A Line In The Sand
Chapter Twelve

The compass led James away from the main street, then beyond the brothels, right past the laundry woman's house and across several fields until he saw something ahead of him.

It was a small sort of house, tacked onto what he supposed might once have been a tavern.

Out of habit more than worry, he slowed down and moved silently to the door. It was half open and he peered through it to see her sitting on a barrel between the shafts of bright sunlight cutting through the cracks in the wall. She was perfectly still; the hands that had been so tight on her pistol and bag were now relaxed, merely laying there.

He nudged the door slightly to come inside, but it creaked indignantly and fell with a crash, sliding down the stone steps into the main room.

She stood up in one fluid motion, unsheathing her sword so that by the time she was upright, she had her sword out and ready, pointing at him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I followed you," he answered, snapping the compass shut and tucking it away. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to live here," she said primly, sheathing her sword and pushing her bag so that it slid further behind her back.

"Here?" James looked around, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the dark and dingy place, the filth on the stone floor and the general dilapidation.

"Yes, here," she sounded annoyed and he tried to rearrange his face into something of a hopeful expression as he looked round again. "Well, not here exactly. This will be my workshop. I'll live next door."

"You're going to be a blacksmith again, then?"

"What else?" she ran a finger along one of the walls. "I went for a walk one day after swimming because it was still too early to wake you up and I thought I'd have a look outside of the town. This is first place I came across. It used to be a forge. Next door used to be a house. It's all fallen into disrepair. I sat here for ages thinking of what needed doing before it could be a working forge again. And it's not much really. Most of the work is just making it habitable. Of course," she added, looking at him. "I quickly put paid to all my plans since I was not in any position to settle at that time."

"It truly doesn't need that much work?" he asked.

"Not really. Just the basics. The harder job is making a home out of the place. But I have gold and it's well situated – the merchants come here because it's a free port and being out here, I can claim no links to piracy. I ought to be able to make a fair bit trading with them."

"Where did you get all that gold?" he asked, indicating the bag she had thrust behind her.

She tried and failed to suppress her grin and finally allowed it spread across her face and beam up at him.

"I struck a deal. Jack gave me some gold to start my business and in return, my home would always be open to him and his crew, my blades always free to them," she smirked slightly. "I made the same deal with Barbossa."

"And I take it neither of them knows about it?"

"Of course not. I told Barbossa I was talking about Elizabeth with Jack and Jack thinks I was saying goodbye to Barbossa. They both accepted my terms. It seems they have both learnt a thing or two from Lord Beckett about good business."

"Pirate," James said, grinning at her.

"Sometimes one must commit an act of piracy to get what one wants."

"Indeed," they fell silent for a moment, and James wondered whether she was thinking about their conversation of the day before too. If she was, he could tell by the proud upward tilt of her chin that she was not going to refer to it. He stepped over the broken door and down into the main room with her. "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" her head tilted to the one side and he ignored that questioning note in her voice. It was rather too much like suspicion for his liking.

"Yes. It seems that I owe you a debt. You saved my life. I have no way of repaying you, so perhaps you'll accept my help in getting your forge up and running?"

"You owe me no debt, Norrington. You saved us from the brig, consider my saving you payment for that," she said it brusquely, dusting her hands together. She wanted to put an end to the subject before he could make her another tempting, but completely ridiculous offer.

"I'm afraid I can't. After all, you followed me on my mission to catch Sparrow. You sailed through a hurricane with me. You remained at my side for three months in Tortuga – you were the one that befriended Mary Pegler so we had somewhere to stay. And I paid you back by stealing the heart. Letting you out of the brig does not touch the debt I owe you. A debt increased by what you did to save my life."

She frowned at him and, for a long, painful moment, he thought she would send him packing.

"I consider the fact that you helped us escape, that you crewed the Empress and Pearl diligently, your information about the Armada, your fighting on our side to be payment enough, thank you."

For a second, his heart seemed to sink. Then it rose up, annoyed at her and he felt a smirk growing on his lips as he made her an offer she really couldn't refuse.

"In that case, I have a commission for you."

"A commission?"

"Yes. It seems I am in the market for a sword. Since the best sword I have ever had was made by your hand, I should like another of similar quality. I have no money; I can only offer to work for you as payment."

She struggled for a moment. It made good sense really. And he wasn't asking much in return and she really did need the help if she wanted to be making money sooner rather than later.

"You'd work hard?"

"Of course," he replied, slightly offended.

"All right," she said slowly. "When this place is ready, I will consider your debt paid. And you must accept that. All I ask in return is that you – that you don't mention what occurred on the Dutchman."

He nodded and made his way back up the stairs to the empty doorway.

"Where are you going?"

"I have something to return to Jack. And I believe we are in need of a locksmith."