What about Jack, indeed. Back in Beckett's study the two opponents were still engaged in a fierce fight, which was not only decided by the finesse with which their wielded their swords but also by who managed to get the other to commit a mistake by insulting him. Years of bent up hatred found their release in snide remarks and venomous barbs.

Of course, this had all started with a woman. A very beautiful young woman, a lady of noble lineage, who had been betrothed to Beckett. Their union had been predestined by well-meaning parents on both sides. Cutler saw no reason to object to this arranged marriage, but his bride to be did.

While her fiancé had not harbour any suspicions as to the fact that she might be unsatisfied with their marital arrangements, she had started a clandestine affaire with a dashing, young salesman named Jack Sparrow, who had back then not yet been a pirate. It turned out that their liaison was not as clandestine as both of them had hoped. One day Cutler surprised them. As a consequence the wedding was called off and out of a deep felt desire for revenge groundless accusation were pronounced to incriminate Jack Sparrow. He was said to be a pirate. (which soon became reality out of youthful defiance). Later youthful defiance turned into a conviction. This concatenation of unfortunate events presented the foundation upon which the deep felt animosity between Beckett and Sparrow rested.

"It's only you and me now, Sparrow," Beckett called out derisively. His chest was heaving and the soaked fabric of his shirt was clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He held his aching side with his free hand.

"Yes, and very soon there's only going to be me. The company will be much more pleasant then," Sparrow grinned at him ironically before he started another attack. Beckett was able to barrier his blows, but his arm was getting heavier by the minute.

"Even if you should defeat me there will be always something you can remember me by," Beckett hissed at his opponent as they circled each other. He was referring to the burn mark on Jack's forearm. He couldn't help but feel satisfied, because he had managed to imprint the sign of his superiority over the other man on his skin.

"Your giving yourself far too much credit. The only one this reminds me of is Cecilia and the night we spent together. And I can tell you it's been worth it. God knows, she needed a little fun which fortunately I was able to procure… The lass couldn't stand you, you know. Told me all about you, how you were boring her to death with your endless talk about your ambitions. The poor thing could barely support the sound of your voice. She said it was like the scratching of nails on a chalkboard. I'd have to second her on that…." Jack taunted.

"Still it doesn't leave you in a position to boast over your conquests, Sparrow. She eventually got bored of you like every other woman since her must have," Beckett cunningly delivered his repartee. They exchanged a few blows, their feet advancing and moving back on the floor as if they were executing some aggressive war dance.

"At least I manage to satisfy a woman. You can't say as much for yourself. Who'd ever want a dwarfish eunuch?" Sparrow's remark managed to distract Beckett momentarily, so his weak parade only deflected the pirate's attack partially and the blade cut his right upper arm.

"Interesting…did I hit a weak spot there?" Jack backed up a little, tilting his head to watch the other man with sadistic pleasure.

"Not at all," Beckett grimaced slightly when he touched the cut, but quickly an impassive expression settle on his face. "At least I made something out of myself. I am somebody, people look up to me. Your just a criminal, an outcast of society – nothing but scum. What have you to show for? Just look at yourself. Your crazy antics, your drunk swagger – nobody will ever take you serious. To half of the world you're a lunatic, the other half thinks you're a bad pirate, the butt of every joke," he spat at him venomously. Every word was well calculated and he was pleased to see they had a considerable effect on his opponent.

Something inside of Jack snapped. He didn't like his abilities being questioned. Whenever someone did that, he felt compelled to prove them wrong. A wild fire flared in his eyes. His next attacks were much better aimed then before and lacked the casual sloppiness they had exhibited before.

Cutler had a hard time deflecting them. Right then he knew he was loosing. The ice cold feeling of immobilizing dread spread in his veins, then the blade of Jack's sword pierced his skin. Though he knew this had been coming he looked down at the blood oozing wound with an expression of surprise. It had entered his body just a little bit below his heart. The fabric of his vest, that had once been pale blue now was a rich burgundy colour. Funny, like someone had spilled wine on it.

"You killed me," he said coughing on something metallic. It was a mere statement lacking any accusation. Somehow he did not feel like it was adequate to be resentful.

"Yes," Jack answered with a strange expression on his face that was implacable and ranged somewhere between impassiveness and wonder. Almost mechanically he retracted the sword and the other man fell to the floor lifelessly. Jack just stood there motionlessly looking down at Beckett's rigid form. "Let's see who's the butt of the joke now," he said after a while.

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James stepped on deck of the Flying Dutchman with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The crew parted before him, letting him pass. Turner had agreed to assist him with his plan. He was to keep in the shadows until his services were needed, until then he was on his own.

He knew that Davy Jones would not hold up his end of the bargain, so he had to force him to do it. Norrington drew his sword with a grim expression on his face. If he made a wrong move, if he misjudged his opponent he would inevitably end up killing himself and Josephine.

