And yes, here is the long-awaited introduction of Jack, but I warn you, it's not a happy scene at all. Sorry... but I promise that Jack will be back to his normal, cheery self in chapters to come!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

3. Torment

The pirate glanced up at me. He could not have been more than a handful of years older than myself – I guessed he was about 25 years old – but his eyes were filled with the cunning and experience that came from years of evasion at sea. His eyes were lined with dark makeup that gave him a curious, exotic look; his hair fell in dreadlocks over the edge of a bandanna tied about his forehead. His clothes were mismatched and varied, giving him the look of a tattered old quilt, and he was fiddling absent-mindedly with one of the gold rings on his finger. Something about him – the casual manner he managed to maintain even when shackled and thrown unceremoniously onto the ground, the mysterious smile that flitted about his lips as if he was thinking of a joke that no one else knew the answer to, the tiny wink he gave me when he saw me staring at his predicament in horror – something captured my imagination and made me wonder if there was any chance at all of him surviving his capture and whatever Beckett had in store for him.

'Jack Sparrow,' sneered Beckett, striding over to the pirate, who sat up and gave his captor an unconcerned look. 'So nice to finally see you face to face again.'

'Wish I could say the same,' said the pirate, 'but I must say, you do have a funny way of making people feel at home, don't you?' He gave a shrug that made the handcuffs that bound him clank ominously.

'Sparrow, you are charged with piracy, the sentence for which, as you may know, is death. Now I could tell you to defend yourself, to plead "not guilty" to all charges, but we all know that that would be so false as to be laughable, don't we?' Beckett gave the pirate a sinister smile as he strode slowly over to the fireplace. 'So I thought I might spare you the trouble and inform you that you will be hanged by the neck until dead tomorrow morning at dawn, and that any attempt at escape will be most futile in every respect.'

The pirate raised one eyebrow. 'Perhaps you think so, but you're forgetting one very important thing, mate.' He threw his hands up into a careless shrug. 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow.'

'And that means you're invincible, does it?' Beckett smirked again. 'We'll put that theory to the test tomorrow, shall we not, Sparrow? But, for the moment, I do believe we can test whether or not you understand the meaning of pain.'

In a flash, he had drawn a brand from the fire, the ornate 'P' at the end still glowing a fiery orange. I stifled a scream as, horrified, I watched Beckett press it hard into the arm of the pirate sitting at his feet. The pirate gave a yell of shock and fell over, clutching his arm, but attempting to make no other sound. The air fizzled with the acrid smell of burning flesh. Beckett tossed the brand carelessly back into the fire, smiling at his victim's obvious pain.

'Ah, yes, the downside to being a pirate,' he said softly. 'Perhaps now you can appreciate the many people who have been killed or wounded thanks to vermin like yourself. But I have to wonder, you're not making any noise, and people who are truly in pain usually scream and writhe – have I not made the message clear enough, then?' The pirate grunted as Beckett kicked him in the face, then spat out a few bloody teeth, a slight groan escaping him.

'Stop it! Leave him alone!' I screamed, attempting to run at Beckett. I had had enough – the poor man was obviously in a great deal of pain, as Beckett knew well, and any silence on the pirate's part was simply a testament to his bravery in the face of death and humiliation, even a brute like Beckett should have been able to appreciate that. But before I had taken two steps towards my new master, the detestable Mercer grabbed me from behind, sniggering evilly. I stepped hard on his toe – he spat out a curse, but did not relinquish his hold on me.

Beckett turned and regarded me with something akin to amusement sparkling in his merciless eyes. 'I'd almost forgotten you were here,' he said casually, placing a boot on the pirate's throat and beginning to slowly press down. 'Still thinking about running away? I assure you, I could do far worse to you if you tried to escape and were caught… and rest assured that should you escape, you would be recaptured.'

I stared in terror as the pirate gasped for breath, a strange gargling noise erupting from his throat as Beckett pressed down harder on his throat and more blood trickled from the edge of his mouth down the side of his face. 'Please, don't kill him,' I whispered, willing myself not to cry but finding it very difficult in light of the torture that was taking place before my eyes.

