He'd know that stance anywhere, that erect, smug stance a man adopts when he is sure the world has decided, if only for one day, to revolve around him. The sun and the moon shine only for him and consider even his lightest of whims with the utmost seriousness. Feet shoulder-width apart and his hands behind his back, Beckett did not even bother to turn to address him, favoring ramblings like he always did. Jack rolled his eyes and slunk up and down the room.
"It's not here, Jack."
"What? What isn't?" Beckett turned just when Jack's eyes sharpened and searched through the nooks and crannies with a purposeful expression. Too late to act drunk, he opted to just act stupid.
"The heart of Davy Jones. It's safely aboard the Dutchman and unavailable to use as leverage to settle your debt with the good captain."
"By my reckoning, that debt has been settled." He turned his head just long enough to catch a glimpse of those cold blue eyes. Behind them, an intricate web of threats existed, and Jack knew he was at the center of all of them. Each one acted like another poker, branding him in the same place as before, when Beckett let go of Mercer's proverbial leash.
"By your death, and yet here you are."
"Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream. That's how I get by." He stopped to mock a painting of…was that Beckett…standing with the East India Trading Company flag waving behind him. The artist certainly took his liberties with the height, Jack thought. A scepter?
"And if Davy Jones were to learn of your survival?"
There it was, the leverage.
"You still think threats are the way to go, mate? Based upon what I've heard from my rescuers, who are, I'll admit, of questionable repute nowadays, you had a very smart little threat going to entice young Captain Turner to betray me, and look how that went. You stand there compass-less and here I am compass-full. Funny how that worked out."
"Oh, I'm far from resigned to mere threats." Beckett walked up to the table off to the side and poured two small glasses of what Jack guessed to be champagne. It sparkled and gave off that faint tint reminiscent of urine, but Jack strolled up to it and waited.
"Perhaps you'll consider an alternative arrangement," Beckett said, "one that requires absolutely nothing from you but information." He offered Jack one of the glasses and gave a smirk.
"Regarding the Brethren Court, no doubt." It could work. Of course it would require convincing the Brethren Court to come out and fight, getting himself aboard the Dutchman, and making sure William decided on no more heroics. He clinked his glass against Beckett's, so small, he could crush it into dust if he applied only the slightest bit of more pressure. "In exchange for fair compensation…square my debt with Jones….guarantee my freedom." He never cared much for champagne, distracting himself from the taste by observing the little army spread out on the table. Each one, clad in a black tri-corner hat, had his back turned to the wafer-thin, bent Pieces of Eight. Jack tossed his hair that peeked up from his bandana to conceal his own. He should have exchanged it for something else long ago.
"Of course," Beckett said. "It's just good business."
"Were I in a divulgatory mood, what then might I divulge?" He picked up a wigged figure not quite in the formation made up of the little men. It stood on its own, better dressed and more detailed than the rest. He grimaced at it, wondering why on earth the fact Beckett had a little doll of himself disturbed him more than the fact the man had an armada at his disposal.
"Everything."
Jack shivered at how close he had come. The man was too fond of whispering in his ear. Each word sounded more like the hissing of a snake than actual words.
"Where they are meeting, who are the pirate lords, what is the purpose of the nine Pieces of Eight?"
Jack's grimace exploded into a frown. He rushed over to an elaborate lady's fan and unfolded it. Just don't overdo it, he thought, fanning himself. Let the bugger think what he wants about you. You know the truth and no one will ever know you resorted to…he felt sick at the thought of it…enticing him. He saw the effect it had on Beckett, who watched him with all the desperation of a fox watching a chicken being thrown at it.
"Well, it's been so long since I've seen them all," Jack began, batting his eyelashes. He waltzed past Beckett and made sure to knock his shoulder against his. "There is me, of course, and I am the best looking one among them, if I do say so myself. You've met Sao Feng." He looked at his own fingernails, comparing them to Sao Feng's. He wouldn't mind if Beckett hanged him, actually. One of Sao Feng's bathhouses for his mother? "You may not remember Hector Barbossa."
"I do indeed. I sent you to apprehend him for me. Did you know he was a lord then?"
"I don't kiss and tell," Jack said. "You have 'Gentleman Jocard,' who is such a gentleman he would give you the scales right off his back. Capitaine Chevalle. The stories attached to that man, I declare! You'd like him, I'm sure. Two of a kind, if you get my drift. But not so much the case with Sri Sumbhajee. He gums his women like he gums his curry. Same with Ammand the Corsair. Villanueava of Spain—probably the first to turn his tail should any real danger surface. Who am I leaving out?" He counted on his fingers. "Ah, Mistress Ching, the most treacherous, vile, manipulative daughter of Eve if ever I met one. Well, one of the most treacherous, vile, manipulative daughters of Eve anyway. We'll all get together at Shipwreck Cove for a lovely banquet. I was on the list to bring the dessert, but since I died, I don't think they'll hold me to that."
