AN: A very short chapter but the next one is absolutely massive and is already written. It only needs to be typed and should be up in a few days if I get some sort of a response from this. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed and let me know what they think of this. I can't tell you what it means to me (it really does keep me going, I promise). :D This chapter and the next one I am especially curious to know what you guys think... now that we're finally getting somewhere!

Please read and review! All are appreciated!

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." - Me and Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson

An Act of Piracy

Chapter Four

The next day...

'The Wicked Wench' was a sight for sore eyes to Jack, though it had barely been a day since he'd seen her last. Standing at the end of the dock with his hands stuffed down into the pockets of his uniform, he took in the small ship with the white sails beating faithfully in the wind and thought with a smile, now that's my kind of woman.

The Wench (Jack couldn't have picked a better name had he been given the chance) had been his father's boat when he had sailed for the East India Trading Company. What this meant was this: the ship was old, constantly in need of repairs, and generally the laughing stock of the port. These things, however, paled in comparison to the fact that she was fast and she was his. Even if the former hadn't been true, he would have been satisfied with the latter.

The strange encounter with Tia Dalma was still with him on this day, lapping at the corners of his mind like waves on the beach. He shook his head in an attempt push them away, one fear at a time: she didn't know that was my nickname... it was a lucky guess... she wasn't being serious... it was nothing... But they clung like burrs, not to be dissuaded. Then there was the matter of Beckett, who had appeared quite suddenly on the docks next to him. Jack looked at him, untrusting. He was a sneaky little bugger, and had been popping up quite more often as of late.

"Yes," Beckett practically purred, looking endlessly pleased with himself for reasons still unknown. "I see you're here early and dressed impeccably as always." He gestured to Jack's wig where a leaf had attached itself to one of the now frizzy curls. Jack pulled it free and flicked it down onto the dock, as unconcerned as he had been when throwing the damnable thing in the bottom of the ship the night before.

"Unfortunately, as I informed you before, you will no longer be at the helm of the Wicked Wench," Beckett said the name as if it was something ill tasting in his mouth, then smiled again. Jack looked at him, mouth slack and eyes narrowed. This was certainly news to him; he had been informed of no such thing. In fact, he could remember almost the exact words Beckett had used last week: "You have been, shall I say, relocated? I think you will find your new job to be much better suited to a man of your means." What the hell did he have planned?

Sensing Jack's discomfort, Beckett's smile grew.

"You will be taking a very special sort of cargo to England today, and this will require a much larger, more reliable sort of ship."

Touching Jack's elbow, he turned him gently to a large ship a little further down the docks. Jack recognized it instantly, and in that moment he felt rage that had been quite noticeably absent for years flare up inside of him. He took a deep breath, feeling his jaw tick as he surveyed the bulky boat in front of him. It was bigger than the Wench; it had to be. Its insides were gutted neatly as a fish and stuffed full with as many men as possible, all standing. But not men, no... not in Beckett's eyes at least. Cargo.

Slaves.

"This will be your ship. You will be dropping off the cargo in Port Royal where a man by the name of Rawlings will take them off your hands. They will be auctioned accordingly, not that this is any concern of yours." Here Beckett paused, his hand still on Jack's elbow though it was shaking with anger. Clearly, this was the part where he planned on driving his point home:

"I understand that you have particular feelings about freedom, Captain Teague," he said, voice growing lower, smile now gone. "Let me give you a bit of advice that you will do well to remember: freedom is an illusion. You are bound to your government, you are bound to your responsibility, and you are bound to this job. In short, you are bound to me. I will remind you again of the great gamble I am taking..."

But Jack held up his hand, having heard enough.

"Thank you," he said, and though he was angry to the point of screaming, he meant the words with every ounce of feeling in him. "I understand completely."

Jack could not have named the thing about it all that upset him the most. For the sake of total honesty, it was not merely the idea of slavery that caused the events which were to occur shortly thereafter, though that was not a point he was proud of and was never admitted later. The truth was, slavery was more than common place during that time... it was the law. No one was stupid enough to question the practice of it, at least not out loud, and Jack certainly fell in that category of people who were disturbed by it but remained quiet. It was yet another thing he respected about pirates... though some of them had slaves, the vast majority of them let slaves on the boats as equals... as pirates themselves even. After all, who could better understand the concept of being an outcast than a pirate? Who better to understand hard work and being deprived of what they deserved than a slave? It was practically a match made in heaven.

Until this point though, Jack had considered himself somewhat neutral on the topic. He didn't like it, but what could he do? His dissent certainly wasn't going to stop slavery now, was it? What did the opinion of one troublemaker, not much better than slave himself to the East India Trading Company, mean against all the thousands of people that had convinced themselves that their livelihood depended on slavery?

Then Beckett made his brief little speech, and made up Jack's mind without even meaning to. Not because he had been wrong, but because he had been right.

