certain of it. Her eyes moved quickly looking for anyone moving slowly or oddly, and there she saw it.
A lone, dark figure had just reached the head of the alley by one of the more disreputable water front pubs. Head bent, one hand clutched around his middle while the other, pale and bleeding, leaned heavily on the wall. She frowned, sure she recognized him, somehow…and then he turned toward her slightly, his eyes cast upward and squinting in the daylight as though he'd just woken.
"Will," she whispered, her heart in her throat. She clutched her father's arm, interrupting his conversation, though not caring a whit for how rude it was. "Father!"
He'd turned to tell her precisely how rude she'd been, she was sure, but the fear she'd felt had shown on her face. Startled, he followed her gaze as she pointed, 'It's Will, Father! He's hurt."
She broke from his side, running to see what she could do for Will. She was halfway to his side, her father following with Lord Braxton and two of the sailors from the Lord's ship when Will took a tentative step away from the wall and fell.
Elizabeth was by his side in an instant. "Will?" He looked up at her, his eyes clouded with pain and confusion. Blood stained his clothes and hair, and though most of it had dried, it appeared his fall had started the blood flowing once more.
"Miss Swann?" He asked, just as the Governor and Lord Braxton appeared.
"Mr. Turner, what's happened to you?" Governor Swann asked, his hand steadying the young man.
"I…" he swallowed. "I had come to the port last evening, looking…" he paused and looked down again. When he spoke again, his voice was an embarrassed whisper. "Looking for news of my father. Two merchant sailors claimed they could help me…" he looked away again.
Governor Swann nodded. "They robbed you. Really, Mr. Turner, you must stop this search! You put yourself in jeopardy!"
"Father, I don't think now is the time to lecture him." Elizabeth's tone stopped her father's tirade.
Governor Swann nodded and helped Will to his feet. "Are you well enough to make it home, lad?"
"He most certainly is not!" Elizabeth declared. "We shall take him home and have Dr. Abbot take a look at him."
It was plain to all present that Governor Swann took umbrage to her suggestion, but would not argue the point in front of Lord and Lady Braxton.
Elizabeth had seen to Will's injury, which had turned out to be much less severe than she had first assumed. He had recovered himself quickly, and his embarrassment had made it difficult for him to speak. She had finally taken his hand and looked into his eyes. "Will, don't worry. Please. You don't need to be embarrassed. I wanted to help you."
He offered a tentative smile. "It seems you have twice now come to my rescue, Miss Swann."
"Twice?"
"Once when first we met, and now, after this robbery."
"I hardly came to our rescue! The ship…"
"I was told that you spotted me first, Miss Swann."
She blushed. She hadn't been aware that he knew that. "Well, yes…"
"I will repay the debt, Miss Swann. You may depend upon it. As long as I am near, you will always be safe." He'd blushed then, obviously embarrassed by the words his heart had forced him to utter. "Forgive my presumptuousness, Miss Swann."
She'd smiled at him then, and now, recalling those words she had not recalled until this moment, she realized that he had indeed repaid her. If it had not been for Will Turner, none would have come after her when Barbossa's crew had taken her. He had saved her then, and his every thought since Beckett had arrested them both had been for her safety. "Oh, Will," she whispered. Her eyes scanned the deck of Tia Dalma's ship for his familiar shape. She found him soon enough, but once again Tia Dalma hung on his arm.
"Oh, Will," she whispered once more, her heart breaking.
**
Captain Barbossa stared out across the sea. The sea at night had always been his favorite thing to behold, but he wondered how that might change if this little adventure worked out as Tia Dalma planned. Would he be at her service for decades to come? She'd been vague about releasing him from any obligations to her. Would he get what he desired, or was she merely using him? He presumed that was just what she was doing. She was less trustworthy than any pirate.
The thought that Tia Dalma could yet betray him was not a new one. The closer they got to their objective, the more strongly it nagged at him. He would put it out of his mind for hours at a time, the business of running the ship taking all of his concentration, only to have it leap to the forefront as soon as he had a spare moment.
He had just enough remembrance of the moment of death and the moment of awakening to fear Tia Dalma. The woman held his future in her hands. She had brought him back from beyond, and she had told him he was bound to her will until her plans came to fruition. Once she achieved her goals, he would be free and would be rewarded. Having little choice in the matter, he'd agreed to do as she asked, but questions still nagged him. Would she be able to send him back again if things did not go as she planned? He would betray her if he could. He need only discover what, if any, control she held over him. That was why he needed Jack. Jack and Tia Dalma knew each other well.
