A/N: I am really sorry that I haven't updated in so long. With school starting, everything's gone crazy, as I'm sure it's gone crazy for anyone else of school-age. I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for your patience. To meowbooks, lady angst, Belphagor, Manwathiel, and master of time: your reviews were incredibly appreciated!!
Thank you to jedipati for her wonderful beta work!
Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney
Elizabeth braced herself and peered across the Pearl's deck.
Dark, eerily lit by torches, it looked abandoned. She pulled herself over the rail, shakily swinging her feet to the planks. She looked about again, but nothing had changed. Unsteadily she started forward.
With terrific crackling of exposed bones, something dropped down in front of her face and screeched. She slammed back against the rail as Barbossa's monkey, hanging from some low rigging, bared its wicked little teeth and screeched again. Catching her wits, she lifted her chin and gave the horrid creature a look that could freeze the sun itself. It fell silent and squeaked, sagging from its rope in disappointment.
Mallot had placed a quarter of the yellow cake onto Grapple's plate. Now he carefully cut a second quarter for himself as Grapple watched. Something slammed onto their cannon, making it ring dully, and Mallot froze.
"What was that?" they both asked. Something outside gave a wheezing noise and they turned.
The Captain's monkey straddled the far end of their cannon barrel, white, ragged, and swaying. Then it swooned and slipped to the side.
It made a splash when it hit the water.
Elizabeth had just watched the monkey sink out of sight when two round white skulls thrust themselves out of the cannon port below. A gasp escaped her and she saw them start to look up. Heart in her throat, she threw herself into the Pearl's main hatch and rushed down the stairs. She stopped at a landing that split in opposite directions. The pirates' enraged yells came from the left. Elizabeth darted to the right and hid behind a locker and heard the two men run past her and up the stairs. They crackled when the moonlight enveloped them.
Elizabeth rested her forehead against the slimy wood. "When is this going to end?"
Then she squared her jaw and, wondering again if she was running to her death, charged over the landing and off the left side. She scrambled down the rows of cannons, past the pirates' feast, and down another narrow flight of stairs into the cave-like brig. Stopping in the doorway, she looked around wildly and saw two cells. One was empty; the other jammed with familiar, stunned faces that quickly brightened at the sight of her.
"Miss Elizabeth!" exclaimed Gibbs.
The battle for the H.M.S Dauntless raged on. It was not going smashingly for the British –or perhaps it was– who, despite the excellent fight they were putting up, had a permanent disadvantage. The immortal pirates slowly worked through them, approaching victory one slaughtered Marine at a time. The deck was a mess of death.
As their rowboat bumped against the Dauntless's hull, Pintel listened hungrily to the sounds of battle above and waited for Ragetti to climb to a gunport above. The whip-thin pirate slid into the gunport, pulled off his lace cap, and in one massive effort pushed the heavy cannon backward to make room for Pintel.
Commodore . . .you must hear this and . . .my darling Eliza, may you hear this too, despite the distance . . . between us.
Edmund, fatally stabbed, sprawled sacrificed on the Dauntless' creaking deck. Unable to think anymore, shivering in his soaked red uniform, he squinted at the silver bell above him. It was polished to perfection; beautiful, yet it reflected a warped hell. He heaved himself up, reached for the bell's rope and caught it. Blinded by the pain, he tugged, tugged, tugged, and the bell sang for him, strong and clear. Then a cold point jabbed into his chest with a sick wet noise and then, everything was . . .
Gone.
The bell's cry flew over the water, straight to the ears of the British who had abandoned it. Commodore Norrington looked to the Dauntless, heart pounding. The fog, thin now, could not conceal the flashes of gunfire flickering about the royal battleship's deck.
Everything swayed for a moment in shock and despair, but Norrington was a soldier, and he forced his vision to clear. "Make for the ship!" he bellowed. "Move!"
In seconds every rowboat was slicing rapidly through the waves, rowed by determined sailors and Marines alike. Norrington urged them on. "To the ship! Row, men!"
A few minutes later, Ragetti and Pintel found they were lighting a cannon. Happily too, because it was one of the British's own. Their cannon roared and bucked in its port, and a cannonball howled through the fog and slammed into the midst the intrepid British rowboats, sending up a terrific spout of brine that fell like rain. Shrieking projectiles from the other cannons followed and then there was no man in the entire British force that was not staring Death in the face.
Governor Swann had not moved for fifteen minutes and his legs were beginning to cramp. Quivering, he turned and, on his knees, peered out through the lowest pane of rippled yellow glass.
Moonlight flashed confusedly over clothing and weapons. There was the sound of a nasty impact, then Swann jerked back in revulsion as a poor soldier's face slammed to the glass and slid down, skin folding upward.
Then, above, a visage of death peered in at Swann with horrid eyes, dreadlocks hanging forward. Swann gasped in utter horror and shrank down.
