Hello all, and welcome to chapter 16! I know I thank reviewers every chapter but I just want to emphasize just how much I appreciate you taking the time to tell me what you think, good or bad. So, a massive, massive thank you to AKA Parfait, hurricane1714, and my first anonymous reviewer WillsElizabeth23!
WillsElizabeth23: Thank you so much for the review! You're very right about Cotton's forebodings. :) And now you get to find out how right you were!
A/N: Alright, everyone, this chapter makes me nervous...if there is anything I should change please tell me, okay?
Chapter 16: Loss
Will was getting increasingly frustrated in his search. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. He had searched the soldier's pockets and every inch of his cell. All he had found was a substantial amount of sea water and a strip of string.
There was a clatter of footsteps and Will tensed, fully expecting to be shackled and later beaten for his failed escape attempt.
But what he saw was entirely different.
Cotton thumped down the stairs, his parrot shuffling uncomfortably with each step.
"Cotton!"
When the old man caught sight of Will he lunged forward. He seemed to want so say something. But that, of course, was impossible.
"I need the key to get out of here. Do you know where it is?" Will asked hurriedly. He had been locked in this cell long enough and there would be time for pleasantries later.
Cotton shook his head.
Will stifled a frustrated growl. "Do you have a blade or something I can use to pick the lock?"
The elderly sailor poked through his clothes for a moment before lifting exactly what Will had wanted, a lengthy tine of steel. It was worn but it would suffice.
Seconds later there was the satisfying clank and the door pushed open.
Elizabeth pounded down a corridor, heedless to the noise above and around her. Her heart seemed to beat one syllable over and over. Will, Will, Will…he was alive. And he was on board this ship.
Banging open another door she whirled in like a hurricane, tripping over herself in enthusiasm of perhaps discovering her husband.
The room was empty.
She tore back out, resolute not to be disheartened. The rooms farther down the hall were ravaged by her wild search by resulted in no findings. They were all empty and cold.
Mind spinning, she thought over what she had not explored. Only one place came to mind. The captain's cabin…
Mariel pressed her spine farther into the wooden cabinets, wishing that she could vanish into the fibers of oak. The horrible shrieks of battle caught in her ears and somehow managed to stay there. Echoing and repeating dreadfully until she thought she might scream herself.
Her sisters huddled right next to her, white faced and as silent as the watery graves they were likely to find themselves in if the combat did not reach a peaceful resolution.
They had not heard or seen from anyone since they moment they were shoved in this room. A pot of stew, or at least what she assumed was stew, was poked through the door once a day along with a pitcher of clean drinking water.
Voices and shadows sometimes crossed the window panes of the narrow double doors leading to the cabin but never once could they make out what was being said.
Sometimes the voices sounded remarkably like Will's accented tone and other times they almost imagined they could hear Hawthorne bellowing some order.
But never on one occasion could they really be sure of what their ears were picking up.
Mariel shivered at another cry of some poor man. These sounds truly made one's flesh prickle and stomach clench.
Pressing her eyes closed, she pivoted away from the noises and tried a final time to think of anything else.
Bang!
The three girls jumped at the thud of their door opening.
Sunlight hid the face of their rescuer or killer. A long blade shone as the figure moved forward.
Could it be?
"Monsieur Turner?" Mariel asked before she could stop herself.
Celia seemed to have the same idea and she stood, Elaine quick to follow.
The figure did not answer but did not leave.
"Is that you?" Celia questioned, voice growing in strength.
Instead of replying, the stranger spun and fled. They could only catch a glimpse of long golden hair and a slim but obviously pregnant outline before they were forced to defend themselves from a flow of combatants suddenly flooding their haven.
Will felt the most relieved state of being come over him then he had in weeks. It was like taking a sip of warm chocolate after a long day in the cold, feeling the heat spreading through his veins and easing out the tension.
Feeling as if weights had been taken from his weary shoulders he pulled Kerrigan into cell, locking him inside and finally turning to leave.
Together, he and Cotton mounted the steps, reaching a landing another flight of stairs below the main deck.
Will placed his hand on the railing and was about to move when a groan split the air. He turned in time to see a redcoat standing over the elderly pirate who was writhing in pain.
He darted back only to stop after two swift steps. After all, he had no weapon and the soldier was armed with a thick cutlass.
The only thing he possessed was the long spike of metal used to pick the cell door. Balancing it carefully in the fingers of his left hand he bent and scooped up a splintered plank of wood with his empty right hand.
The soldier was eyeing him carefully and when Will lifted his two 'weapons', the frightened redcoat charged.
Warily catching the blows with his mixture of metal and wood, Will managed to defend himself from the first bout. However, his splintery plank was quickly becoming a splinter itself.
The young soldier, though he looked half-starved, could definitely put some weight behind his assaults yet his form was elementary in strategy.
Nevertheless, one thing, Will decided, that was useful for dueling someone was to actually have a blade for one's self. His objective now had moved from stay alive to get a sword.
Catching the man's wrist he let the spike slide from his hand and in its place worked on prying the sword away or at the very least free.
His opponent was not dumb, though, and did not take too well to the idea of being weaponless. He wrenched the sword this way and that way, barely missing Will's abdomen but managing to cut a thin abrasion across his cheekbone.
Feeling the burn of a wound, Will's efforts doubled. He muscled the man to a wall and in a last twist, heard the sword clatter to the floor.
Deftly, he darted away, retrieving the blade, and faced his now unarmed opponent.
Grimacing in what could only be rage, the soldier yanked free a hidden dagger and stepped to pounce on Will when a roar swept past.
With a gurgle, he, instead, crumpled to the floor, a piece of shrapnel imbedded in his gut.