Davy Jones spotted him the second he had stepped foot on deck. His sarcastic words greeted him as a welcome, "It took you quite some time. I was already getting impatient," he bestowed a meaningful look on the woman standing next to him. Josephine's face was pale as linen, her eyes unnaturally wide. Her expression had something frenzied almost insane to it, it grew more peaceful though, when she laid eyes on James.

"You know I would never have been late," Norrington answered slowly. His gaze alternated between Davy Jones and Josephine. His words held a double meaning, that was either defiant or reassuring, depending on who he was addressing.

"Give me the heart and you'll be gone from this ship in a minute," Davy Jones's tone was almost paternal. He stretched out his right hand, while the claw that was once his left hand was closed around Josephine's wrist. His skin shimmered unnaturally in the moonlight and the tentacle that had replaced his index finger, twitched impatiently as if it was insistently motioning James to come closer.

"No," James said firmly and stayed right were he was.

A collective intake of breath seemed to have suddenly silenced the Flying Dutchman. Davy Jones stared at him incredulously and obviously his grip on Josephine tightened as well. She let out a tiny yelp of pain. James flinched. "I thought I just didn't hear right. Did you just refuse to give me back the heart?"

"You did not. If I gave you the heart now, our chance of survival will be very slim. You would have killed us days ago, had you not needed her and me to get what you want."

Davy Jones hesitated briefly before he answered. He took a while to assess his vis-à-vis thoroughly, then he finally came to a conclusion. "You might be right with that," came his begrudging answer, "Still this leaves us in a bit of a quandary, where neither of us gets what he wants. I have your girl, while you have the heart….Oh wait, what about I kill her right now?" Josephine let a cry of pain as his claw tightened further around her wrist.

Her stifled cry seemed to penetrate him to the bone. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he tried to suppress his anger. James raised the blade of his sword to the bag that held Davy Jones's heart wordlessly. "That would be very….very unadvisable," there was barely contained hatred in his voice. The tip of his sword was slightly shaking, but he tightened his grip around the hilt and it stopped.

"So what do you suggest? We stand here till either of us tires?" Davy Jones looked at him mockingly.

"No, I suggest you let a few of your crewmembers accompany us off board, then I'll hand them the heart. We leave and you'll be free to do as you please," there, he had prepared the bait. It just remained to be seen if Davy Jones would swallow it.

After what seemed to be an eternity Davy Jones finally nodded. His motivation for agreeing to this risky bargain was mainly his deep desire to get back his freedom. Having to obey someone else's commands had made him sick to the stomach and now that the opportunity to escape this dire affliction presented itself, he was more than willing to grasp it. With a wave of his hand he selected five of his crewman to accompany them off board. Of course the bosun was among them. James's eyes narrowed into tiny slits as laid eye on him.

"Didn't you forget something?" Norrington protested as the men slowly set in motion.

"Oh, of course, how foolish of me," Davy Jones said in mock surprise. With a little more strength than necessary he pushed Josephine away. The young woman stumbled, swayed momentarily, but did not fall. She timidly looked around as if to make sure she was now truly allowed to go. As she realized no one would be stepping in her way she slowly started walking towards Norrington. He tried to avoid looking at her face, because he knew once he did, it would become hard focusing on anything else but her. The soldier in him told him to be pragmatic, to keep a cool head and remain emotionally detached just as long as they were in danger.

"Come on," he said softly, when she had reached him. He was not able to reach out and hold her hand, since his fingers were still firmly clutched around the hilt of the sword, so he tried to convey at least some kind of reassurance with his voice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod, while they slowly retreated to the gangway. He was constantly alert, trying to make sure no one would be able to surprise him with a an attack and hinder them from escaping.

The board croaked under their feet as they slowly made their way down the gangway. The steps of the crewmen could be heard shortly after. They were following a few meters behind, close enough to keep them from taking flight and far enough to not make James overly suspicious. They came to an halt shortly after they had stepped ashore. It would now only be a matter of mere minutes and this nightmare would be over once and for all.

"Josephine," her name from his lips was a comforting sound to her. It managed to penetrate the fearful haze that clouded her mind.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. Her voice was raspy and fragile. Like she hadn't spoken in hours.

"It would be best if you walked ahead. Just a few steps. I'll be with you in no time," he told her with a calm voice.

"No, I'll…."

"Now is not the time to argue. Do as I say," he interrupted her. His voice sounded harsher than she was used to. Josephine flinched slightly, but did not budge an inch. He did not comment except with an exasperate role of his eyes.

"Here," he casually threw over the heart to the crewmen who were waiting a few steps away. The bosun caught it easily and contorted his visage into something that vaguely resembled a smirk. Everything would have been settled with this, but Turner chose exactly this moment to emerge from his hiding place. This didn't go as he had planned. As a matter of fact this didn't go as he had planned at all! The idiot Turner was to cover their retreat, not endanger them by attacking at the most inopportune moment.

