Barbossa was leaning on the stirring wheel of the Enterprise. It was the middle of the night and the rest of the crew was sleeping, if you could call this handful of people a crew. They had sat a new course in pursuit of the Flying Dutchman. Of course, it was not really a pursuit. He felt strangely reminded of the famous fable of the hare and the tortoise who had decided to race each other. He let out an ironic snort. Luckily they had a vague idea where Davy Jones was headed or else they would have lost them. This would have never happened if they still had the Pearl, but Jack, the brainless twit, had naturally managed to sink his ship. His ship…if only he could get it back…but alas this was not to be.
So it was Port Royal again. He raised an eyebrow, then threw an eye on his compass and corrected the course accordingly. It felt like they were running around in circles. It was only a few days ago they had left there. Apart from discovering the senselessness of their endeavour, he had come to hate this tiny Caribbean port from the depths of his heart in the last couple of years. Nothing good had ever come of it, whenever he had anchored there. That's where he had first picked up the pesky Miss Swann. The word parley came from her mouth like a salve and somehow she had dazzled him into granting it. The end of it that he was dead and Jack had managed to outwit him. Of course, this was the vastly edited version of his tale. Anyways, it had all started at Port Royal and that he was going there again, didn't sit well with him.
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"You said you were able to locate the heart…," Davy Jones remarked, staring down Josephine in a patronizing way. "Let's see if you're worth your keep," he threw an admonishing gaze at Jack Sparrow and Norrington. The Englishman seemed to have grown a spine in the meantime. Despite the fact that he had received a whipping from the bosun he didn't cower in front of him, quite the contrary. He stood tall and proud and what he read in his eyes even managed to amuse him a little. He had no doubt, had this young man had a weapon he would have tried to murder him with it.
"I said I could do it and I will," Josephine crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.
"Then you'd better hurry up, because in a couple of hours we'll arrive at Port Royal."
"Alright, but I need a few things for the locator spell," she answered matter-of-factly.
Only after this explanation her requests were readily obeyed and about half an hour later she was shoved into a Spartan little cabin with the encouraging words, "You've got half an hour. This better work or I'll rip out your heart and feed it to the sharks."
Josephine shivered a little as the imagery unfurled before her inner eye and felt a surge of relieve as the door closed behind her. She walked to the middle of the room and spread out the bizarre array of ingredients which were necessary to perform the spell in front of her. Three candles, salt, a piece of chalk, a knife…it had taken a lot of convincing to get it, but in the end Davy Jones had relented, probably because she couldn't do much damage with it anyway, since the crew and him were nearly invincible.
She stared at the objects in front of her for a second. Her mind was for a while completely blank. It was the first time she was ever alone in days, and this numbness of thought felt actually rather pleasant. So she dived right into it, let herself submerge in it. Underneath it, though, soon something began to stirr. It felt cold and it almost choked her. She couldn't allow herself to reflect about what happened the last couple of days, she had to go on or she wouldn't be able anymore to muster the necessary amount of strength if she stopped now.
Josephine reached for the chalk and carefully drew a circle around herself. When she was done she placed the three candles on the cardinal points, south was left free, of course, since it was reserved for the all-seeing eye. A very impressive title for the humble chalk drawing she had made. She ignited the candle one after the other, whispering to herself the incantation, Tia had taught her. The long-stretched vowel sounds of a strange and foreign language chained together like a melody. Josephine had remembered the incantation like one remembered a song. She had tried to memorize the rhythm and melody of its words. It wasn't even necessary she knew what she was saying, all that counted was the effect these words had and there definitely was an effect. She could already feel it working. A shiver ran down her back, nevertheless she continued.
Her hand reached into the sack that contained the salt. She could feel the grainy sand like substance run through her fingers, then she pulled out her hand to draw another smaller circle with the salt. This was the easy part of the ritual.
What came next required a bit of courage. Her fingers lay around the handle of the knife, almost one by one. Josephine grabbed a strain of her dark hair and cut it off without hesitation. Her appearance was currently of little importance to her. She placed the hair beneath the all-seeing eye.