"And the Pieces of Eight?" Beckett's eyes were wider than Jack had ever seen them, but he couldn't bring himself to look down and see if this act was in any way, stimulating Beckett in any other fashion besides intellectually.
"Oh those things? Psh. Just a way to release the goddess Calypso if the stories are to be believed."
"Jack," Beckett breathed. "You, you are telling the truth, aren't you?"
"You'd be surprised how often people ask me that."
"Thank you," Beckett whispered, cocking his head to look Jack over up and down. "I presume you have your own demands?"
"Ah yes. I take it you will be taking prisoners when you overthrow Shipwreck Cove?"
"It is part of my job to ensure the safety of my ships," Beckett said, taking a seat, his chest heaving. "You may have a seat, too, if you wish. I'm not afraid to let you in."
"I'd rather stand."
"But," Beckett said, sitting up and glancing down at his little army, "You'll want them alive and well, won't you?"
"Not as many as you think," Jack said with a grin, fanning himself harder. "You can keep Barbossa, the belligerent homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye, both. And Turner. Especially Turner. The rest come with me aboard the Pearl and I lead you to Shipwreck Cove where I will hand you the pirates and you will not give me to Jones. Bloody fair deal, don't you think?"
The slight pause dried Jack's tongue. Something wasn't going well. The man was getting much better at concealing his thoughts.
"And what becomes of Miss Swann?"
He wished he had an answer for that.
"And what is she to you?"
The corners of Beckett's mouth curled up and Jack wondered what images were coming to Lord Cutler Beckett's mind. The ones in his own were much more troubling.
XXX
"Good show locking him up in the brig!" Gibbs said, steering the Pearl to Shipwreck Cove. "Thought for sure you'd bring out the old cat, but at least this way he's out of our hair."
"For now," Jack said. "Barbossa in me cabin?"
"Aye. It'd take pain of death to force him out. Bloody terrified of Tia Dalma, though he'd never say so. She brought him back, in case no one filled ye in on that. Yes, sir, we're a motley crew, to be sure. Miss Elizabeth runs off with Sao Feng to get us the Pearl and then you got those two…" He cocked his head over to Pintel and Ragetti, seeing which one could spit the farthest into the water. "At least we'll see Miss Elizabeth when Sao Feng comes to the Cove, but as fer…" he trailed off, pointing down to below decks. "He's got a little too rash for our purposes."
"It's not something to worry over, Gibbs," Jack said. "In fact, I'll give ye any possession ye want save for me lace and me Piece of Eight if you'll just keep staring straight ahead of you and just ignore anything that may happen on deck, savvy?"
"And save for your hat."
"And me hat."
"I'll stare straight ahead and wait for ye to decide on the proper reward," Gibbs said. "Releasing Turner?"
"Now, if I tell you, that would defeat the purpose of having you conveniently not looking at the deck to see what events take place there. But…he's probably found his own way out by now. That'll be all, Mr. Gibbs." He made his way down the steps.
"And may a gentle breeze and a cask of grog come your way, Captain."
He had to hand it to William. Just when he had the boy figured for an absolute henpecked mammet, he had turned the tables on everyone. So he did indeed plan to free Bill. Picturing Bill passing through the narrow Spanish streets with him brought a smile to Jack's face, but not the picture of Bill's son chained to that ship of death. An even worse picture proved to be that of himself, gazing up at the sky from a hole six feet into the earth. Only Teague peered down into the hole before shoveling fresh, moist dirt right over Jack's mouth and eyes. Unable to cry out, unable to do anything, his view of the sky dwindled down until complete darkness replaced it.
About to storm into his cabin and find the nearest bottle and glass, he spied William hurling a barrel overboard into the ocean.
"You escaped the brig even quicker than I expected," Jack called down to him. He smirked at the startled look on the boy's face, knife drawn. Sometimes Barbossa's description of him being a whelp fit only too well. "William, do you notice anything? Rather, do you notice something that is not there to be noticed?"
"You haven't raised an alarm," he said, lowering the knife. He maintained his confused, suspicious expression.
"Odd, isn't it? Not as odd as this…" He swaggered over to him. He was glad one of them could stomach handling corpses. Might be a useful skill to have acquired in a pirate-filled world. "Come up with this all by your lonesome, did ye?"
"I said to myself, 'think like Jack.'" It was said with a sharp tone, but Will's body said it was at ease now and was eager to talk to Jack rather than just drive a knife into him. Strange how, on the way to Isla de Muerta, Will talked quite a bit—about his job, about Elizabeth, about his father. Escaping the Locker, Will hadn't had too much to say, not since they were all standing on the beach there, begging him to let them rescue him…or at least that's how Jack would tell it if anyone asked.