Tia Dalma had long supported Jack whenever she could. She was sweet on him some said, but Barbossa knew better. Tia Dalma's love was lost to her. She might well lust after Jack Sparrow, and by all appearances, she had feelings for Bootstrap's whelp, but she could not love. She had long ago lost the capacity.
Barbossa knew that Tia Dalma had once sought solace in Jack's arms, but he knew little of their relationship. Jack wouldn't speak of it, and Tia Dalma expected commitment without offering it herself. He knew each would betray the other for whatever gain could be achieved. That they each knew that as well kept them on their toes.
Barbossa doubted Jack knew what to do with trust. If someone believed in him, or thought he would do the right thing, if someone thought Sparrow's motivations were anything but personal, Jack would freeze in indecision.
Undoubtedly that was why the former Captain of the Black Pearl had nearly been hung in Port Royal.
It was only the trustworthiness of the whelp that had saved him. It was only that Will Turner couldn't allow a friend to die if it were in his power to save him, regardless of the consequences. Barbossa wondered what that felt like…to be unable to look after your own interests because someone else's welfare came first. He shuddered at the thought.
Barbossa searched the deck for the lad, and saw the whelp in question once more in Tia Dalma's company. The glazed look in the lad's eye told Barbossa that Tia Dalma had other things on her agenda than what he'd been told
Regardless of the way things turned out for anyone else, the Black Pearl was his ship, and even if they were to free Jack Sparrow from the Locker, he would not give her up. He would keep her and return to his life of piracy, a life restored to him by unnatural means. A life threatened if Tia Dalma did not keep her part of the bargain and aid him in ridding the seas of the East India Trading Company.
What would happen to Sparrow he neither knew nor cared. He was necessary. He was needed. For now.
**
Weeks passed and finally they drew near enough to Singapore so that reviewing and revising the details of their plans seemed reasonable.
Will listened to Barbossa's outline of the plan, and shook his head. He felt as though he were listening to one of Jack's plans. "Someone will sneak into Sao Feng's encampment?" He asked. Barbossa nodded. "And steal the charts?" Another nod. "Then the rest of the crew persuades Sao Feng to attend the Brethren's Council?"
"Will," Elizabeth spoke to him. For the first time in weeks, she had spoken to him. He turned incredulous eyes to her as she continued. "It's all we have."
He drank in the sight of her actually looking at him. She'd avoided his gaze since Jack had died. She had not looked him in the eyes since then. Now, seeing those clear, determined eyes still struggling with some burden she would not share, he nodded, speaking softly. "As you wish." He turned back to Barbossa. "I will be the someone."
Barbossa smiled. "As I intended. You, at least, will stick to the plan. You don't scare off as easily as some." Barbossa's laugh irritated Will, but he did his best to ignore it.
Tia Dalma stepped forward. "De plan is in de details. Sao Feng is not easily goin' to give up 'im charts. Dey are 'im power." She looked to Will a small smile revealing her blackened teeth. "You goin' ta need dis." She held out a small dagger to him.
Hesitantly, he reached for it. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted anything from her. It was small, tiny really, but in the handle was carved a symbol. "What does it mean?" He asked.
Her smile broadened. "Immortality."
"A symbol of immortality on an instrument of death?"
"Dere be many t'ings, William Turner, that seem out of place, but dem it is dat we make best use of."
He was mystified and didn't hide it. Before he could ask another question, Elizabeth spoke again, but not to him.
"I'm coming along, Barbossa."
Will was not startled that she wanted to be included in the mission, but he was startled that she hadn't asked to go with him. Then he remembered she loved Jack, not him. She would have no cause to go with him. It hurt. A sharp pain in his chest made him wince. He felt the blade in his hand and had a moment of distress where he imagined plunging the small blade into his chest to rip out his heart, thus sparing himself the pain. Realizing that sounded too much like the tale he'd heard from Tia Dalma he slipped the dagger into his pocket and wiped his palm on this pants until the itch to hold the blade subsided.
Several hours later, he stood upon the deck receiving last orders from Barbossa and Tia Dalma. Elizabeth stood close by, watching him with sad, pain-filled eyes, and he wondered what it would be like right now if she still loved him. They would kiss, he was sure, and they would whisper sweet words and soft assurances to each other. She would make him promise to return. He would ask her to reconsider her part in Barbossa's talk with Sao Feng. The ache was back. A pain blossomed in his heart as he realized he'd lost her, and his palm itched once more, moving of it's own volition to the blade in his pocket.
He loved her still and would not deny it just because he had lost her favor. "Elizabeth…" he took a breath to say something, but his mind was a blank. Love for her welled up in his heart. "Be careful." He finished. She nodded, and he would have reached for her, stolen a kiss, but he was afraid he would taste the truth of his shattered dreams on her lips. If that happened, he doubted he could finish his task. Instead he bid her farewell with his eyes, and slipped over the side of the ship for the short swim to shore.