The aim of this spell, despite of what she had said previously was not to locate the heart, but its current possessor. That was why her hair and her blood was needed to perform the ritual correctly. She lay the blade of the knife in the palm of her hand. For a while it rested there motionlessly. The metal felt cool against her skin, almost comforting. She was currently very sensitive, very much open to the sensations her environment provided, which made the next step even more difficult. Josephine slowly increased the pressure of the blade against her skin and then after a brief moment of hesitation quickly executed the cut. She let out a muffled cry of pain and though her eyes were misting over she pressed her bloody palm to the spot beside the strain of hair.
Again she intoned the incantation, but this time its effects were immediately palpable. A cold draft swept through the room and blew out the candles. Curling lines of smoke rose ceaselessly from the wicks as if the flame was still struggling, not wanting to relent and end its existence. Sweat formed on her forehead, blood trickled from the wound on her palm, her eyes were half closed. The air in the cabin was suddenly hot and humid.
Foreign images and sensations invaded her consciousness against her will. It was almost like an violation and she had to brace herself in order to not be overwhelmed by these feverish visions. As through a drunken haze she saw hands that were not her own, masculine hands. They were closing something…perhaps a safe. Yes, it was a safe. There was a tiny golden key. It shimmered in the light and felt like it was important…important to remember. It hung from a delicate chain which she placed around her….yes, around her neck, so it was hidden well underneath her shirt. She stepped up to the mirror to check her appearance. There was a laugh on her face, no, not her face at all – Cutler's face and then she laughed. Oh, how she laughed! It had something bestial to it, the sound was distorted, dark and frightening coming from far, far away.
The forms elongated and contorted, distorted to the point of not being recognizable anymore. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she swayed from side to side. Instinctively she reached for her head as if to check if she was having a fever, if this was nothing but a feverish dream. She brushed the cold sweat away and suddenly there she was again. The plain, barren cabin of the Flying Dutchman almost seemed to deride her. It seemed like nothing unusual could ever happen inside here, but it just had. The candles had burned down, but since no one had barged in to get her, she assumed the half hour they had conceded her hadn't passed yet.
Groggily she got to her feet and made a point out of blurring the lines of the circle with her foot. She bent down to collect the hair from the floor and meticulously wiped away the blood on the floor boars. They were parts of her and she could not leave them behind, now that she knew what power they held. The prospect that someone found them and therefore would be able to cast a spell on her was simply to frightening.
Only after that she stepped out of the door, the light of day blinding her momentarily. Out of the searing luminary came a dark voice that questioned her impatiently, "What have you seen?" She told him.
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He was not at all pleased with this arrangement, but it was not like he was in a position to do anything about it.
The Flying Dutchman had anchored at Port Royal and while he had been able to see busy little dots scurry around at the harbour from afar, doubtlessly the usual crowd of merchants, sailors and dockers, it was now completely deserted. Usually an oddity, such as this ship certainly was, attracted curiosity, but the inhabitants of this little town knew better. Since the Pearl's attack on Port Royal they had become distrustful. Doubtlessly they had all barricaded themselves inside their homes. The only ones to greet their arrival was a squadron of navy officers.
He gulped heavily, his Adams apple popping up and down and threw on last look at Josephine. She stood beside Davy Jones, who in turn eyed him with a mixture of triumph and amusement. He would never forget the way she looked – so small, helpless and fragile – and it made his heart ache for her. Her eyes met his and so much transpired between them only conveyed by looks. He could sense her frustration and helplessness at being condemned to being only an idle bystander as the plot thickened. She broke their eye contact, looking down almost ashamedly, her face contorted in a mask of silent despair. It was more than just frustration that nagged at her, he realized, she was afraid. Maybe afraid for him. She had admitted she was when he had confessed her his love…afraid that he wouldn't come back.
He wanted nothing more than to go to her and tell her that everything would be alright, but he couldn't. Davy Jones's presence strictly forbid it, so he had to limit himself to only nodding at her in reassurance. After what seemed to be an eternity, though it were only a few moments, he turned around and debarked the ship, Sparrow right on toe.
