"It's the Pearl," Sherlock whispers to himself, his eyes gleaming with the promise of adventure and mischief and moreover, vengeance. He peers out through the bars of the window. The other prisoners crowd around their window as well.
"The Black Pearl?" One of the prisoners whispers in frightened tones, "I've heard stories..." everyone else except Sherlock gathers around him like he is the village, or rather the prison storyteller, "She's been preying on ships and settlements for near ten years... and never leaves any survivors..."
Sherlock rolls his eyes as the other prisoners suppress a shudder of fear running through their twisted, weak and boneless spines (Sherlock's words, not mine).
"There are a lot of stories about the Black Pearl that," Sherlock looks like he is considering his next words carefully and evaluating what it would mean to less fortunate folks unlike himself, "with all due respect to your mothers, half-witted sons of bitches like yourself might care to believe in, my dear sir—"
It's only by chance that Sherlock is in the adjacent cell as the prisoners, otherwise he would've been sentenced to an unanimous death sentence by the rest of his prisoner mateys. He slumps against the wall with dismay at not being able to have fun when his "fellow" pirates clearly are here to. Then, he remembers the medallion. They must be here for her. But how could a woman have a medallion? Only a boy could, unless one of them escaped?
"Well excuse us, dear sir, if we ain't grumpy enough to extend the same formality ter you, not having bein' resigned to the gallows yet," a boom of laughter follows it, too silly for Sherlock to pay attention to.
Yet, he manages to throw the verbal volleyball into their court, "Isn't."
"What?"
"It's not ain't, it's isn't," says he through gritted teeth, "And you should say 'pardon' instead of 'what'. Did they not teach you this in school?"
He slips back into his thoughts... the boy who escaped.
Impossible. It was nigh impossible for any human to escape from the clutches of the miscreants that Trevor and Pan led together. No, impossible for anyone except Sherlock Holmes... no scratch that, impossible for anyone except Hector Altamont.
Sherlock leans back with a satisfied smirk. Hector Altamont, such a lovely name, such a pirate—y name. Trevor, ugh! He is clearly too unpirate—y.
Then he remembers that Victor Trevor goes around by the name of Hook, which clearly sounds better than Altamont. He huffs into shadows, irritated beyond belief.
But he doesn't have a hat. A proper one. Sherlock...no, Altamont has a hat, a proper Captain hat.
"Altamont has a hat, Altamont has a hat... Hook doesn't have a hattie," he chants to himself, only to remember that he is still locked up. Sighing to himself at the extreme inconvenience of his situation, he turns his attention to the earlier prisoner who has now become the official storyteller for the rest of the abominable gang of wrongdoers.
"The Black Pearl still cannot be seen," says he with wide eyes, looking as if possessed by a demon spirit, "—but the fog lights up around her with each boom of her guns. Boom!"
The rest of the prisoners recoil as the "Boom" of the storyteller coincides exactly with the boom of the cannons outside. Sherlock grimaces in disgust as a cockroach climbs up the shoulder of the prisoner, now resting merrily atop his head.
"She's firing on both sides now, hammering both the fort and the town. BOOM!... Streets, buildings, docks and ships shatter and explode beneath the onslaught—villagers panic—run for cover—dodge flying debris as best they can. If this is not hell on earth, then it's about to be... BOOM!"
"Oh, give the poor man a break," Sherlock growls, feeling bored as hell and trying his best to maintain his personal hygiene as best as he can. He raises an arm and sniffs his underarms. He stinks. And he makes plans to get a shower as soon as he is out of there, which is less likely, given the circumstances. He doesn't have a single thing to pick the lock with.
"Long boats emerge out of the fog, carrying armed pirates. They swarm from the boats, striking down villagers indiscriminately and setting fires..."
John, shirtless and sweaty, is preparing for a bath when he takes a look at the shot wound in his left shoulder. Grimacing at the effort to rotate his arm normally, he takes out a needle and prepares it for administering morphine to himself for the pain, and then he stops. His attention is drawn to the window. He opens the shutter and peers out—nothing but fog. Almost without noticing, he sinks the needle into his skin, feeling the pain in his leg intensify. He thinks about the pirate he had faced that afternoon, and his remarks about his bad leg.