The glass pane above him shattered. A bone hand was thrust through, and it grabbed at him. He cried out and scuttled to the side, and as he did, glass shards fell onto him as more glass exploded. Multiple ghoul hands were shoving their way through the glass in a deafening racket, groping for him.
One hand seized his gray wig; he felt it sliding up off his head. This was beyond the pale. Suddenly Governor Weatherby Swann discovered he wasn't so terrified after all. He captured his wig as it came free of his head and a tugging battle ensued. Clutching his wig with both hands, he braced his feet on the door, his back against a cabinet, and strained for all he was worth.
Despite the complete absence of muscle, the bone hand refused to let go. Sweat streaking the sides of his face, Swann twisted and grabbed the nearest weapon-like object he could find and hit that arm as hard as he could. There was a snap and Swann's wig fell into his lap.
Along with the now-unattached hand and forearm.
Jack Sparrow had forgotten how he had never liked backing up an incline, but now he was remembering.
Furiously parrying Barbossa's blows, he was being forced up a steeply sloped walkway, a coin-spangled wall on his right and stalactites with candelabra framing a view of the moat below on his left.
Beside a hammered gold urn, backlit by moonlight, Jack fumbled and jumped back to avoid being decapitated by Barbossa's wild slashing. Jack recovered and parried once, and then his heel caught on a lip of the cursed island rock. Barbossa kicked Jack as he teetered, and Jack fell on his back with a grunt. He did not try to stand; just panted and stared up at Barbossa with wide eyes.
Barbossa tossed away his own sword and it fell among the dishes and coins. "You can't beat me, Jack."
Jack leaped up and in the same movement stabbed Barbossa's chest with a two-handed thrust.
The repulsive noise of tearing flesh faded as Jack watched Barbossa warily. The evil pirate captain glanced down at what showed of Jack's sword, and then rolled his eyes and sighed.
Then Barbossa wrenched the sword free, flipped it and jammed its cruel point into Jack's midsection, fatally ripping his intestines and spine.
Jack's eyes went wide and a gargled, choked sound came from his open lips. His stricken gaze took in Barbossa's smirk as he weakly stumbled backward, up onto a slanted boulder bathed with moonlight.
The liquid blue light washed over him and suddenly his ribs, festooned with bits of rotted flesh, glared out from beneath his slashed shirt. Tendons and stringy muscle patchily covered his cheekbones and his mustache and braided goatee were filthy and ragged as rat's tails. Barbossa gaped in dismayed disbelief.
Jack held up one of his bone hands and looked at it curiously.
"That's interesting," said Jack.
Will, perched on a boulder in the moat, clapped a small urn onto Stone-Skipper's head and bashed it with the handle of his sword. Stone-Skipper, probably deaf now, fell into the moat without a sound.
A glow caught Will's eye. He looked up, and saw Jack on a high ledge, a sword projecting harmlessly from his lower ribs, looking like a devil trying to disguise itself with pure light. Quiet fell, and Will could only stare.
Barbossa could not do much more than Will could as he watched Jack produce a medallion in his left hand.
Jack rolled the medallion deftly over his fingers, and it clinked mockingly against the bones. "Couldn't resist, mate." He smiled at Barbossa and the tendons in his cheek squeaked.
Barbossa hissed. He ducked to seize up his sword and a handful of coins. Jack pulled his own sword out from his body and then flinched back as Barbossa hurled the coins in his face. They picked up where they had left off, hacking and pounding, Jack backing up and Barbossa driving forward with far more frustration than before. Below, Smoke Beard and Will followed suit.
Barbossa relentlessly hounded Jack, who parried confidently, profoundly enjoying Barbossa's fury. Through shafts of moonlight they slipped, transformed then normal, bones then flesh. And all around them, the treasure flashed.
Jack knocked Barbossa's blade aside and brutally elbowed him in the face. The blow sent Barbossa tumbling head over heels down the incline. Back through the pillars of moonlight he rolled, and Jack followed, though at a lenient distance.
Only when Barbossa began to recover did Jack attack. He lunged forward, slicing down at Barbossa with an uncanny speed that would have surely felled any swordsman- except Barbossa, who twisted up with youthful agility and firmly parried Jack's strike.
It was going to be a long night.
They would call it the Ride to Hell. It would live forever in the nightmares of each and every one of the British men trying to get back to the Dauntless. Always there was a cannon ball howling death, always a salty spray slapping their arms and heads and laps. Their hearts pounding, their fists clutching useless muskets, desperation in every eye.
The Dauntless remained stubbornly far away.
The pirates had backed off from the captain's quarters for some reason, perhaps to plan a new assault or to simply avoid losing any more appendages. Or perhaps they knew something about the lone hand and arm that Swann was learning at this very instant. He pressed against a chest of drawers, panting in utter horror.
The hand, white in a square of moonlight, was crawling across the carpet toward him, dragging the stringy wrist and forearm behind.
Swann grabbed his weapon from before and hit the bony terror again and again. It made a sort of high-pitched squeak, bouncing and jerking helplessly. Then it was still, and Swann leaned over it, his gut roiling.
