"I can't do this, Bill."
"Jack," Bill said, taking a hard swig of rum, "truth be told, I can't do it either."
They paused their discussion at the sound of moans resonating throughout the ship. Below decks, they all crammed together, splattering vomit onto each other. Heaving coughs and anguished sobs permeated throughout the Wench, and it would only be a day's journey to deliver them to Mr. Mercer.
"What do you plan to do?" Bill asked.
Jack licked his lips, staring out of his cabin towards the endless sea, a cool breeze wafting over the waves.
"That's the Caribbean Sea, Bill, most beautiful sea there is. I used to live here, ye know. Each little island is different from all the others…if one were to go to one of the more remote ones, I doubt anyone could find them, even if they cared to look."
"Does any island in particular do that better than the others?" Bill raised an eyebrow, a clear smirk coming over his face.
"Mr. Turner, assemble everyone on deck." Jack ran out of his cabin and hoisted himself up onto the Wench's rail, clinging to the ropes. Koehler and the rest were scrubbing the deck, Mr. Pintel and Mr. Ragetti mending the sails, Yorkin seeing to the charts. They might all push me overboard, he thought, growing lightheaded. This wasn't what real captains did, about to spout things about honor and decency in front of ill-bred deckhands.
"Listen, all of you! Listen! You all know you're no longer the only ones the Wicked Wench carries anymore. If you've heard the same sounds I have, you know they're not the same as the bags of spices and all that other stuff is we take from one port to the other. We're not turning them over to the East India Trading Company."
He paused, letting the wave of gasps and whispers pass before continuing. He kept one hand on his hat, that one symbol of authority, however fragile, he had over each one of these dirty men.
"We're releasing them on an island of my choosing, so they can be free. Close your eyes and pretend you're in their place, your freedom taken out from under you. If you don't wish to be part of this plan, ye can come to the cabin and talk about it with me directly. Any of ye rickety swine got something to say?" His eyes widened at the silence answering him. "Mr. Turner!"
"Aye, Captain?"
"Hoist the colors!" Lowering his tone, he whispered to him, "T'will probably be the last time we can fly those colors."
"We'll be caught?"
"You can change your mind, toss me overboard if ye think…"
"…Or I can be a pirate with one of the best men I know."
Not answering Bill, Jack went below decks, his Piece of Eight growing heavier and heavier. Sorry, Mum, he thought. If Teague knew what all was about to happen…
"Captain, message for ye. Forgot to give it to ye when we last stopped."
"Thank you, Mr. Ragetti," Jack said, taking the letter from him. He unfolded it, a grainy parchment that differed too much from Trinidad's last correspondence.
Jackie,
Made it to Singapore, still looking for your mum. Hang onto that Piece of Eight when you go back to the Caribbean. Now that I ain't lord over it, someone else should be…
Jack crumpled the note before tearing it into shreds. If anyone was lord over the Caribbean, it was Beckett, what with his slaves and spices and ships. He heard the native tongue of the captives echo, until a seductive hiss of English sent a shiver down the back of his neck.
"You're a good man, Jack Sparrow."
"How do you know English?" Her mocha skin glistened, blending into black lips that curled into a knowing grin. Her short sentence sounded no different than if any middle class English woman spoke it. She swaggered over to him, gazing through his eyes, perhaps through decades into the future.
"If it comfort you, I kin speak like da people already workin' where you're takin' us." Jack winced at the drastic switch to a Caribbean accent.
"You're going to be free, work for yourself."
"And who do ya work fer, Jack?"
XXX
Tied to the splintery chair, Jack kept his eyes focused on the two figures entering Beckett's office, shadowed by the poor lighting from the fireplace. Ropes were even worse than chains, Jack thought. Ropes don't have locks you can pick. His body contorted, striving to make itself leaner and straighter to sink through the braided ropes and crawl behind the lavish sofas on the emerald and amethyst carpet to the open window. A couple of gulls perched on the window, clucking one after the other.
"Ah, an audience," Beckett sighed, leaning over Jack, sneering. "I suppose you'll tell me you have no idea why you're here."
"Look, mate, let's do away with the formalities and the always itchy ropes and sit down to tea and scones like men."
"You'll want to cooperate with me, Jack." Jack lurched back, too close to those eyes, more like holes. They had no life in them, just a dull blue framing an opaque pupil. "A power follows me wherever I go, you see, a crushing power." He straightened his cuff link.
"That would explain why you're so short." The hard punch in the eye was worth such a remark, Jack thought, fighting to open his eye after Mr. Mercer decked him in the face. The bone under his eye throbbed, fighting to rip out of his skin and run away.
"Did that 'urt?" the Cockney brute asked.
"Well, yes."
"Jack," Beckett snapped. "We're both men as you said. Do let us act like men." Beckett squatted on the floor, his face inches away from Jack's. "I can make this all go away. I'll even overlook this little…lapse in judgment if you will just do one thing for me." His speech slowed as it went on, and Jack saw even with one good eye how intently he was being watched. "Just tell me where you abandoned my cargo."
Jack licked his lips, wishing his tongue could reach up and soothe his aching eye.
"People ain't cargo."
"Mr. Mercer."
This time, the blow knocked over the chair, sending Jack toppling with it. The side of his arm hit the green and purple Persian carpet. Arching his back, he tried to slither far enough away to come up with a plan.
"Not so fast 'ere, mate." Mercer grabbed him by the collar. "It's time we 'had some fun." Jerking him over, Mercer pummeled into him. Jack's heart skipped a beat at the sound of a crunch when he felt his nose hit. Think, Jack, think. You can come up with something.
