A/N: Thank you to Starling Rising, meowbooks, and jedipati for your reviews! :D
Thank you to jedipati for betaing this.
Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney
The huge, scar-decorated bosun turned a terrible glare on Pintel and Ragetti. "You two! You brought us the wrong person!"
"No!" Pintel protested fearfully when the rest of the crew shouted in agreement. "She had the medallion. She's the proper age!"
"She said her name was Turner," Ragetti added.
Elizabeth was too tired to move, but her ears refused to stop listening. So she waited for them to remember that it was she who had ruined it all. Then they would plot her death and for some morbid reason, she wanted to know what it was. Perhaps…so I won't be surprised when they…grab me and–
Something shockingly wet and cold grabbed her face. It stuck below her nose, muffling her shriek. Body reeling under yet another bust of adrenaline, she stared at the face floating in the moat only a foot from hers, wondering for an insane instant if some cave-dwelling creature had come to drag her off to its home for a meal or worse. But the emerging cheekbones, oddly tanned, were familiar beneath the drips of water…and yes, the brown of the eyes. Will? she whispered into his palm.
He gave her a small smile she'd never seen before, and motioned for her to be silent. He lifted his hand and hope blazed again in Elizabeth's heart, making it swell so big she had to move or it would explode. She quickly sat halfway up. The medallion! She twisted, Will's fingers trailing from her cheek, and there it was, smiling in the twinkling back sand. In an instant she had it, and then she was swinging her legs into the icy water.
Barbossa had a dangerous situation on his hands. He stood alone, watching his crew struggle to come to terms with what had happened.
"I think she lied to us," Ragetti was saying.
Twigg was the first one to turn on his captain. "You brought us here for nothin!"
The pirates bellowed, but Barbossa bellowed louder. "I won't take questioning or second guesses, not from the likes a' you, Master Twigg!"
"Who's to blame here?" Khoeler demanded. "Every decision you've made has led us from bad to worse!"
Mallot, a pirate with stringy hair straggling from under a tri-cornered hat, pointed at Barbossa. "It was you who sent Bootstrap to the depths!"
The pirates were almost howling now.
The bosun unsheathed his sword. "And it's you," he lunged catlike up the pile, "who brought us here in the first place!"
The crew agreed again and weapons flashed. This was the moment of truth.
Barbossa drew his own sword and it flashed hungrily. "If any coward here dare challenge me, let him speak! Mmm?" He jabbed at the bosun, who slowly, slowly bowed his head and retreated. Miserably, everyone stowed his weapons and looked around.
"I say we cut her throat and spill all her blood," Khoeler suggested practically. "Just in case."
Everyone liked this. Barbossa was not so foolish as to refuse his crew this useless deed, and he looked forward to plying the knife himself, but a screech caught his attention. He spotted his monkey across the cavern, perched on a stone, pointing to a dark passage.
His body was likely reacting with alarm, but Barbossa didn't care. One look and he knew she was gone, but that wasn't the worst of it. "The medallion!" he shouted. "She's taken it! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!"
Furiously the immortals obeyed. Pintel grabbed Ragetti's arm. "Let's go t'the landin'! She'll've hidden in on a' the boats!" Ragetti giggled in anticipation and they rushed back through the twisting passages with their mates, bursting out into the damp sand.
Others were already poking in the longboats, holding up rippling torches. There were no startled female screams…yet.
"Where are the oars?" someone cried.
There was a bewildered pause, and then dozens of hands were frantically searching the interiors of the boats and the surrounding beach. "No oars here!" came the cry.
"The oars have gone missing!" The bosun boomed. "Find them!"
Useless scrambling abounded. They kicked the sand, hoping to stub their toes on buried wood, shoved their hands between stalagmites, hoping to get splinters. Their torches wobbled, the water lapped secretively at the shore, and they found nothing.
Then Ragetti found one, held in the hand of one Jack Sparrow, who minced straight out onto the beach and lurched to a halt
"You!" Shocked, Ragetti pointed. Pintel arrived with the others. They all gaped at Jack; he returned the expression.
"You're supposed to be dead!" Pintel finally said.
"Am I not?" Jack vaguely looked at himself. "Oh." He turned as if to mosey off, but pirates jammed the passageway and the muzzles of pistols and tips of their swords greeted him. He turned back to find a similar array of weaponry on display. Pintel balefully cocked his pistol.
"Palulay." As if he could block a bullet with his finger, Jack held his pointer between himself and the muzzle of Pintel's pistol. Then he winced and looked away, fist clenched in annoyed disappointment.
He turned back. "Palu-li-la-la-lulu..."
Pintel and Ragetti exchanged an incredulous glance.
"Parlili," Jack struggled, "parsnip, parsley, partner, partner . . ."