He braced himself and picked up the dead appendage by the elbow joint. It hung upside down before him; the fingers curled like the legs of a late spider. The bone was cold and slimy between his thumb and forefinger and its stench made him wheeze.
One second it was spent, the next it was inches from his face, grabbing as it somehow strained toward him. Unable to make a sound, Swann seized the bone arm with both hands and held it back, teeth gritted. He braced himself, pulled open one of the drawers on his right, then jammed the writhing bones inside and slammed it shut.
His heart bumping along at an incredibly fast rate, he leaned back against the chest of drawers, his gray tresses inches from lit candles. He took a deep, quavering breath. Then the entire chest of oak drawers bucked against him. Gasping, despairing, Governor Swann braced himself against the chest as it rattled insistently.
I'm too old for this sort of thing!
Once Will had wondered what it would be like to fight an opponent who could not die or tire. And frankly, he hadn't much savored the thought. Its becoming a reality had not made it any more savory.
He had been fighting two opponents who couldn't die or tire for at least fifteen minutes now and, sweat running over his skin, he was beginning to wonder what he could possibly do to improve his fortune in the long run. Nothing came to mind except the need for concentration, and gratitude to his hands for their finally having gotten over their lassitude. Parrying wildly, he danced between Savage and Smoke-Beard, who were having a delightful time keeping him busy. Moonlight turned them to monsters while glaring in Will's eyes. Yet, fortunately for Will they were in a level ring of sorts, surrounded by treasure broken and narrow paths.
Deflecting a blow from Savage, Will twisted and caught both Smoke-Beard by surprise, striking fiercely as he ducked away from the pirate friends. He escaped just in time; Smoke-Beard tried to skewer him through the side but his blade pierced Savage's exposed vertebrae instead. Savage howled horribly and slashed at Smoke-Beard, who relinquished his sword and ducked. The blade whistled over his head.
It also whistled over Will's head. He was now behind Smoke-Beard, his new shield.
Then Will hopped back to avoid being stabbed by the blade that had just been shoved through Smoke-Beard's spine. Will watched in wonder as the two yelling pirates reeled away from one another, exchanged swords projecting from their ribs.
They definitely disregarded the Ten-Counts-Before-Anger rule, if they had even heard of it.
Will nimbly moved around Jacoby and stood looking back and forth at the seething pirates. They glared and swore at each other, then abruptly looked to Will in unison. He winced and fled as they wrenched their swords free of themselves, their outraged yells following him.
He sprinted the path, which ascended into cold shadow and through a lumpy, narrow arch. Savage ran up the side of the incline and tried to cut him off, but he darted past and scurried down into yet another arena bathed in moonlight.
Arms burning, chest heaving, he raised his blade as his relentless enemies attacked again.
Jack deflected Barbossa and then spun around the treacherous pirate and into the open. He paused to give his once-friend a shove in the back then ran down a second path. Behind him, Barbossa slammed fully into the rock with an unhappy sound, lurched around and rushed down the path in white-hot pursuit.
Jack's path was like a jungle path, but treasure instead of foliage draped the rocks. Jack knocked over a tall gilt table as he charged past. "Sorry!"
Barbossa could not have heard him; he was bellowing like an elephant.
The handy jungle-treasure path ended abruptly. Jack ran into the high-ceilinged half-room that was presented; it was treasure strewn and a slanted boulder rose from the center. He turned to meet Barbossa's charge with his own. They pounded on each other with the precision of wind-up dolls, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, and then Barbossa lost the rhythm and Jack slipped past his guard and slashed at his face. Barbossa tumbled back onto the slanted, glowing stone and panted with nonexistent lungs, propped up on his bony, rag-clad elbows.
He looked at the solid Jack, his skinless face wryly hostile. "So what now, Jack Sparrow? Are we t'be two immortals locked in an epic battle till judgement day and trumpets sound? Hmm?"
Jack's face was lit by the reflected moonlight. "Or you could surrender," his nose wrinkled as he spoke. Then his face went stony and he lifted his blade near his shoulder.
Barbossa was already surging forward. He ducked to freedom under Jack's fierce blow, caught himself, and wheeled to face Jack, who now perched transformed and glaring on the stone Barbossa had just vacated.
Having Jack above him would never do. Barbossa swiped at Jack but he was just beyond the blade's reach. Then Jack launched himself lightly into the air and into shadows, gaining skin and muscles again as he landed boldly in front of Barbossa, the rock wall to his back. Their swords rang and quivered as Barbossa pressed forward. He twirled like dancer inside Jack's guard, finishing his spin with a fist to Jack's jaw. Jack grunted and bumbled back, almost falling, and then fled.
Lion-like, Barbossa threw back his head and let loose a horrendous howl that resounded through the chambers. Jack flew through an arch and down another path, his arms flailing like a duck's wings.
Barbossa followed Jack at a walk, shouting his laughter.
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