Norrington wore his uniform again and noticed the soldiers responding immediately at it. Apparently they had been informed of his coming, otherwise they wouldn't be here. The men saluted in front of him which caused the corners of his mouth to briefly twitch ironically.
"Admiral," the young captain, who let the squadron, barked out as a greeting a little too vigorously as he approached. The ridiculousness of the whole ceremony suddenly occurred to him as he looked into his clean shaven, serious face.
"Captain," he gave him a brief nod, "I came baring gifts," he indicated the prisoner behind him with a nudge of his head.
Sparrow flashed a sour grin at the rookie officer, raising his tied up hands, "I don't like the wrapping."
"It is of no consequence to me whether you like your treatment or not Mr. Sparrow," the suppressed acuteness of his tone reminding of a time that seemed an eternity ago, though it had been only three years, "I suppose you will prefer the rope around your wrists to the noose around your neck, which will undoubtedly be lain around it in only a few hours."
"Shall we escort the prisoner to his cell, Admiral?" the captain asked eager to please. He couldn't help, but be impressed with his superior's handling of the criminal.
"Not yet, I'm sure his lordship would like to have a word with him ere he's locked away….a personal matter, you know," he added with an air of confidentiality.
"Of course, I'll dispatch two men," he waved the chosen duo over to them, "to accompany you to his lordship's estate."
Though the presence of the two men did nothing to ease the unfolding of the plan, as a matter of fact Norrington was already trying to come up with a plan of how to dispose of them, but he didn't protest in order not to raise any suspicions. With a nod of his head he bid the other man goodbye and the little group started its way to Cutler Beckett's mansion.
The sun was slowly setting at the horizon and as he looked out on the sea he believed to see a tiny black dot dance on top of the waves. Maybe it was just his imagination. He dismissed the thought quickly and continued his way. Sparrow was walking beside him; he threw him a meaningful glance, and then looked back at the two soldiers who followed them, their faces witless, impassive masks. The pirate slowly nodded at him and a lopsided grin flashed over his face.
"Once we will have arrived at the mansion, we won't be needing your services anymore," Norrington called out to the men over his shoulder. He hadn't said this out of thoughtfulness, but in order to discretely tell Sparrow when to get rid of their watchdogs.
The mansion lay a little uphill and slowly rose before them against the light of the setting sun boastful as a gothic cathedral. In front of the estate soldiers patrolled dutifully. He hadn't expected otherwise. Confronting Beckett without being caught would be a challenging endeavour, but their escape would be even more difficult, if not impossible.
Once they stepped across the threshold memories flooded his conscience. Here he had first met Josephine, so many memories were connected to this place made their presence known via a strange mixture of euphoria and dread. Here their faith would ultimately decide. He interrupted his dark musings to address the two soldiers.
"Though our arrival was obviously expected, I don't want to barge in unannounced. It's strikes me as very ill-mannered," Norrington told the men as the arrived at the bottom of the stairs that let up to Beckett's study, "So it would be best if you two went ahead," he stepped aside to grant them precedence.
His behaviour did not appear strange to the unfortunate men, who were unaware of stumbling into a trap. His request was only proof of his fine manners and so they proceeded up the stairs unsuspectingly, while Norrington and Sparrow followed them suit. After they had arrived at the top and he had made sure they were alone in the corridor, James slowly nodded at the pirate. At this they both jumped into action.
Norrington pressed one hand tightly over the nose and the mouth of the officer in front of him, while he held the struggling man by the throat with the other so that he couldn't escape. Though he recoiled inwardly at his own actions, he didn't let go until the soldier had stopped squirming under his vicelike grip and sank to the floor lifelessly. For a second he looked at his hands disgustedly. He had just killed a man, a fellow soldier, a brother in arms in the most brutal way imaginable to him. It had been far too personal for his taste and the violence of it made him recoil.