There's a boom in the distance, followed by the screams of men and women mingled together. Almost instantaneously, the house ten yards from his blows apart. He ducks to save himself from the explosion.
"Harry," is the first thought that comes to his mind.
John slips a boarding axe into his belt at the small of his back. He puts a dirk in his belt, then a second and a third. He picks up a second axe and a sword.
He slides back the doors of the forge, the limp in his leg forgotten—
A woman runs past him, chased by a young one-armed pirate man wearing a yellow bandeau. John backhands the axe square into his chest, a deadly blow, and then heads out, up the street towards the pub where he knows his brother is probably lying, drunk and wasted.
The moon is obscured by smoke rising from the burning gallows and wooden roofs. Cannon fire continues to rain down, but the fort's own cannons are now returning fire.
"Governor!" says Sholto severely, "Barricade yourself in my office!"
"James..." Governor Morstan hesitates and covers his face with his arms upon the explosion hear the parapets, at which Sholto only barks, "That's an order, Governor!"
Morstan turns to go—but finds himself face-to-face with a pirate, a handsome blond young man with gold earrings. Beyond him, more pirates, all of them young men, come up over the far wall. The pirate grins at Governor Morstan and raises a cutlass, and right on time, Sholto's sword blocks the pirate's slash.
"They've flanked us!" He barks, "Men! Swords and pistols!"
Mary looks out a window at the scene below: even through the fog, multiple fires are visible, and ships burn in the harbour. Shouts and cries of pain. Cannon fire echoes. She watches, horrified as the whole of Port Royal is set on fire with miscreants and pirates everywhere the eyes can travel. It is an odd sight. Pirates were always supposed to be unclean and merciless and frankly, disabled sort of old men, but all of the wrongdoers look... young, almost her age.
In the dense fog, there's only one concentrated place from where she can see the source of the cannon fire: a ship with no colours, and recognisable black sails with the sign of the Jolly Roger.
But she could say, she hadn't expected even Hector Altamont to be so... strange and unclean... and weird—ish. Maybe James was right, he really was the worst pirate she had ever seen, in spite of all the stories she had read about him about: escapades, adventures. It strikes her that she has never read anything... nasty about him, like pilfering towns or cities, or murdering people... yet.
And she definitely hadn't expected Hector Altamont to be so young, almost her age. And repulsive. And despicable. And with all his body parts intact, with the exception of his kidneys... Well, he did say that he owed them to somebody.
She notices movement directly below her window: shadowy figures with flaming torches in their grip approaching the house—pirates. Mary gathers her skirt and bolts from the balcony of her room to stop the butler from opening the front door. Making her way from the second floor hallway, she reaches the railing overlooking the foyer, and cries out, just as the butler opens the door in no haste, but too late; there is the boom of a gun, and the butler crumples.
Mary ducks down in horror, peering through the balusters. The pirates scan the foyer, searching. The leader is Pintel, a young blond pirate with the most unclean clothes Mary has ever seen.
Suddenly Pintel looks up, and locks eyes with Mary. How could he know she was there?
"Up there!" Signals Ragetti, Pintel's pirate companion and his look-alike, except with a wooden eye that he fixes religiously. His good eye settles on Mary, whereas the other one wobbles in the socket. It's the only way one can tell them apart. Mary wonders if they're twins.
The pirates rush for the stairs. Mary scrambles back into the nearest room, aiming for self preservation. Once inside the sitting room, Mary shuts the door, locks it, listens as the pirates pound up the stairs. A tentative hand on her shoulder frightens her out of her wits.
"Miss Mary?" She jumps. Her maid is right behind her, terrified, "Are they come to kidnap you, miss? The daughter of the governor would be very valuable."
Mary realizes she's right. There is the sickeningly horrifying slam of a body against the door. She gulps and turns to her maid.
"Listen, they haven't seen you. Hide... and first chance, run for the fort, alright? Make sure that you're safe—and that father's safe."
The maid nods. Another slam at the door—it gives away a bit. Mary shoves the maid urgently into the corner, between a tall wardrobe and the wall and dashes for the side door, controlling their gasps. When the door smashes inward, it slams into the wardrobe, and the maid cannot be seen. The pirates run in, spotting the open side door leading to the bedroom and make a run for it. Pintel is the first through, and gets the pan of the bed warmer in the face for his trouble—he staggers back, holding his nose.