"And this is what you've arrived at? Lead Beckett to Shipwreck Cove so as to gain his trust, accomplish your own ends. It's like you don't know me at all, mate." A pathetic smile surfaced on Will's face. He was smarter than he gave himself credit for, Jack admitted to himself, but it wasn't Will's conscience telling him to not touch dead bodies that made him so eager to talk. Perhaps it was someone else who hardly said a word when they all left the Locker. "And how does your dearly beloved feel about this plan?" Nothing. "Ah. You've not seen fit to trust her with it." Yes, William Turner Junior was decidedly smarter than he gave himself credit for being.
"I'm losing her, Jack." It was scarcely above a whisper. "Every step I make for my father is a step away from Elizabeth."
Poor, poor noble Will. He had told himself he didn't care if Lizzie did nothing on the journey back to the world of the living except mourn and brood, but he did. And now that he was sure he was over her, maybe an arrangement should be proposed.
"Mate, if you choose to lock your heart away, you'll lose her for certain. I may be able to lend a machete to your intellectual thicket: avoid the choice altogether. Change the facts. Let someone else dispatch Jones." Machete to your intellectual thicket? Better take a stab at using that brain of yours if you want William to go along with this. Through the darkness he could see Will's eyebrows narrow.
"Who? You?"
"Death has a curious way of reshuffling one's priorities." Well, Lizzie wasn't here to talk to and he wasn't sure if he would confide in her now anyway, so Will was the next best thing. Besides, it wasn't she who was tempted to stab the heart. What was it Beckett had said? Eliminating the middle man? "I slip aboard the Dutchman, find the heart, stab the beating thing, your father goes free from his debt and you're free to be with your charming murderess." It might feel good to do the right thing and free Bill himself.
"And you're willing to cut out your heart and bind yourself to the Dutchman forever?"
"No, mate. I'm free forever, free to sail the world beyond the edges of the map." It sounded even more appealing when he said it out loud. "Free from death itself."
"You have to do the job, though, Jack" Will warned. "You have to ferry souls to the next world. Or end up just like Jones." He wiggled his fingers under his chin. Much to Jack's surprise, it referenced the tragedy that was being Davy Jones with a formidable ferocity.
"I never had the face for tentacles." If ferrying the dead to their great beyond prevented him from losing every shred of his humanity and being reduced to Jones, it was a small price to pay. "Still immortal has to count for something, eh? Oh." He reached for his compass and handed it to Will. There was something about using corpses strapped to barrels as breadcrumbs that just didn't quite ring true, and Will had mutinied against them all. Yes. Jack smirked. Give the whelp the opportunity to negotiate with Beckett.
"What's this for?"
"Think like me. It'll come to you." He took a step and breathed on him. There was something about champagne that left an awful taste in one's mouth and, oh, did young William fall overboard? Clumsy Jack, he scolded himself. He'll just have to rely on Beckett now, and he did want credit for being alive when it came to Davy Jones. "My regards to Davy Jones!"
XXX
"A sure sign of the apocalypse, making you king. The apocalypse, to be sure," Barbossa grumbled to Elizabeth as he followed her out of the meeting room. It led back out to the mouth of the cave. Drops of water echoed further into the entrails of the cavern, but the only part of it that ever concerned a pirate was the alcove of the cave where the first brethren court chose to hold council. Elizabeth turned around and sneered at him, leaving Jack and Gibbs off to the side.
"I didn't hear you doing anything to help the situation," she said. "Free Calypso. Are you mad?"
"You'll be singing a different tune, young missy, if things start to go sour. But, in the meantime, how may I serve ye, oh merciful king?"
"We need to get Will back from Beckett."
"Miss Elizabeth!" Gibbs gasped, stepping forward. Jack let his back rest against the wall of the cave. What answer had Gibbs expected? "We'd best not cross paths with that vile miscreant until we're all in our ships!"
"I'd rather Will not be on the Endeavor while we're blowing it to pieces," she said. Barbossa glanced over at Jack, who just smirked at him. He expected that to be enough to quell the look of doubt on Barbossa's face, but he found himself the newest participant in a staring contest. "Is there to be anymore quibbling, Captain Barbossa?"
"None that you'll be hearing," he said, following the cave back out to the blinding light of the beach mumbling, "A surer sign than a pale horse."
Gibbs followed him out, and Jack knew he should follow suit, but he lingered, convincing himself it was because the cold stone of the cave combined with the shade provided a much more comfortable environment than going back out under the burning sunlight. Elizabeth folded her arms and let her back fall against the wall. Side by side with her, he decided to wait and let her speak first. Just the title of captain in front of her name took his breath away, barging in and ramming her sword into the globe, dressed like she'd been raised on one of the many islands in the Pacific. She needed a hat that fit her better, he thought, staring at her, one that from the top didn't resemble lady parts. He shook his head and took a breath. He hoped she would speak or simply leave the cavern. If he looked at her any longer...