He wiped the dead man's saliva from his hand and then slowly raised his head to look at Jack who was standing over the sprawled form of the other unfortunate soldier. He had used his ties to strangle him as the angry red marks around his victim's necks told him. "We have to hide the bodies," Norrington said matter-of-factly. He indicated the room next to him, "This is Josephine's room. I don't think they will be looking there."
"I don't suppose your girl will be pleased we're dumping two dead bodies inside her room," Jack quipped as Norrington untied his hands.
"Definitely not pleased, but I certainly have no intention of telling her," he said darkly. He didn't suppose a grim tale of bloodshed and murder would particularly regale Josephine. He quickly dismissed the thought of her; mainly to be able to go threw with the plan. A cool and rational mind was needed; emotions were only a risky hindrance now.
He and Jack busied themselves with obliterating the evidence of the fight, heaving the bodies inside the room. They hid them underneath the bed, but not ere they had relieved them of their weapons.
"We're lucky if we get out of this alive," Jack said while he pensively weighted the sword in his hand, "Tell me again: why are we doing this?"
"You need to settle scores, I need to get back to the woman I love," Norrington told him sternly. His choice of words was more frank than usual, but the extremeness of the situation did not allow him to filter what he was saying. All his energy was set on accomplishing his task and therefore there was none to spare for worrying about revealing too much about oneself. He also needed to make Sparrow understand that this was much too important and that he would not let him back out of it now.
"Just checking," as Sparrow smirked at him ironically and a little bit of the old dislike towards him flared up in James, "So you've finally found a girl, mate. I think congratulations are in order!" he forwarded his hand, but Norrington only stared down at it incredulously. Jack retracted it with a callous shrug, "I'm just saying…it was about time you wooed a girl. With all this time spent aboard of a ship surrounded by only men, I was half expected you to be…well…," he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air provocatively. His grin broadened as an indignant look spread on Norrington's face.
An acerbic answer already lay on the tip of James's tongue, but instead he chose a more disarming retort, "I'll politely overhear that comment and attribute it to jealousy. I suppose there's no one waiting for you after this is over."
Upon seeing Jack's response to his words he almost felt sorry he had said them, "Women…can't love them, can't live with out them. A fellow can get used to being slapped in the face, but being stabbed in the back is a whole different matter, especially when it's someone you trusted, but no use crying over spilled milk, eh?" he said lightly, trying to cover the bitterness behind his words
Norrington's eyebrows rose comically in realization. The only woman in Sparrow's life, the only one he could think of was a certain governor's daughter who had once broken his heart, too, "Elizabeth?" his voice rose a pitch in the middle of saying her name, thanks to his astonishment.
"Aye, the very same," Jack admitted finally after a moment of hesitation and Norrington couldn't help but feel a bang of sympathy for the other man. He could remember only too well what his unrequited love for that Elizabeth had managed to reduce him to.
"Happens to the best of us," he smiled in self-irony, "…but on that note, once you hit the bottom it only gets better from there, mate. Trust me," he gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder.
Now where had that come from? Sparrow looked astonished and to be honest so was he. They had been something akin to archenemies for the last couple of years, but somehow along the way the feeling of hatred towards Sparrow had gradually dissolved, maybe because there were worse people in the world than him. Once he had spent so much time trying to catch someone, analysing his motives and trying to anticipate his next move you got to know your prey prettily well. He had seen through his façade. Sparrow was a trickster, a thief and a liar, but at least he had something akin to a conscience. What he did, he did only in order to survive, but never at the expense of someone he cared about. In a way his behaviour could even be considered as honourable. This assumption was certainly a matter of perspective, but there were worse men in this world than Captain Jack Sparrow, men like Cutler Beckett.
"Well, I suppose we should hurry, after all we've got an appointment I don't like us to miss," Norrington's words implied at the bargain they had struck with Davy Jones. It wasn't really a bargain as such. The term blackmail described it much more accurately. He had sent out Norrington and Sparrow in order to retrieve the heart from Beckett and kill him. If they weren't able to accomplish the task within three hours, Davy Jones would murder Josephine. He had tried to suppress every thought of it up until now, though he was still very painfully aware of every minute, every second that expired. The pressure resting on him transformed into something else, which gave him the strength to carry on and fuelled a deep felt hatred against the man who had brought them into this position – Cutler Beckett.