"Ow, bloody hell!"
In the sitting room, Mary's maid breaks cover and runs for the hall, unnoticed. Mary swings the bed warmer at Ragetti, but he catches it by the handle and Mary can't jerk it free, so she wrenches it over and the pan lid swings down, burning Ragetti as hot coals spill on his head, sizzling. She gasps in horror, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
"Ow, I'm burnin'," he squeals, "Bitch, I'm burnin'!"
Mary bangs the bed warmer on his head and waits for the man to fall to the ground like a loony tunes show and then dashes for the hallway stairs.
The pirates burst from the bedroom—Pintel goes for the stairs, but Ragetti vaults the handrail, not noticing Mary's maid, who looks almost close to fainting upon registering the butler's dead body with a bullet buried in his forehead, but continues out the still-open front door at a dead run. Mary tries to follow her but Ragetti lands between her and the front door. His face is burned, his hair smolders and he's back from consciousness in such a short span of time that only God knows how he managed it—he reaches out for her, trying to scare her. Mary pulls up short, rushes to run the other way, only to find Pintel, on the stairs, who grabs her by the hair.
"Careful!" Ragetti calls out gleefully, "Don' wanna hurt my mum!"
Mary doesn't slow and doesn't bother to catch the meaning in his words, she spins, grabs Pintel's arm with both hands and pulls him hard, belly-first, into the cap of the newel post, and he lets go of her hair upon registering the pain. Mary keeps going. Upon entering the dining room, Mary slams the double doors shut and throws the bolts. The interior shutters are closed over the windows. Above the fireplace are two crossed swords.
Mary climbs on the firebox; she grabs one of the swords by the hilt and pulls—but it won't come free. Both swords are securely attached to the wall.
"Damn!" She curses, forsaking her language. A smash from the doors alerts her. The pirates really are relentless as they try to break down the door.
"Mum, open the door!" Pintel calls out gleefully.
On the table is a platter with fruit, cheese and bread. Mary grabs the knife from the platter. Like any bread knife, it has a round point. Mary jabs it into her palm to test its effectiveness—it's useless as a weapon. The entire house is useless.
"Double damn!" She curses. She hears the young pirates laugh gleefully and of course, identically. The blade of a boarding axe breaches the door—the pirates will be through soon—Mary looks around controlling the urgency of her breath...
The doors give way; the pirates charge through and the dining room's empty but Mary nowhere to be seen. Pintel and Ragetti search, under the table, behind draperies and Ragetti ends up getting stuck under the heavy wooden furniture. Pintel pulls him out with great effort and ends up smacking his head on the fireplace mantelpiece as they both break free. Ragetti stumbles over the A window is open, and it looks like Mary has jumped out of the window for an attempt at escape, but Pintel knows better.
"We know you're here, mommy. Come out and we promise we won't hurt you."
"We just need a mum," Ragetti calls out and Pintel smacks him on the head, making the wooden eyeball pop out of his eye socket. It is disgusting to look at.
"Ow, me eye!"
"We will find you, mum. Like every son does his mother. You know what it is and it calls to us!"
Mary hides in the dumbwaiter box, wrapped around the double pulley ropes that go through the centre. She wonders for the first time what they mean by 'mum'.
"The gold calls to us!" Says he, brandishing the medallion hung around his neck, the same medallion as Mary has. She watches through the gap and registers that. Pulling out the medallion, she rubs the gold with her thumb. This is their objective. Light spills into the box through gaps in the top as the door above is slid open—Mary looks up through the gaps, only to see Pintel leering down at her.
"Hello, mother."
Mary urgently works the ropes to lower the box. Pintel pulls the other way; he's stronger, and the box rises. Mary tries to stop it—wrapping her left forearm through the rope and lets it jam against the top of the box. She gasps at the pain, but the box stops. She sees the bread knife near her and saws at the rope with the bread knife clumsily. Ragetti pull the rope, crushing Mary's forearm. Tears of pain on her face, she keeps sawing—
The rope parts, and the dumbwaiter box plummets, much to the Twins' dismayed groans. In the kitchen, from behind the door of the dumbwaiter, comes a crash and a cloud of dust. The door slides open, and Mary clambers out. Her head is cut, she is streaked with dirt, and she can barely stand. She leans over the table, trying to recover herself and look for an escape route. The sound of running footsteps gets louder...