Ragetti's face brightened. "Parlay?"
"That's the one!" Jack straightened. "Parlay." He grinned. "Parlay!"
Pintel turned murderously on Ragetti, who looked at his feet. "Parlay?" Pintel grated. "Damn to the depths whatever mutton-head that thought up parlay!" He viciously shoved his gun back into Jack's face.
Jack's eyes almost crossed, but he unsteadily pushed the muzzle down with his finger before his eyeballs could rotate all the way. "That would be the French."
Elizabeth watched Will out of the corner of her eye and shoved three oars into the water.
The boat rocked. She remembered Will's long-ago confession of a fear of floating vessels, but he was still rowing like a possessed man, head down, movements quick and purposeful. Either he was too focused to be afraid, or he wasn't afraid any more. She was inclined to believe the latter. His shirt and breeches were torn, and he was still wearing that rust-colored neck-cloth from that morning when he'd refused to call her Elizabeth. There were rings under his eyes and his form filled his clothing more than before; he'd come through much and it had changed him.
Nothing outside the caves had changed since she'd left the Pearl, except the way she felt. She rejoiced that her sickening dread was gone, smiling to herself as she shoved a few more oars free. She had never been so happy about anything in her whole life; the pain in her hand didn't even bother her.
A bowsprit emerged from the fog ahead, clean and smartly painted. Elizabeth quickly removed more oars, watching with delight as the Interceptor appeared. It was so comfortingly civilized. She saw a small figure on the forecastle, and heard a faint yell. Minutes later they were bumping the sleek hull, and ropes had been thrown down. Faces were peering down, but Elizabeth reached for the last oars.
"No, Miss Swann, you should get on board," Will said between gasps. "I'll take care of those." He quickly secured one of the ropes, nimbly tying some knot, and then stood, legs moving easily with the wobbling of the boat. He offered her his hand.
It was very tanned, she noticed. "Thank you." She carefully took it and stood, her eyes down. He helped her step over to the ladder, and when she reeled, it was he who steadied her. Now completely baffled, she lifted her skirts and started onto the rope ladder. She was less steady than he was, and she'd been on water twice as many times!
She wondered for a moment if she'd feel his hands on her waist, but they never came; he was busy tossing the last oars over the side. She quickly ascended, pulling herself wearily over the rail and wondering why no one was helping her, or exclaiming with joy. Will had said nothing; she hadn't asked, but she'd assumed…who else but Norrington would be able to find her? Besides, the Interceptor was a British ship.
As she set her sore soles on the smooth deck, she looked up, and her heart sank.
No relieved Norrington. No overjoyed father. Not even a uniform, blue or red; just silent dirty sailors dressed like beggars. Staring at her. She sagged back against the rail. "Not more pirates!"
One of them stepped forward, his honest, face very familiar. "Welcome aboard, Miss Elizabeth."
She gaped. "Mr. Gibbs?" He smiled and nodded. Then his eyes went over her shoulder. Will was clambering aboard. "Hey boy," he said sharply, "where be Jack?"
"Jack!" Elizabeth looked into Will's suddenly stormy face. "Jack Sparrow?"
Will said to Gibbs, "He fell behind." Then he had Elizabeth by the shoulders and he was propelling her toward a hatch. Too confused and exhausted to protest, she let him.
Behind them, the deck was utterly silent.
The crew turned stricken faces to a more stricken Gibbs, who managed, "Keep to the Code."
Finally, Ana María, the new captain, barked, "Weigh anchor! Hoist the sails! Make quick, you ninnies!"
The stunned crew slowly obeyed, but Gibbs' eyes looked into the fog toward the Isla de Muerta and his expression could have said many things.
Barbossa strode down the torchlit corridor his crew made and stopped only halfway down. At the end, Jack rested his hands on his oar and smiled mildly. Barbossa's mind itched; his face was tight. "How th'blazes did you get off that island?"
"When you marooned me on that godforsaken spit of land," Jack said smugly, "you forgot one very important thing, mate."
He paused. Barbossa nodded impatiently.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Ah. Well I won't be makin' that mistake again." He addressed his crew. "Gents. Y'all remember Captain Jack Sparrow?"
"Aye," they growled.
Barbossa paused to savor the words. "Kill him." He retreated as the men happily cocked their pistols and unsheathed their blades.
"The girl's blood didn't work, did it?"
Jack's quiet voice caught Barbossa mid-stride. Curses ran through his mind in a rapid stream. "Hold your fire," he snapped.
His disappointed crew obeyed. He stepped toward Jack, nodded once. "You know whose blood we need."
Jack stared Barbossa in the eye for a long moment, then smiled his maddening smile.
"I know whose blood you need."