Seen from William's perspective though, this was the most opportune moment to attack. He had sworn to take his revenge on Davy Jones for what he had done to him and his father. He was not ready to forgive and forget. His thirst for revenge would only be quenched once he had killed Davy Jones. He stepped between the crewmen and the gangway, thereby keeping them from retreating to the Flying Dutchman. He kicked the long board into the water, where it landed with a loud splash, effectively hindering the crew of the Flying Dutchman to come to the aid of their comrades. What Turner was about to do was, still neither particularly prudent nor risk free. It was him against five. To say he was outnumbered would have meant downplaying the situation drastically.

"Turner, you fool, what are you trying to do? Get us all killed?" Norrington called out to him agitatedly.

"Well, I was supposed to help you. That's what I'm doing right now…helping," William drew his sword and launched right into the fight.

"Can't see you being much of a help right now," Norrington mumbled gruffly, ere he engaged in battle himself, while Josephine was left there standing somewhat perplexed.

The five crewmen had in the meantime come to their senses. They were dangerous opponents. Their fighting technique had something ferocious to it, as if it their slow transformation into sea creatures had infused them with a wild and untamed spirit. It turned out to be rather hard to predict were their attacks might fall and how they would be executed. William and James were managing to hold their own, but barely so, since they were outnumbered. Turner was balancing precariously along the edge of the peer as he fought three opponents at once, while the remaining two focused on Norrington instead. He deflected an attack aimed at him. Two swords clashed and Norrington skilfully managed to disarm one of his attackers. The weapon skidded over the pavement and landed right at Josephine's feet. It laid there taunting her for a while, and then she finally bent down and picked it up.

It was the first time she held a sword in her hand. The hilt was still warm from the body heat of her predecessor. She looked at it with strange wonder, as she turned the tarnished blade slowly. For this brief moment the noise of the fight receded, then it returned with full force. Her gaze immediately sought James and she found him fighting two opponents at a time, one of them being the bosun. There was something about that image that made Josephine's temper flare.

Maybe it was only the prospect that the bosun, could once again hurt Norrington – a brief flash of memory from a few days back, when he had flogged him with the whip, but it sufficed to let her throw all caution over board. It seemed irrelevant that she had never learned how to wield a sword and the thought that he was much bigger and stronger did not even occur to her. A surge of adrenaline suddenly flooded her body. All she could see was James, all she could think about was that she needed to help him. A red veil fell over her eyes as anger took control of her. She launched herself with a shrill shriek at the bosun, who standing with his back to her, had no time to react to her attack.

He whipped around and unwillingly bared his side to her in the process. The sword embedded itself in his flesh with a sickening wet sound. The agonized expression on his face was accompanied by an animalistic cry of pain as she retracted the blade. Her motion was instinctive like a bee shedding its sting after it had just stung its enemy. The bag with Davy Jones's heart in it, slipped from the bosun's fingers and landed at Josephine's feet. Her eyes widened as they settled on it and without thinking too much about it she had snatched it up. For a second she was tempted and allowed herself to actually think about how much power she was currently holding in her hands, but only for a second. Then her preoccupied glance briefly returned to the fighting scene that was unfolding before her very eyes. The decision was easily made. When she would think back to it later, she would realize it was not moral nor was it the product of consideration; she only acted on her instincts. With a quick motion of her arm she executed the deadly stab to Davy Jones's heart.

She could see the bosun turn into her direction. He advanced dangerously on her, still clutching his wounded side with his hands, but then he fell. There was a strange expression of surprise emblazoned on his features. Behind his huge and bulky form appeared a grim looking James with the bloody blade in his hands. With a soft thud the body landed on the floor and for some inane reason Josephine couldn't pry her eyes away from it. A deep red puddle formed underneath his midsection.

It seemed his hoarse scream still reverberated in her ears. It was supposed to be fading but it didn't, instead it increased in intensity and was united with a choir of voices. Yet she did not look away from the body.

The bosun's features, once a monstrous scaly mask, slowly morphed into an ordinary human face. Josephine blinked in surprise as if she was unable to believe her eyes, but they were not lying. The body at her feet really did belong to a human being. When she looked around in wonder she noticed that a similar change had taken hold of the other attackers. Some of them were clutching their faces and twisting on the floor in agony, while for others, whose transformation had not yet progressed as far, the process was less painful, but just as surprising. They felt their faces hesitantly and their eyes looked around in bewilderment as if they had just awoken from deep slumber.

A sticky substance was trickling down her fingers. It was blood – Davy Jones's blood…thick, coagulated almost black. Her face contorted in disgust, as she realized she had just killed somebody. The sword fell from her hand with a clatter, which barely reached her ears. All sensations seemed somewhat muffled, so that a muted metallic thud was all she heard. When James addressed her and stepped up to her, she saw his lips moving but heard no sound. Darkness closed in from the edges of her vision and she suddenly had the sensation of falling.