"Please, no..." she prays to whatever deity can save her from her horrendous and frankly inevitable fate. She had expected pirates to be exciting and like a daydream, not a nightmare like this. Mary touches the chain of the medallion... and a desperate idea occurs to her.
The pirates burst through the door. Mary backs away, holds the bread knife out to ward them off. They come around either side of the table, stalking her—
"Par—Parlay!" She gasps, looking fearfully at them. Pintel can't believe his ears.
"What?!"
"Parlay! I invoke the right of parlay! According to the Code of the Brethren, set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, you must take me to your Captain!"
Pintel rolls his eyes, not waiting to wonder how she knows about the Code of the Brethren, "I know the bloody code—!"
"If an adversary demands parley," she continues shakily, "you can do them no harm until the parlay is complete."
Pintel grins. She has it the wrong way and she's practically offering herself up for what they've come to take. They aren't here to hurt her anyway. "It would appear, so do you."
"To blazes with the code!" Snarls Ragetti. He steps forward, dirk drawn—but Pintel stops him.
"She wants to be taken to the Captain," says Pintel, slapping him lightly on his head again, and thankfully, the eye doesn't pop out, "and she'll go without a fuss, won't you, mum?" He looks to Mary: 'right?' Mary nods, feeling relieved. She has accomplished step one. Now remains the near impossible task of getting off the Black Pearl.
"We must honour the code."
Ragetti concedes the point, sheaths his dirk, "Aye. Mum."
He takes Mary rather lovingly by the arm, treating her as very brittle and precious as she tries not to shake them away. It was better to be seen with a pirate and go away alive than to be seen alone and be hacked to pieces. Anyway, they would have to pass by Fort Charles. She would call for her Father to save her or maybe even James.
John races along, momentarily free of the pirates. He spots the Governor's Mansion in the distance. There are figures moving away from it—Mary, forced by the two Twin pirates.
John hurries forward to save her. Suddenly a pirate jumps out from the shadows, slashes; John defends himself. The pirate has one arm and wears a yellow bandana. John hesitates—didn't he already kill this guy?
The hesitation is just enough for another pirate, swinging a flaming torch, to slam John in the head from behind. He crumples to the ground. The pirate lights a second torch, hands it to One-armed pirate. They hoot with delight and head off, setting fires as they go. On the ground, John sees stars, literally in the sky and figuratively in his mind's eye before slipping into unconsciousness as a result of the blow.
In the cell block of Fort Charles, the wall of the cells explodes inward. Sherlock pulls himself out from under rubble. Moonlight spills in through the gaping hole created by the cannon ball. Beyond it: freedom, yes!
But it is centered on the other cell. The part of Sherlock's cell that is gone is too small for a man to slip through.
"Praise be!" The other prisoners cry happily. Storyteller and the other two scramble through.
"My sympathies, my dear sir," says he, mocking Sherlock's manner of speech and failing horribly at that, "you've no manner of luck at all!"
The three descend the rocks beyond, disappearing from view. Sherlock is alone. Cannon fire continues, occasional hits shaking the fort. The dog holding the key to the cells cowers under a long bench, key ring still in his mouth. Sherlock sighs—resigned and feeling defeated at having to stoop so low, he picks up the bone from the other cell, and tries coax the dog forward.
"It's all right, doggie... come here, boy. It's just you and your good old Hector, always at your service, for you and your juicy bone. Come here, Spot. Rover. Fido? Redbeard?"
To his surprise, the dog crawls out from under the bench at the last name. Sherlock continues to coax him closer.
"Should've told me that was going to work," Sherlock mutters to himself, "Come here, you slimy, filthy stupid mongrel character..."
The key ring is nearly within Sherlock's reach—suddenly, the dog's attention goes to the door into the cell block. He bristles and growls, backing away from the door, whining.
"Oh, no, NO!" Sherlock cries out in dismay as the dog trots away, wagging its tail high up in the air, "I didn't mean it!"
The dog bolts, through the bars, into the cell, then out through the breached wall—taking the keys with him. Sherlock slumps against the cell. He looks down at the bone. An idea occurs to him. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he sighs.
