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Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney
Elizabeth was put in the captain's quarters; there was to be no damp brig for her. Instead, a bunk that reeked of death, warped glass windows that offered only a surreal view into the constant white fog, and the sounds of footsteps pausing outside the locked doors; silhouettes of hungry monsters lurking behind the thin wood barriers. Though no one had entered since she had been locked in, she could feel the crew's desire to eat her with their eyes like a physical pressure against the doors.
But after the second night, she didn't care. Never had she been so hungry; the water they had left her no longer helped. Her entire middle was gnawing at itself in a panic, leaving her to alternately pace and curl up to weather the cramps. In the unsure space between sleep and consciousness she wondered if they had forgotten her. When she woke, she wrathfully told herself it wasn't true; this was a test, and if Barbossa thought to break her in some way he would just have to wait. Until she died.
There was a moon, but darkness had fallen and she was again pacing, the multiple candles glowing on each wall blurred by her worries and the dread of another torturous night without food.
Then with a loud clank, the doors opened.
When Elizabeth saw it was Pintel and Ragetti, she marched up ready to tell them what she thought of their rotten captain and their rotting ship, but Pintel spoke first.
"You'll be dinin' wit the Captain," he told her. "And he requests you wear dis." He held out a deep red and black heap of material.
Elizabeth glanced at it and realized it was a dress. Scandalized; she shot Pintel a look of pure malice, jaw tight. "Well, you may tell the Captain that I am disinclined to acquiesce his request."
The two pirates exchanged glances, and Pintel grinned. "He said you'd say that. He also said if that be d'case, you'll be dinin' wit the crew." His grin widened to show more rotting teeth as Ragetti giggled. "And you'll be naked."
Elizabeth gaped. Then she snatched the dress and folded it protectively against herself, giving Pintel a challenging look.
He scowled. "Fine." The two pirates stalked out, slamming the doors behind them.
Seething, Elizabeth whirled away, threw the dress on the floor, and stomped on it.
A full table was set in the captain's quarters. The meticulous cook had saved his rabid attention for the food he placed on the large, gnarly table, and it was well for him, because Elizabeth was ready to tear something apart.
Now alone, she stared out the viewless windows, starving, fuming, and humiliated. The musty gown's bloodred material and inky lace was nothing next to its low neckline, and the neckline was nothing next to the lack of fastenings. The entire upper section of the bodice gaped wide. Elizabeth's nightgown, worn underneath, worked to preserve some of her modesty, but knowing that she had to endure an entire meal–and who knew that else–with the most repulsive man she'd ever met, while wearing a dress that didn't even fasten close in a most vital place, almost erased her appetite, despite the savory smells that filled the entire space. Breathing shallowly, she listened to the glasses and candelabra sliding back and forth with the swaying of the ship, feeling upset enough to kill.
There was a soft chattering, and the tapping of tiny paws. The monkey chittered and leaped onto its perch.
She half-turned; saw that the doors were somehow open, and that he loomed black in the doorway, his huge, feathered hat in place.
Why are the doors silent for him, but not his minions?
She could both see and feel him appraising her.
"Maid or not, it suits you," he said softly.
She turned fully and his slight smirk sent a wave of outraged adrenaline from her dizzy head to her toes. A flush climbed her cheeks and she hated him for it. "Dare I ask of its previous owner?" she bit out.
Captain Barbossa clucked, smirk widening to a grin. "Oh, now none a' that." He moved deliberately to one of the heavy, carved chairs. He rested a hand on its back, and her eyes fastened on his claw-like nails. He gestured. "Please."
Woodenly she obeyed, sitting, poised to flee should he even touch her. He didn't. He lowered his face next to hers, and looked at the food; she turned away.
"Dig in." He retreated to his own chair.
It was all so strange, she almost refused, especially when all he did was sit back and fix his eerie blue eyes on her. But there was a leg of pork on a platter some inches from her dismayingly empty plate, and it glistened at her, the perfect crispy tan-pink. Agony snaked through her middle and she had to gulp to keep from drooling. An instant later, her napkin was in her lap and the leg was on her plate and she had taken to it with knife and fork.
She lifted the first morsel to her lips, and the room swayed when she began to chew and flavor engulfed her mouth…the world. If it weren't for the way he was watching her she'd…
He was wincing, his pockmarked skin not softened by the candlelight. "There's no need to stand on ceremony, nor call to impress anyone." He looked sympathetically into her eyes. "You must be hungry."
She considered. Clang the knife and fork hit the table and then she'd seized the pork chop in both hands. She ripped into it with her teeth, barely swallowing before tearing free another bite.
Barbossa's eyes were glazing. Entranced, he poured wine into a sliding goblet as she grabbed a piece of bread from a platter and bit into it. He let her chew, then held out the goblet, whispering, "Try the wine."
Somewhere under the primal need to eat, her intellect was wondering at the situation, but she grabbed the goblet, and as she gulped, he plucked up a green fruit. "And the apples," he held it out to her, "one of those next."
Elizabeth froze, fingers sliding from the goblet. That is why he's starved me and then put all this supposedly wonderful food before me…that's why he's refraining! Her gaze darted to Barbossa's monkey, who stopped chewing to watch her. Silence fell and Barbossa lowered his hand.
"It's poisoned," she quavered.
He cackled. "There'd be no sense t'be killin' you, Miss Turner."