"I'll see her soon." He promised himself, but even his own words sounded hollow in his ears.
The moon was hidden by shadow, and for that small favor, Will was grateful. The biggest impediment to this foray was a lack of information. Barbossa had considered it too risky to send someone in advance to get the lay of the land, and Tia Dalma's methods of information gathering, tossing lobster claws and the like, were things Will preferred not to trust with his life. The cloud cover and the still air were at least to his advantage.
He wore black so as to blend with the night, and that precaution, along with the many weapons strapped to arms and legs, had been all he could manage. Barbossa had been here before, and claimed it could not have changed much, but Barbossa could never claim to have Will's trust any more than did Tia Dalma's lobster claws.
He came ashore as quietly as possible, eyes scanning the area for guards. There were more than guards. There was more than a sleepy village. This wasn't at all as Barbossa had described it, and Will wondered what else Barbossa had told him was to prove to be inaccurate.
**
Elizabeth stared after Will long after she could no longer see him. She imagined him swimming through the dark, forbidding water, alert for threat, but single-minded in objective. That was her Will--single-minded. He had a goal—forging the best blade a man could wield, saving her from pirates, finding Jack Sparrow--and he did all he could to reach that goal. These weeks since Jack's death, he'd seemed so distant, but she knew that she was to blame for that. She'd avoided speaking to him afraid that a few moments looking into those eyes would be her undoing. She would confess what she'd done. She would plead with him to love her anyway. She would be helpless. It was not a feeling she took to. She'd felt it as she'd run through the house the night Barbossa and the Black Pearl first attacked Port Royal. She had no experience with swords, and couldn't find one to use in any case. Parlay had been her only defense, and that hadn't worked out as she'd intended.
Nothing worked out as she intended.
Will had always been there. She realized now that she'd always known he'd loved her. How could she not? The way he looked at her...those eyes...But had something changed? Did he suspect what she had done? Did his objections to piracy--understandable in one who had lost everything and almost lost his life on his first sea voyage to Pirates—color his view of her and her infatuation with a pirate's life and make it impossible for him to love her?
They'd talked after they'd saved Jack Sparrow from the Gallows, and he had expressed surprise at how quickly she'd taken to a pirate's life. She had laughed it off saying he'd done all right himself. Was piracy so abhorrent to him that seeing her aboard the Pearl had made him realize she wasn't the prim and proper Governor's daughter? Or did he somehow look at her and know she'd murdered Jack Sparrow?
Murder. Even now the word hurt like a sword thrust to her soul. What had she done? She'd known at the time it was the right thing to do, and yet she had never considered how difficult it would be to live with.
She stared still after him wishing she'd insisted on going with him, but she'd been so afraid. They had barely spoken in all these weeks. What if they could no longer work together seamlessly as they once had? What if their uncertainty around each other forced one or the other into some sort of mistake? What if she cost him his life? The thought froze her heart. That she could cause his death was her greatest fear. It had grown from the nightmares that haunted her each night and returned each day as specter visions of dream images of her chaining not Jack, but Will to the Pearl and watching as the Kraken devoured it...devoured him, devoured her love, her heart. Other dreams were much more intimate. She'd be in the midst of a sword fight, and would turn after dispatching her opponent, only to face Will, whom she'd managed to skewer as she turned. The look of disbelief and betrayal on his face...
She felt the tears sitting in her eyes waiting to fall. She closed them tightly and bit back the sob the image always forced from her. One or two tears fell, but she was successful in holding back the rest. Elizabeth would not show weakness here…not in front of Barbossa and his crew. There were none, with the possible exception of Gibbs, whom she could trust, and even Gibbs wasn't completely reliable so much as familiar. No, without Jack or Will, she felt truly alone.
Her eyes scanned the water looking for Will but knowing she wouldn't see him. It wasn't until she saw the reflection on the water that she realized the cloud cover Will had counted on was gone. The moon was full and bright. "Will." she whispered, fear making her voice small and high.
Then there was no time for thoughts or tears. She turned and prepared for her part in the scheme.
**
Captain Jack Sparrow stared out at nothing. There was nothing to stare out at and this made him mad. Not angry...mad. The madness had taken some time to touch him, and he wondered at times if he imagined it, and he wasn't mad at all, merely bored. Pearl told him he was being silly, and that of course he was mad. Anyone who spoke to a ship was mad. "Ah," said Jack, "but are you mad if you talk to the ship or if the ship talks to you?" He thought about that for a moment. "Nevermind. Bad example."