"You remember your part, Sparrow? You're the prisoner," he tied up his hands again, only this time very loosely, so that he would have no problem slipping out of it. "He does trust me, thinks he has me under his power, so he won't be suspecting my betrayal. We have to keep him stalling, wait for the opportune moment and then strike. Agreed?"
"Agreed," the pirate answered. "Still don't like being bait," he complained.
"Acknowledged," Norrington said exasperatedly.
They snuck out on the corridor and made their way to Beckett's study without any further complications. James inhaled deeply before he knocked at the heavy two-winged door and as the reply came from inside he straightened his back, buffed his chest and pushed open the door vigorously. It smashed with a loud thud against the wall. At that Beckett jump to his feet in alarm, then his eyes settled on Sparrow and a satisfied smile started delineating on his face.
Norrington shoved the pirate inside unceremoniously who stumbled over his own feet and landed face first on the Persian tapestry that lay in the middle of the study. Fortunately his fall was cushioned by its soft fabric. A pair of polished shoes with buckles invaded Jack's vision shortly after and he wrinkled his nose disgustedly as he looked up. Beckett stood over him with a triumphant grin on his face.
"What a pleasant surprise you brought me, Admiral!" Beckett exclaimed.
"It was very difficult to procure," Norrington answered coolly as he taxingly watched the other man.
"I thought as much," Beckett started circling Jack like a predator an injured animal, oblivious to the hateful gaze that bore into his back. The belief that his enemy was now at his mercy inspired a surge of cruel satisfaction inside of him and made him blind to his surroundings. Whatever feeling of superiority he might have experienced however vanished when Jack got to his feet.
The pirate was now towering at least an inch over his opponent. His eyes sparkled derisively as he looked down at him, "I thought you were taller when we met last, maybe you should change your diet, little man….Sorry to say, but it seems you are shrinking, which is odd since your ego seems to have grown considerably since I've last seen you."
"Mock all you want, Sparrow, but in the end it is I who will have the last laugh," Beckett responded calmly while his hand unconsciously reached for the chain around his neck, in order to find reassurance in this gesture.
"Admiral, take him away. I want his execution to be something special, something that everyone will remember. It will need a little preparation and creativity," the nobleman gloated smilingly, but the content expression on his face quickly died away when he heard Norrington's response.
"I don't think so," he crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.
"What do you mean…you don't think so?! You ungrateful nothing! I picked you out of the gutter…If it wasn't for me you would be completely ruined. You'd have nothing! So don't just stand there gapping like a fish out of water, take him away or I'll have you both arrested," nervous red dots formed on Beckett's skin, his voice doubled over and his anger let him articulate the words so forcefully he spit.
"Is that how your twisted mind works? Are you honestly trying to imply you saved me?" James narrowed his eyes dangerously, "Your not capable of an act of compassion, your just a selfish despot who only cares for one thing in the world….himself."
"How dare you talk to me like that? All I have to due is snap my finger and the whole garrison will come to my aid. I'll have you two locked up until doomsday. Let you rot in your little cells where the worms will feast on you."
"You didn't think we were as stupid as to actually come alone, mate," Sparrow said in a derisive tone.
"Actually I do. Guards!" his shrill voice reverberated loudly through the mansion. When he came up for air to call a second time Jack's hand firmly clasped over his opened mouth. Beckett's eyes protruded comically as he stared down at the dirty hand that had silenced him.
"I'd rethink that plan, my friend. One more sound from your lips and I'll take care you'll be able to sing in a falsetto voice for the rest of your life," Jack's golden teeth flashed as he sneered at the smaller man.
Beckett managed to wrench himself free and frantically grabbed for the chain around his neck, by now the only means by which he could procure his safety, since Norrington was openly refusing to obey his orders and the guards' arrival was apparently delayed. With one hand he drew his sword to ward of his opponents with the other he produced the key, unaware of the men's matching expressions of tensed expectation as they watched him.