"Then release me! You have your trinket; I'm of no further value to you."
Barbossa produced the medallion from a pocket of his coat and held it up, resting his elbow on the table. "Y'don't know what this is, do you?"
"It's a pirate medallion," she replied defiantly.
"This," Barbossa corrected, "is Aztec gold. One of eight hundred and eighty-two identical pieces they delivered in a stone chest to Cortéz himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon them with his armies."
Motionless, Elizabeth listened.
"But the greed of Cortéz was insatiable. So the heathen gods placed upon th'gold," he paused, "a terrible curse." Elizabeth's eyes flicked to the medallion's mocking face. "Any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished, for eternity."
She looked him coolly in the eye. "I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Captain Barbossa."
He smiled. "Aye." He stood, and started around behind her. "That's exactly what I thought when we were first told the tale. Buried on an island of dead what cannot be found, except for those who know where it is."
He leaned down over Elizabeth's left shoulder, staring off into time. "Find it, we did. There be the chest. Inside be the gold. And we took it all." He grabbed at the air.
"We spent them and traded them," he straightened and retraced his steps, "and frittered them away on drink and food and pleasurable company." He leaned now over her right shoulder and looked at her, hand on the chair.
"The more we gave 'em away, the more we came to realize the drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust." She flinched imperceptibly. "We are cursed men, Miss Turner." He pulled away, face and eyes haunted. "Compelled by greed, we were, but now, we are consumed by it."
Despite herself, Elizabeth's heart pounded and chills ran over her skin. But as Barbossa's monkey screeched wildly, she rallied. Barbossa was clearly insane. And she'd be–forgive my language, Father–damned if she was going to sit and let him have control.
So when Barbossa turned to soothe his pet, Elizabeth took a deep breath and slid her meat knife into the folds of the napkin on her lap.
"There is one way we can end our curse." Barbossa handed the medallion to his monkey, who bit on it, then leaped onto his shoulder as he moved away. "All the scattered pieces of the Aztec gold must be restored and the blood repaid." Approaching Elizabeth; he motioned the monkey away and it bounded down his arm and loped into the shadows. "Thanks t'ye, we have the final piece."
Elizabeth's throat went cotton-dry. "And the–blood to be repaid?"
"That's why there's no sense t'be killin' you." Barbossa smiled. "Yet."
Silence fell tingling and heavy. "Apple?" He gazed into her huge eyes and mockingly offered the fruit.
A madman who wants to kill me…help me, help me! Desperation shattered her paralysis and she knocked the apple out of his hand then leaped to her feet, teeth bared. Up came the knife; Barbossa stumbled back with an exclamation.
For an instant, she was ready to stab him. Then it passed and she shrieked and darted past him for the doors, slipping to the left of a carved support. On the other side his heavy steps moved parallel to hers, and though she put on a burst of speed he was careening around to catch her when she shot free. She evaded him, twisting back the way she'd come, but he mirrored her, matching her cry with his own growl.
Gasping, she was already turning back, long curls flying. She made a final dash for the doors but he caught her by her bodice and wrenched her toward him. A voice cried, "No!" and by the time she realized it was her own, she'd plunged her knife deep into his heart with one savage motion.
They both froze.
Elizabeth stepped back, the feel of his tearing flesh shuddering up her arm and stirring the contents of her stomach. I can't have…can't…
Barbossa looked down. He grabbed the knife's handle. Elizabeth shrank down. Barbossa pulled the knife slowly from his heart; it sucked free then gleamed a wet red as he held it up.
"I'm curious," he said. "After killin me, what is it you're plannin' on doing next?"
Hyperventilating, she scrambled away. She hit into the doors and they opened easily, sending her stumbling out onto the moonlit deck. She turned toward the scraping sound of fiddle behind her.
Elizabeth Swann screamed.
In The Faithful Bride, the man with the ratty hat was nowhere to be seen. Will knew because he had looked.
And he had had plenty of time to look while Jack was scheming with Gibbs. Now he sat in Gibbs place, feeling a bit safer, eating a hot meat pasty. Jack had shoved the pasty on him with a grimace indicating that thankfulness was not going to be tolerated, and Will had not minded. The way Jack and Gibbs had put their heads together, with the occasional glance at him, foretold to Will a future equally unworthy of his gratitude.
"When will we be off?" Will asked, swallowing the last of his pasty and wishing fervently he could have two more. He almost licked his fingers, then saw how filthy they were and opted to wipe them on his breeches instead.
"Hmm?" Jack turned from scanning the tavern, his eyes distracted.
"When can we leave?"
Jack shrugged. "Gibbs'll get us candidates by midmornin', I 'magine, n'then we can leave." He lifted his second tankard of rum to his lips and gulped gloriously. When Will could see his face again, his eyes were mellow as cozy, still pools, and his pert lips were curved in a tiny, sated smile.
It was so very pathetic. Will sighed to himself and lifted his eyes over Jack's shoulder. She's still looking at me! He shifted to the left, putting Jack directly between himself and a gaudy girl slouched in a corner. She'd been making eyes at him since he sat down. It was going to be a long night.
Jack took a deep swallow of rum, looked to his left, and choked. He surged to his feet, and then thumped right back down into his chair, propelled by a large yet fine hand.
"Leaving already?" the hand's formidable owner exclaimed. "Don't be 'urting mes sentiments, Jacky, I do not think I can bear it."
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