There was no way to mark time in the locker, and Jack knew there was no end to the torment. A ship and no ocean to sail her in. Nno crew to jump at his orders.
"You're mad, all right, Jack my boy."
"Who asked you?"
"Well, not in so many words, but you were thinking it.
"Leave me alone."
"You are alone."
"Right. Keep forgetting that."
And so it went. He generally ignored himself. It was easier that way. One day he saw himself standing by the wheel. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"I'm Poseidon, God-King of the Sea!" He declared.
Jack ignored himself some more, but the Poseidon Jack was persistent.
"Well, why wouldn't he be? He's mad," Jack mumbled.
"No, that's you," Poseidon Jack supplied helpfully.
"Oh, well, I knew it was one of us."
**
Will cursed his luck. The cloud cover was gone, and there were twice as many guards as Barbossa had told him there would be. He'd kept to the shadows as much as possible, but now there were no options. The encampment was crowded, almost bustling. Barbossa had insisted it was a
"sleepy little place", but either the man had lied or he'd been here so long ago his information was outdated.
He had to cross an open expanse in order to get to the room where the charts were stored. Skirting to the left would lead him to several large, alert guards. Skirting to the right would take him past what had to be a brothel. There were men and women in various stages of undress and much...activity. He was sure to be spotted. He considered sitting until daylight. Perhaps with so much nighttime activity, dawn would find the denizens sleeping. He pondered that notion, but didn't like it. No, he had to take the chance. He would go by the brothel. Perhaps, with luck, he would be mistaken for a patron of the establishment. He took his cue from those he observed, and when a large party walked past his hiding place, he joined behind them behaving as they did.
He slipped away and made for the darkened section of the village. He knew what building he sought by the presence of the guards. There were four. Three more than Barbossa had surmised. Will crept carefully around the building sizing up the guards as well as the entrances. There, on the back wall, he found a small window. If the guards stayed in their current position, he could creep over to it and slip inside. Just then, they moved and each of the two guards he could still see traded places. After a few words, they resumed their watchful stance, and Will made his move.
The window was a bit tight, but Will managed to slip silently inside. Once there, he gave himself a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he realized Barbossa's information was worse than useless. Nothing was as he'd described it. He would have to search the room thoroughly. He only hoped Barbossa's description of the object he sought was close enough to allow him to recognize it.
The seach went slowly. Aware that any noise might bring the guards inside, Will moved carefully and silently. The window let in just enough moonlight so he didn't have to light a candle, but it slowed things down considerably as he had to bring things to the window to see if he'd found the charts. Frustration was getting the better of him, when his hand brushed something. It was rolled as a map would be, and Will caught his breath and tried to steady his pounding heart. He slipped it off the shelf noting it was heavier than he'd thought it would be. Drawing close to the window, he unrolled it and caught his breath. This was it. He tucked it inside his shirt, and eased himself up to the window, peeking outside before pulling himself up to the ledge. He
was about to drop to the ground when he sensed more than saw the guard coming around the corner. He pulled back just in time to avoid the man. He waited there for the man to move, but he didn't. The guard leaned against the side of the building and removed a shoe, dumping out a few pebbles before replacing it and removing the other. Will dared not breath. The man was just below him. Even climbing down from the ledge to hide in the darkened building could well alert the man to his presence, so he sat still and staring. Finally, the man moved off, and Will gave it a count of three before dropping out of the window. He was almost to the safety of the shadows, when a low growl sounded to his left. There, staring from the bushes, were two eyes. The growl sounded again, and Will saw the creature step forward. It was a dog, but a wild one, not domesticated. If he could distract it, he could still get away. Unfortunately, he had nothing with which to distract it. He eased a hand to his sleeve and removed one of the knives he'd strapped there, but the
dog was upon him in an instant. He fell to the ground, catching the animal and using all his strength to keep the snapping jaws from his throat.
Saliva dripped from the white fangs as the dog barked menacingly in his face. It's warm, foul breath made Will cringe almost as much as the snapping teeth. His arms began to shake with the effort of keeping the beast from tearing him to pieces. A moment or two more and Will knew he would be unable to fight it off. Those moments passed, and still, somehow, Will and the beast were a frozen tableau. His grip began to give way, and in that instant when he was certain the animal would tear out his throat, he heard a gunshot. The dog fell, blood and brain splattering Will as it dropped instantly. Relief made his straining arms tremble all the more. He looked up then at the four guards each leveling a gun or sword at him. He would have raised his hands, but he was unable just as he was unable to offer any resistance as they hauled him to his feet and dragged him away.