Beckett looked down nonchalantly. 'I suppose you're right,' he sighed, removing his boot somewhat reluctantly. 'It would be a pity to accidentally kill him before his appointed execution, wouldn't it?' He kicked the pirate again, in the ribs this time – I winced as I heard one crack. 'So I suppose the most I can do right now would be to let him watch his personal belongings burn, if I find I have no use for them.'

He picked up four items lying on his desk, turning each over as he examined it. 'A pistol… not a bad balance, I might have to keep it for myself…' He placed the pistol back on the desk. 'A sword… rubbish, but it wouldn't burn anyway, I'll have it buried with you as a testament to your marauding days, shall I, Sparrow?' He tossed the sword back onto the desk with a loud clang and picked up the next item. 'Your hat, and an ugly hat it is if I ever saw one.' The pirate gave a moan of sadness as Beckett tossed it into the flames, where it sent up an array of sparks before being devoured by the flames. I glanced at the pirate's face – a look of such sadness was in his eyes that I wondered why the hat had meant so much to him. Beckett, unfortunately, had noticed the expression on the pirate's face too, and his smile of loathing had only broadened.

'Funny that a man who has made a career of taking and destroying the property of others should be so distraught to have the same done to him,' sneered Beckett. He picked up the last item – a battered compass – and flipped it open. He gave a slight snort of condescending laughter.

'I suppose you won't even mind if this goes to the flames,' he said to the pirate, who was still recovering from the loss of his hat. 'This compass is useless, it doesn't even point north.' He drew back his hand to toss the compass into the fire.

'Wait!' gasped the pirate, grabbing for Beckett's ankle feebly. Beckett's hand stopped in midair, the compass dangling from his fingers by the string attached to it; the pirate's eyes followed the swinging compass as if he was being hypnotized.

'Going to plead, are we, Sparrow?' taunted Beckett. 'Funny, your priorities – you won't plead for your life, but you will beg me not to destroy a broken compass.'

'It's not… broken…' The pirate dragged himself forward, wincing in pain as his broken rib moved over the hard floor. 'It's not meant to point north.'

Beckett raised his eyebrows. 'And where is it supposed to point, may I ask?'

The pirate had reached Beckett's feet by this point, and lay there panting. Finally, he looked up at Beckett, a glimmer of something that I couldn't quite place shining in his eyes. 'It points to the thing you want most in this world.'

'Does it really?' said Beckett in a bored voice. He flipped the compass open and regarded it with a bored stare. Within seconds, though, his brow furrowed as Beckett, perplexed, looked from the pirate lying by his feet to me and then back. 'A valuable piece of property, no doubt,' he said softly, flipping the compass closed and placing it carefully on the table next to the pirate's pistol. 'I daresay it will make destroying piracy on the high seas all the more easy. Thank you, Sparrow, for providing me with the very weapon I need to rid the world of your kind.' He turned to Mercer. 'Please take our prisoner back to the fort as he awaits his execution tomorrow.'

Mercer released his grip on my arm. I had been shaking so much while Beckett tortured the poor pirate that my knees gave out underneath me and I fell to the floor, eye to eye with the pirate, who attempted to give me a brave smile before Mercer pulled him roughly to his feet and lead him out of the room, the guards at the door following.

Trembling, I rose to my feet. Beckett was turned towards the fire, and I thought that perhaps I could sneak out of the room unnoticed and run for my life, but before I had taken two steps across the room, he spoke.

'I hope you have found this instructive, Anamaria. Now, if you please, go down to the kitchens, where my cook will show you the slave quarters and you can have something to eat. I will expect you back in my office after I have had my supper so I may tell you what your duties will be. You may go.'

I needed no second bidding. Glancing one last time down at the spot where the pirate had lain clutching his arm in agony, I walked quickly out the door and broke into a run as soon as I thought I was out of earshot.