The Interceptor fled the mists of Isla de Muerta, greedily eating all the head start she could get. Her passengers knew that Barbossa would come raging after them, but it was an unspoken hope that they would reach a haven somewhere. It wasn't an option to head for a fort because the British were on the lookout for the Interceptor as well as Elizabeth, but there were many islands in the Caribbean where a hunted ship could lay low for a long time.
It was fortunate that they had no definite destination. Though they could determine their direction with the sun, they had virtually no idea where they were, thanks to Jack and his compass.
"Thank you."
Elizabeth thanked Will for the second time as her rescuer set a roll, a bowl of reasonable stew, and a cup of water on the small table. She was in the midshipman's mess, a tiny, well-lit room with several cramped tables. It was the most cozy, comforting place she'd ever been, but she'd think about that later. She opened her mouth to begin demanding, and he spoke.
"I brought some clean seawater and some rags and a bandage." He set the items on the table. "Your cut will grow infected if it isn't cleaned."
Elizabeth shook her head at him, exasperated by his determination to see to her physical well being and not her questions. "I thought if I sat like you asked me to and accepted your food, you'd tell me how you ended up on a brand new British warship with that filthy, rude Jack Sparrow and a crew scooped out of the gutter! Now are you going to tell me or not?"
The oddest look came onto his face, half-challenge, half nervousness. "If I do not?"
Elizabeth gaped at him. "I'll not touch this stuff, Will Turner! And I won't see to my hand, won't sleep a wink, don't you mistake me!"
He grinned and the little boy she'd cared for peeped out. She had to smile back, losing every semblance of stern defiance.
Then he hesitated where he stood, his smile fading. She held her breath, wondering if he could bear the impropriety of being with her without a chaperone.
In other words, she waited for him to quietly leave.
Then he sat down right across from her with a thump. "I'd really rather hear what sort of creatures drag women into caves and cut them, Miss Swann. Are they some sort of cult?"
Elizabeth shook her head numbly, smelling the sweat and brine on him…and the sea wind. Ironically, she felt excited and daring now, and by the light in his eyes, he did, too.
"Something worse, I think," she managed. "If I explain, bandage my hand, and eat, will you tell me how you got here?"
"Of course, Miss Swann," he exclaimed, looking ashamed…for his boldness, perhaps? A secretly giddy Elizabeth saw no reason for this whatsoever, but she took a bite and started talking.
Though Barbossa couldn't feel it, seeing Jack Sparrow swagger onto the Black Pearl's main deck had to make his teeth hurt. It certainly made his eye twitch. Taking a quick inventory of the winds, he barked orders to his men and they obeyed with angry alacrity. The Pearl tore away from the Isla de Muerta like the hounds of Hell were at her heels instead of aboard.
Edging to the right of his guards, Jack straddled the Pearl's centerline with his boots and her signature smooth motion washed up him like a balm. His khol-lined eyes shut briefly, but he sensed Barbossa stalking up, and turned to his nemesis in what bizarrely appeared to be the best of moods. "If y'don't mind, that tack line–" he began to point and Barbossa slapped his hand down.
"Get him to my captain's quarters, now," Barbossa ordered Jack's guards. "And be grateful you aren't the ones what have t'suffer his miserable twattle!"
Jack began to wipe Barbossa's spittle off his cheek with exaggerated movement but the guards seized his arms. They dragged Jack off roughly enough to reduce Barbossa's ire a smidgen. He turned to his first mate. "Let the wind guide us. The filth'll be ridin' the strongest gusts with no sense of direction 'cause their psychotic captain's with us."
Then he whistled his monkey over, braced himself, and stomped toward the captain's quarters. He puzzled over the situation with the oars. The maid wasn't strong enough to gather twenty-four oars and then toss them over, while rowing herself. Jack had to have brought someone else significant and Barbossa wanted to know who it was.
He was going to have to bargain with that mincing devil, curse him to the end of the world and back!
Jack was poking at a mass of melted wax on the ledge below the windows. He looked up peevishly when Barbossa blew in. "I may be a pirate but I know a fire waiting t'happen when I see one–"
Barbossa pointed at one of the table chairs.
"Oh, thank you." Jack sat down opposite the chair Barbossa had indicated and folded his hands on the table with a painfully engaging smile that didn't reach his biting, black eyes. Barbossa almost threw his monkey down, but remembered to be careful just in time. Sensing his foul mood, the animal scampered quickly to the safety of its perch.
Barbossa sat across from Jack and the two captains took each other in. Barbossa was determined to keep the upper hand. He knew the snake he was going up against; he'd chafed under Jack Sparrow's command for months before he'd given the arrogant maggot what he deserved.
Jack's dark gaze missed none of Barbossa's preparations. Under his mustache, his smirk grew.
:)