"Just about everyone in that room would be more qualified than me," she began. He turned his head back and kept his eyes forward.
"Aye, but you were the only one who also wanted to fight." They didn't face each other, but he could hear her sigh. "My hat's off to ye for killing old Sao, metaphorically speaking. That in itself qualifies ye."
"For the last time, Jack, I didn't kill Sao Feng. We were taken over by the Dutchman."
"Oh yes, I must have me facts muddled with another story," Jack snapped. "And who did you have to kill in order to escape?" He finally let his head relax over to the side to look at her again. She avoided his gaze by staring at the sand-covered ground.
"No one. We were put directly into the brig." She paused, taking a deep inhale. "James was killed trying to save me."
"Well," Jack trailed off, speechless at first. Should he be saddened by that news? Should he be envious? Should he be relieved, or happy? How strange to not know how to feel. "Can't rightly say I'll miss our dear Commodore. Don't give me that disapproving look, Lizzie. I haven't any reason in the world to mourn him, but you do. If it's any consolation, I'm fully convinced he's up there right now with a harp and wings. He took down too many like us to deserve a lesser fate. Does that comfort you?"
Her face melted into a resigned calm. "I suppose it does."
"And think of it this way—had he not been killed, you might have had to give him a little kiss and do the job yourself."
"Jack!" she yelled, even resorting to stomping her foot. "Won't you…"
It was a split decision, pinning her to the wall and kissing those pouting lips again. He waited for a sharp knee to his groin, but instead he felt her arms wrap around him, holding the back of his head so he couldn't break away from her. Finally, a moment free of chains, of death, of everything in existence but the two of them. Risking an escape attempt from her, he let go of her shoulders and cupped her face, opening his eyes just long enough to see hers closed, lost in the same moment. Why was fate so unkind to prevent her from becoming his Lizzie? Why wouldn't she just stay with him and sail with him and spend her life with him? He pushed his hands up to her temples and then into her chin-length strands of hair too short to be gathered in that stifling bun. Unable to breathe, he broke the kiss and gathered her into his arms. He'd never held a woman like this, and surprised even himself with how satisfying, how befitting it was, to have his head against hers, feeling her whole body against his own.
"Is this your idea of getting even with me?" she whispered into his ear, and he could hear the smile on her face.
"I'm all for this kind of vengeance," he whispered back, pulling her even tighter to him. He felt her chin drop down, her head lying on his shoulder.
"Jack," she breathed, pausing too long for anything good to be said next. "There's Will. If, if so much was different…I can't…"
"I wouldn't ask you to," he said, and it was the truth. No, he didn't want to technically steal her away from the only child of Bill Turner, and yet he wouldn't have complained if that was the turn the events chose to take. "William does tend to endear himself to people, and you know as well as I do this is simply my revenge."
"Keep telling yourself that," she said and pulled him down to her again, kissing him with a fervor so tortuous he needed to brace the cavern wall with his hand. She released his upper lip before his lower one and opened her eyes. She curled back into him, the top of her head right below his face. "You're a good man, Jack Sparrow. The…what is that?"
He knew she was not so crude a pirate as to inquire about the bulge that was hardening between his legs, but he didn't know what else she would be looking at until he noticed her staring at the newest addition to his possessions. He gave out a short laugh.
"Oh that?"
"Yes, that."
He shook his hip to let his mother's head bob up and down. She'd been so beautiful, so alive, and although he still didn't understand Teague's preoccupation with it, it felt strangely comforting to have her beside him again. Maybe he would give it back to Teague when their battle was over, but at least for a while, he needed it with him, that gorgeous Italian voice he missed so much telling him story after story.
"Elizabeth Swann, you have the pleasure of making your acquaintance with me mum."
She looked at him in disbelief, but only for a moment, nodding her head and giving him a warm smile. "It's Captain Elizabeth Swann, actually. A gift from Captain Teague?" She didn't really ask it, and instead glanced out at the beach. "It's time to go." She threw her arms around him one more time and held him tighter than she had before. So perfect a moment, Jack thought, and he would never have the chance to be alone with her again. Bending down just slightly, he brushed a lock of hair away from her ear and whispered to her.
"I love you."
She cocked her head up with sad eyes, shaking her head. But there was something else. The corners of her mouth could barely restrain themselves from turning up into a smile. Her eyes locked onto his and he drank in this new look she had never given him before. It was…he tried to push out what he wanted it to be, but even the most logical part of his mind saw it. She loved him. She was telling him with everything but her voice, that she loved him and that she knew he would know that.
A/N: The chapter title is a line from Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, a play loosely based on actual events of a couple who decided to take on an empire...sense any parallels? Please leave a review.