'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney

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As he pulled on the oars, Jack let his gaze wander over the furrowed gunnels, the restless waves, the numerous distant ships. Anywhere but on the two authoritative figures facing him on the longboat bench, less than a yard away. They, of course, were exercising no such restraint- they'd been eyeing him gloatingly since he'd pushed this craft off from the sand spit. He could practically feel their two stares on him; one from cruel orbs set deep amidst tentacles, and the other... the other was even more unnerving. Having two virulent enemies this close was agitating Sparrow beyond his powers of concealment.

/ Ah, but you don't want ta be concealin' it completely, do ye?/ reminded the small self on Jack's starboard shoulder. / Can't risk givin' 'em any hint that ya deliberately maneuvered yerself inta this circumstance, ta gain access to the 'Flying Dutchman', an' it's captain's heart. 'Cause ya know what'll happen if they suspect yer up ta somethin'- they'll likely clap ya in so many irons ya won't be able to stir hand nor foot! Make it rather hard ta... /

The dialogue was interrupted by Davy Jones' snarl. "Faster, Sparra! Somma us have ships tah get ready."

"You must pardon me, gents- I'm not quite as young as Mr. Turner." But Jack did increase his efforts, moving with care to minimize the risk of straining any muscles. He needed to remain fully functional- there was no telling what kind of physical exertions his scheme might require. He'd already come perilously close to straining his back, tugging Jones' bloody heavy bucket to within stepping distance of the longboat.

Cutler Beckett's voice was far more patient, and considerably more chilling. "Ten degrees more to starboard, if you please, Mr. Sparrow."

Jack glanced over his shoulder, saw that that course was towards the Flying Dutchman. Jones immediately caught the implication.

"What, are yah plannin' tah row yourself to the Endeavour, Beckett?"

"Certainly not. Sparrow is coming with me."

Jack froze in mid-stroke. Fortunately, neither of his captors noticed the lapse, being fully occupied with glaring at each other.

"He's tah serve aboard the Dutchman- yah agreed tah that!" Jones barked.

"And so he shall. Just as soon as he and I have concluded some unfinished business," Cutler countered icily.

"Yah got naw business that canna wait until he's done with the post-battle swabbin'- I'll be needin' evrra available hand for that job! Afterwards yah ken be borrowin' him from me whenever yah get the urge. Which I expect tah be frequent."

Jack averted his face to hide the brief flush. / So much for your promise of discretion, Mr. Beckett. /

The undersized Lord tapped delicate fingers against his chin. "Perhaps we ought to hear from every affected party. Be honest, Sparrow; with whom would you prefer to disembark?"

Both Jones and Cutler turned probing stares on their prisoner. It took effort not to squirm under that dangerous double scrutiny.

/ Careful, Lad. If ya express any strong preference fer the 'Dutchman', they're liable to send ye to the Endeavour, out of sheer bloody-mindedness,/ warned the Jack on his port shoulder.

/ On the other hand, any professed eagerness fer Beckett's company is certain to raise suspicion,/ countered the identical voice from his starboard side.

Jack lowered his eyes, rowing noisily, his agile mind racing. What was the best thing he could say, to swing the decision in his favor?

Beckett leaned forward, almost like a crouching panther. "Well, Sparrow? If this decision were up to you, what would you choose?"

Jack drew a breath. "I would follow Homer's advice."

For a second his captors looked puzzled. Cutler caught on first.

"Ah, yes- Scylla and Charybdis. When you must decide between the tentacled monster or the devouring maw..."

"... yah choose the former!" Davy pronounced, his facial extensions curling gleefully. "Yah can hardly argue with the classics, now can yah?"

Lord Beckett nodded, agreeable to having the matter decided by an ancient epic. "Very well. Then you may drop me off at the Endeavour, Mr. Sparrow. Or shall I call you 'Odysseus'?"

"You'll call me whatever you want," Jack answered neutrally, as he adjusted the longboat's course.

Cutler turned to his subordinate. "I do have just one stipulation, Mr. Jones. This prisoner is to be confined to your brig until the conflict is concluded."

Jack's lips thinned- this was another unwelcome obstacle. Albeit one which should be easier to overcome.

"Aww. So yah don't want yer pretty new pet tah get hurt?" Davy sneered.

"That is one concern. Also, I am fully aware of the damages a 'loose cannon' can inflict during a battle. Even a small one." Beckett bestowed a frosty glare on Jack (who mused that His Lordship was hardly qualified to call him 'small.') "Those are my orders, Mr. Jones."

Davy's tentacles rippled with agitation, but he said no more. Jack was soon maneuvering the longboat against the Endeavour's port side, where the marines had already lowered the jacob's ladder. Beckett grasped a rung and stood, then paused to take a searching look at the pirate. He set his free hand on the side of Sparrow's face- the captive feigned indifference, as those proprietary fingers moved over his cheekbone and jaw, slid down the side of his throat, snaked under his shirt to curl around his collarbone. "I am greatly looking forward to our next meeting, Jack."

The prisoner's face twitched from the effort of keeping his expression blank- that touch and purring tone were evoking disagreeable memories. And the sharp-toothed smile was disturbing under any circumstances. / A devouring maw, indeed. /

"Enough fondling- I've got a battle tah prepare for, even if yah don't!" Davy Jones grumbled.

Cutler gave one of Jack's braids a half-painful tug, before ascending into his ship. Jack pushed off forcefully, and commenced rowing towards the Dutchman.

The 'tentacled monster' leaned forwards, glowering as though he blamed Jack for this whole situation. "Just so ya know; I won't be including yer time in the brig towards the repayin' of yer debt. Which yer already late gettin' started on."

"I would have thought Mr. Turner's contribution would be an adequate compensation for the delay," Jack countered mildly.

"Well, think again! And anotha thing; I certainly won't be counting as service tah me, any interval yah spend pleasuring Beckett!"

Jack's face reddened again, but not with embarrassment. This was rage, hot and hard, such as he'd experienced in only a few previous situations. That Barbados dungeon. The night of Barbossa's mutiny. Watching his Wicked Wench burn and sink.

Never, in any previous encounter, had Jack felt such intense hatred for Cutler Beckett. Not just for for his intent to reduce him- him, Captain Jack Sparrow! - to his personal plaything, but for making those plans known. And to Davy Jones, the one... being, on earth, who would most enjoy his humiliation! For a furious moment Sparrow wondered just how much detail Beckett had gone into... but there was no profit in following that speculation.

Only the near-prospect of vengeance calmed him down. Very soon now- mere hours- his enemies would be undone for good. He'd made Barbossa pay; he would make Beckett and Jones pay. But only if he mastered his tongue. His complacent keepers must have no reason to put him under special restraint.

Jack managed to nod humbly, before releasing his barely-restrained emotions against the oars. His passenger chuckled approvingly. "There- I knew yah could make proper speed if yah tried!"

Sparrow just kept rowing, his eyes hooded, as shadowed and dangerous as the darkening sky.

xxx

TBC...