"You are bound to your government, you are bound to your responsibility, and you are bound to this job. In short, you are bound to me," he'd said, and the words echoed through Jack's mind as he walked up the plank to the slave ship he would be taking to Port Royal. Beckett was right. Jack was bound to do as he was told: to shuttle off dozens of men in the cramped quarters of the boat, standing for days, after which they would be herded off the ship and onto the auction block, to be sold like cattle. And Jack was bound by his responsibility to obey, to listen, to dirty his hands and aid in this... this...

"Right," Jack said, though he barely knew what he'd made his mind up about. He straightened his hat as he walked, anger like he'd never felt before coursing through his body. The only thing that stopped him from screaming was the knowledge that it was exactly what Beckett wanted. He had found his weak spot (freedom) and was trying to break him. One foot in front of the other, he forced himself to keep walking until he had made it on the ship. He still hadn't decided on a course of action; the only thing he knew how to do was to keep on keeping on.

The crew was waiting for him when he made it to the helm, quieter than usual. Obviously the "cargo" had already been moved onboard, and every one of his men seemed to be waiting for Jack's reaction. It seemed now that everyone, not just Beckett... not just his crew or family or friends but everyone... had been waiting for the moment when Jack Teague would finally break, and now that it was here, they all stood still to watch, so as not to miss anything.

Jack leaned against the railing, taking a deep, angry breath.

"Captain," a voice said to his left. Jack turned to see Bill Turner watching him. Bill had been a good member of Jack's crew for as long as he'd been Captain, a loyal man that never questioned orders but was too soft hearted to be a good Captain himself. Jack liked him a lot, but more importantly, he trusted him.

"Jack..." Bill said, and this time his eyes seemed to say everything that Jack needed to know. If he went through with this, he would lose everything, but what did he really have to lose? A sense of honor that he had never really wanted? A job he abhorred? A lifetime of servitude and debt? Beckett had been right... Jack was bound to him. But he didn't have to be. He didn't have to be bound to anything if he didn't want to be.

"Bill... Mr. Turner..." Jack started, deciding he better give the man a way out just incase. "We are charting a somewhat different course than originally planned. I would understand if you decided not to..."

"I want to," Bill said, with so much enthusiasm that Jack had to smile. He should have known that if anyone was going to support such an act of piracy that it would be Bill Turner.

"Right," Jack said, and turned to the ocean. His mind was finally made up and he felt better than he had in years.

"Bring me that horizon."

Beckett was waiting for Jack when he returned from his voyage, as well as a dozen armed officers. Smiling, Jack nodded to the crew and took extra time straightening his jacket, as if preparing himself for a very important event. At the last minute, before stepping onto the dock, he remembered that he was still wearing the hat and wig. Giving the wickedest of grins, he made eye contact with Beckett before chucking both of them into the waters below. He then pulled the ribbon from his hair, smoothed the unruly mess behind his ears, and stepped forward. To the people watching, the approaching man looked like the happiest madman to live.

"Jack Teague," Beckett said, not entirely unpleasant. Beside him a guard waited, holding a set of irons with which Jack was to be handcuffed. "We have received word from Port Royal that the cargo you were requested to deliver was not received. Am I to understand that you still have it with you?"

Jack put his hand to his chest, feigning shock.

"Why no sir. The cargo was most certainly delivered to where it belonged."

Beckett's eyes narrowed, no longer amused. God only knew how much those slaves had been worth.

"Where did you take them?" he demanded. Jack's lazy smile only grew.

"Where they belonged, mate."

"Africa?" Beckett asked, his voice low and dangerous. Jack shrugged, and it was such a simple movement to incite such fury.

"Chain him!" Becket shouted, as close to genuine emotion as Jack had ever seen him. The man next to Beckett stepped forward and Jack allowed him to chain his hands together without struggling. In front of him, Beckett fumed. He had expected some sort of reaction out of Jack, but apparently such open defiance had not been it. What had he expected? For Jack to refuse to go? Did he think he would make it that easy for him?

"Follow me," Beckett said, and turned to leave. Then, remembering, he turned back. "And the crew as well." Cries went up and now Jack attempted to step forward before being pulled back by the guards. In front of them, twelve rifles were raised to rest on shoulders and the crowd that had assembled gasped.

"The crew didn't know where we were going. They didn't have anything to do with it," Jack said, giving Bill Turner a look that said clearly, don't say anything stupid, mate.

"I did," Bill said, stepping beside Jack. "I knew exactly where we were going and I helped him."

Yeah, like that.

Another guard stepped out to chain Bill but Beckett waved his hand.

"All of them." Cries went up again but Beckett was unconcerned, already moving. He walked and the rest of them followed at gunpoint, having no other choice. For a group of people who had made a decision regarding freedom, they had remarkably little of it now.