Will nearly sank to the deck in exhaustion but stifling the urge calm his quick breathing, he went back to Cotton. Bending over, he turned the old pirate's body, hoping to find that somehow the man had survived.
It was not to be.
A neat and horribly deep gash across the belly was Cotton's demise.
Will's hands were now coated in thick blood already cold from death's icy touch. The very air reeked with killing. Cotton's parrot hopped around aimlessly, blathering nonsense.
There was a slam then another person shot down the stairs, nearing colliding with him, wildly curly blond locks framing a golden face.
"Elizabeth!"
"Will!" Elizabeth started to hold out her arms to him but froze at the amount of blood smearing both his British uniform, hands, and sword. "Will?" her face was filled with confusion. "Cotton…he…"
"Elizabeth, this is not what it looks like." Will stammered, quick to assure her that he was not the cause for Cotton's death.
"Then what is it?" she demanded, shying away and lifting her cutlass.
The raw hate and revulsion that filled her lovely amber eyes…it nearly sliced open his heart."I-I didn't kill him."
"What would you have me believe, Will? My heart or my intellect?"
"Elizabeth?" She had never doubted his word before.
"I can't believe you, Will! I hope they leave you when I'm gone." Tears flickered in her eyes until she whirled and tore back up the stairs, leaving him alone with two corpses.
Jack was busy ordering his crew back to the Pearl, a highly difficult task when bombarded with people trying to swipe your head off especially since said people seemed to be going for people who brought attention to themselves.
Although, according to Jack, you could hardly fault him for being at least a little flamboyant. After all, this had the potential for a grand tale.
He could almost feel the mug of rum in his hands, the dominating and sickly odor of that stuff called perfume, the cooing voices of Tortuga's women and their warm hands on his arms, pleading for the latest gambit.
"Jack! Full canvas!"
Bloody nightmare! It sounded as thought they were right there. Jack spun, his imagination might have been more active and lively than the normal human but this was too real. Oh… Her again? Bloody stupid whelp…must'a taught 'er to use a sword too well…
Elizabeth darted up, looking positively lethal in rage. "Did you hear what I said? Get us out of here! Tell them to brace the foreyards!"
"I did indeed, love." Jack was entirely too short on rum to argue with the young mother especially since he couldn't agree more. "Gibbs! My ship is leaving!"
He smiled hearing the thick voice begin to holler orders and slowly the Pearl began to gain speed. In an enormous creak after what seemed like ages, the Pearl broke free from the Waking Power.
Only when she was a dot on the clue sky did the crew finally sink against the barrels and crates, erupting into a caucus of tales and sighs of relief.
One voice raised above the others, recognizable as Marty, "I seen 'im…near the gun deck. 'e was wearin' one a' dem British uniforms, too…aye, de very same, William Turner."
Jack turned on Elizabeth, surely she would want to hear this bit o' news, only to find, well…no Elizabeth.
"Oi! You! Pintel! Where be the whelp's girl?"
"I dunno, Cap'n last I saws she was 'ere."
"You're just bloody unhelpful. What are you doing my ship? Mr. Gibbs! What is he going on me ship?" He scanned the area for the first mate only to find him, too, missing. That was odd…people were disappearing…again…he needed rum.
Without another word, he sauntered off to his cabin. For after all, the solutions to conundrums often made themselves known once a bottle of that heavenly stuff had been drunk.
And last time, Elizabeth had quite helpfully revealed her position following rum consumption.
So, he worked the door free, humming fragments of an inexistent tune to himself, and upon entering, peered around for a full bottle from amongst his many stashes.
A slight noise halted his rummaging and caused him to spin, ready to pounce on any rum theft.
But what he found was Elizabeth. Back rigid, face emotionless, taut arms wound around her full waist, and stone cold amber eyes staring into nothingness.
If not for the light rise and fall of her chest, he would have presumed her dead. "Liz'beth?"
She did not even blink, the golden flush of her face changed to a grey pallor.
Jack walked in a circle around her motionless body, peering at the change in her. This was unlike any mood he'd ever seen in a woman, not taking into account the fact that she was one of the fieriest women he'd ever met, and frankly he preferred the fire, the slapping, giggling, sobbing gaggle of emotional women to this…hollow seclusion.
He extended his forefinger and slowly edged it towards her shoulder, giving her a slight prod.
She didn't react.
Jauntily setting his head to the side, he observed her for a moment longer; fully expecting Elizabeth to spin and vent whatever it was that had her in a fix on him.
When she did move, it was only a slight turn of her head so that her eyes caught his gaze.
Jack almost stepped back at the horrendous amount of agony and betrayal in them. It was a night and day contrast to the way her tawny orbs normally alight with the joy of life and full of clever scheming.
"I hate him, Jack. I hate him."
For minutes, Jack Sparrow, for likely the first time in his life, had not the least idea of what to say. It was clear of who she spoke. The whelp…Will…
Her fixed stare finally broke contact with his but she said no more.
"Liz'beth," Jack uneasily edged towards her, unsure whether he should touch her but recalling that most women liked to be held. "You don't mean that, love. The whelp's a lit'le inept…and stupid…and bloody awful at bein' a pirate…but, I can't believe the words are comin' out o' me mouth, 'e's a good man, more than that 'e loves you, Liz'beth. 'e couldn' do anythin' to hurt you…and I think..." he paused, no movement, "you know that."
She spun and stalked to the door, stopping only to throw two sentences back over her shoulder. "I do mean it, Jack. I'd be happier if he were dead."
The door closed surprisingly quietly and she was gone.
Jack sank down into his chair before his navigational instruments and took a gulp of a half empty bottle of rum that had been stashed behind a pile of parchment before uttering one word like a curse, "Women…"
TBC...
Wow, a lot happened...don't kill me? :)