Josephine had been able to tell him where the key was; the location of the safe though, was up until now a mystery to them. Hopeful they would manage to find out where the heart was hidden ere the guards would arrive. Judging from Beckett's panicking behaviour they were running late.
Norrington noticed Beckett retreating in the general direction of his desk. A baffled frown flitted over his face at that, then his gaze fell on the oversized world map hanging from the wall behind it. He tilted his head and looked at it in concentration. It was slightly askew. This would have never have come to his attention, had it not been for Beckett's suspicious behaviour. He stepped forward determinedly and drew his sword to wordlessly advance on his opponent.
Beckett stopped his frantic retreat and reached for his own sword. His face seemed a lot paler than only a minute ago. He had heard that Norrington was quite the proficient swordsman. What let him face this fight with a certain confidence though, was the fact that not only technique alone decided who would be victorious, but also who managed to keep his temper in check. He had no doubt he would be able to conjure a few barbs that would distract the unsuspecting Admiral. Beckett assumed his fighting stance and motioned Norrington to come closer.
The exchange of blows was hesitant at first, as each of them tried to assess their vis-à-vis and maybe discover an opening in the other's defence. What Beckett lacked in finesse he made up with zest. He let his blows rain down quickly on Norrington who barely broke a sweat as he deflected his attacks. Beckett had always had the advantage that others were willing to physically fight his battles for him, he never got involved and preferred to watch from afar, while Norrington had never shied away from engaging in combat – he never really had had a choice, being a soldier.
Everybody in their right mind could clearly see, they were not evenly matched, even Beckett. So he chose to place a well-aimed verbal attack. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Admiral?" they were circling each other, which afford Beckett the possibility to taunt his opponent, "Unfortunately there's no place for mutineers in this town. After this you will have nowhere left to go to except for his world," he indicated Sparrow who was leaning casually against the desk watching the fight with the interest a theatre-goer watches an exciting play, "Are you ready to become a pirate?"
A muscle in James's chin briefly twitched otherwise there was no indication this comment got to him. His next attack though was a little less accurate than usual and his eyes flashed with an angry glimmer. "Who says I'm was planning on staying here?"
"You don't fool me. I can read you like a book, Norrington," he didn't bother with titles in this situation, "You're a man who craves stability, likes an orderly daily routine. That's why you wanted your old life back so badly, wasn't it? And now you're stuck with my sister. She's chaos…ready to turn the world upside down so she can live in it…Must be hell for you."
Apparently he had struck a wrong chord, because if anything else his comment only increased Norrington's determination. He had most certainly not planned on this. "You don't get to talk about her. You don't even get to think her name, much less judge her," each of James's sentences reinforced by an angry strike that drove Beckett back until he pumped against the edge of his desk. Their blades crossed and lowered dangerously in the direction of Cutler's throat, effectively leaving him with no room for escape. Norrington reached out and brutally yanked the chain with the key from his neck with a disdainful gesture. The look on his face sent chills through Beckett's body and made him fear for his life. The sharp shimmering steal was almost touching his skin, when Sparrow finally decided to make his presence known.
The pirate cleared his throat dramatically and then decided to speak up, "Mate, I think it's my turn now," he laid a calming hand on James's shoulder. He had to interfere before he did something very stupid.
It took a few seconds before Norrington reacted, but Beckett couldn't help but feel relieved. He lowered his blade, but that was a mistake, because right about them an angry fist blow hit him on the nose. James rubbed his knuckles with grim satisfaction as he watched the other man hold his hands to his face in agony. Blood was slowly trickling through his fingers.
"I'm done with him. He's all yours now, Jack," he said darkly and stepped aside. "You're going to be alright, aren't you?" James added in an afterthought, already turning towards the world map behind which the safe was hidden. There was a hint of concern in his voice, which could easily be over-heard if you didn't pay close attention.
"No worries, Commodore. You of all people should know that Captain Jack Sparrow isn't easily caught," the pirate reassured him and drew his sword, advancing slowly on Beckett.