"I think that's enough for the time being," Beckett said, gesturing for the chair to be lifted back into its upright position. "We have sleeker, more elegant weapons that can be employed for questions." His eyes drifted to the fireplace, but Jack couldn't see past Mercer's disappointed face. "Using only our brawn makes us no different than the animals, does it? Now, Jack, one last chance. Tell me where these 'people' are now, and we won't trouble you with anything again. You can go back to The Wicked Wench, continue your work. Your crew won't even remember your oversight."
"Well, mate, I think you talked me into it."
"You're ready to talk?"
"Aye, that I am. A man knows when he's been beaten down, or beaten up, or both in this case, and in which I tip my metaphoric hat to your very good animal here." He bowed his head in Mercer's direction. "You just send me back out with me Wench and I'll round every last child up for you. Why, I'll even use me own salary to compensate for the expenses."
"Do you think me stupid, Jack? I know exactly what would happen if I sent you out alone on your ship. I'd never see you again. You'd wipe yourself clean off this earth and here I would be left slighted and in quite an unpleasant mood. Treat me as an equal in terms of intelligence, Jack. I do so hope one day you'll consider me a peer." Beckett whispered in his ear, almost brushing his lips against his lobe.
"Think of it this way," Jack said, clearing his throat, thankful his earlobe had managed to elude the strangest kiss of its life. "I come alone, the very person who has their trust, and they'll comply. I come accompanied with every ship this blasted company has to offer and then whose suspicions are aroused? You send me, you get me and all your 'cargo' in a steadfast and sure manner."
"All right."
"That's good reasoning! You won't be disappointed. Just give me my ship and I can be on my way now."
"Not so fast; you're not even untied."
"So I'm reminded."
"Mr. Mercer?"
Mercer stood by the fireplace, poking the crackling fire with a long brass poker. Bringing it with him when he walked back over to them, Jack spotted an emblazed "P" on the tip.
"I had no idea your name was Paul Mercer. Smart name. I got a nephew named Paul."
"I don't think ye do," Mercer said and handed the poker to Beckett. Never avoiding eye contact with him, Mercer squatted down and held Jack's arm palm-side up, the side with less skin than the top, the side not as exposed to the sun and the elements as the other side was. Beckett inspected the poker and then lodged it into Jack's arm.
A long hiss echoed throughout the office, followed by a whimper meant to stifle a howling scream. His eyes welled with tears, gushing out down his cheeks. Nothing, nothing, required such willpower to ignore. Hell, his eye felt normal compared to the searing letter being branded onto his skin.
"When you're right, you're right, Jack," Beckett said, lifting the poker up and off of him. "I will send you alone to claim what belongs to me until they reach the slaveholders, but seeing as I will send out an alarm to keep a weather eye out for the pirate Jack Sparrow and since you will have the brand and the description, you'll be brought back. The King's navy will apprehend you and bring you back along with every last 'child' and then I shall have my cargo and my traitor."
Jack said nothing, still unable to face what would be on his arm now. He could smell his own flesh smoking.
"Oh, and if you think your beloved ship will protect you, word will spread through the Caribbean about The Wicked Wench and the dangerous man who throws himself at her helm." Beckett smirked, waiting for Jack to respond. "Don't believe me? I take silence to mean the same as compliance." He then rammed the poker back into the same spot as before, fringing off the remaining flesh the first assault failed to take. Without any warning, it was impossible to avoid screaming. "I suppose you believe me well enough."
Beckett returned the poker to the fireplace and poured himself some brandy. "You may untie him now, Mr. Mercer. Captain Sparrow knows what his next assignment is."
The sawing of the ropes made Jack's wrists feel release before they were even completely free. He rolled them around, standing to his feet. A pirate now, his fingertips reached his brand. There was no promise that even if he stepped outside, he would make it to his ship…yes, there was.
"I believe it would be most wise and generous of you if you supplied me with some extra provisions."
"Pardon me?"
"Oh, not that it's absolutely necessary," Jack said, ambling about the office, sitting on the desk to examine what he determined to be a rhinoceros horn. Rinoceronte, he thought out of habit. "It's just that as a newly appointed pirate, I possess no existing knowledge of how to outmaneuver all the Royal Navy's ships."
"Being a pirate is no different from being a merchant sailor," Beckett scoffed. "In fact, I should think it would be less difficult seeing as there are no rules to follow."
No, Jack thought, just a Code.
"Well then," he said, "I shall defend The Wench to the best of my ability and when it's claimed by another ship of pirates or blown to pieces by the Navy, I'll go to my grave consoled by the fact I've only committed one act of piracy in my short life."
"Fine," Beckett growled. "What is it you want?"
"Glad you asked." Jack sprang up from the desk. "I want to go down to the jail and pick up a first mate."
"William Turner is your first mate."
"And a fine, noble young man he may be, but he does lack that pirate quality, doesn't he?"
"So, if my understanding is correct, you want to recruit an experienced pirate to serve under you? Forgive me, Jack, but it sounds incredibly stupid to me, although I am considering agreeing to such a proposal just to see what the outcome may be." He repositioned his arms behind his back, staring at the back wall behind Jack. "Very well. You and your crew will outnumber any sea rat foolish enough to follow you. Just remember what you have set out to do. Is that clear?"
"Painfully," Jack said, wrapping his brand with Trinidad's lace.
XXX
The jail reeked of stale hay and piss, enough to make Jack's eyes water. Dust parted like the Red Sea for his boots, but he didn't notice, unbuttoning his pocket and fingering the Piece of Eight. The cross on the side seemed to melt into Teague's jeering face, nodding in both approval and disapproval at the life-changing event that had just went on in that office. Well, Jack shook his head, it would never happen again. This would be the last Beckett would ever see of Jack Sparrow. No! No, he corrected himself. Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Ye be the cur that brought me here?"
"Hector Barbossa, do I have a proposition for you."
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Looks like what Barbossa predicted came to pass. What now? Leave reviews to find out!