The door to the cell block bursts open. A pair of young pirates step in: Slightly and Nibs.
"This ain't the armoury! You stupid idiot!"
They turn to go, but Slightly has spotted Sherlock, who mutters a correctional "isn't" to anyone who cares to listen. His eyes gleams with surprise and menace.
Well, well... Look what we have here, Nibs. It's Hector Altamont."
Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Captain. Captain Hector Altamont."
They share a hearty laugh, as Sherlock barks his own brittle one, "Huh. Last time I saw you, you were all alone on a God-forsaken spit of an island, shrinking into the distance. I'd heard you'd gotten off, but I didn't believe it."
"Did you sprout little wings and flyaway like Tink?"
Nibs whispers to his mate,"His fortunes aren't improved much."
The two laugh. Sherlock doesn't. He steps forward, close to the bars. This puts him in a spill of moonlight. He is tight with annoyance upon driving the dog away. And with fury upon having taken his beloved ship, the love of his life, away from him.
"Worry about your own fortunes. The lowest circle of hell is reserved for rapists and pilferers such as yourselves."
Slightly and Nibs don't like hearing that, and their laughter dies down. Sherlock looks pleased at the effect it has on them. Slightly lashes out and grabs Sherlock by the throat through the bars. Sherlock clutches the pirate's wrist and looks down.
Nothing's wrong with him. He looks back up at Slightly, whose face has become wrinkled and degenerated as the face of a hundred-year-old man.
"It's true," Sherlock observes with a slight smirk, "Your powers are fading... you're growing old... Interesting."
Slightly sneers, shoving Sherlock backwards and leaving him choking, hard. Now out of the moonlight, his face looks young and normal. Sherlock stares, realizing—
"You need all the Lost Boys back, don't you?"
Sherlock, reaches out for something under his shirt, and pulls out a medallion, the same as that of Mary's. Slightly looks at him and then at the medallion.
"You're not supposed to have it. You're not one of us."
Sherlock sneers, which is almost immediately followed by a yawn, "Go to hell, Nibs. And you, Slightly. Tell Victor and Pan to hurry up..."
The rest of his words are lost under the choke that bubbles up him as Nibs grabs his neck, "I'll snap you in two."
And they're gone, leaving Sherlock spluttering and choking as he massages his throat gingerly.
Amid the thunder of cannon fire, a longboat slips through the fog. Mary sits in the prow, her eyes darting everywhere, the cannon fire at a distance. Columns of water from cannon balls geyser up around the boat.
The fog parts. Mary looks up to see...
The Black Pearl, a tall galleon in all its glory, its black sails looming high above her. At the bow is an ornately carved figurehead of a beautiful woman, arm held high, a small bird taking wing from her outstretched hand. The longboat makes for a pair of lines dangling from a winch. She still cannot believe that the one fantasy she has dreamt of since her childhood has turned into a reality.
Lit by lanterns; no moon is visible beneath the fog. Smoke hangs heavy above the deck. Mary's longboat is raised above the deck rail—pirates spot her, and stare. They've been with women but have never seen a real lady before. One polite fellow steps forward to offer his hand. She takes it and steps down, looking up at a tall, imposing silhouette standing upon the poop deck with what looks like a dressed monkey perched on his shoulder. She huddles, self-conscious in only her nightgown and dressing robe.
"I didn't know we was taking a woman aboard," says the bosun, a large brunette, with an ugly slash of a blade marring his youthful face.
"She's invoked the right of parlay... with Captain Hook."
On the poop deck, the imposing figure in silhouette stands by the wheel, too far away to have heard Pintel's words. But his head turns at the mention of his name. The silhouetted figure moves toward the stairs. A cloud of smoke obscures him—and then, as if he skipped the stairs, he strides out of the smoke on the main deck dramatically.
Presenting the tall, dashing and handsome (and definitely fearsome) Captain Hook, aka Victor Trevor, with his left, sometimes right hand missing and a hook in its place to cover up for it. He looks like the oldest of them, with icy blue eyes peering at her with curiosity. Despite the bright colors of clothing, he's definitely not a man anyone would want to meet in a dark alley.
Or anywhere, for that matter.
Mary, more terrified than ever, cannot look away from his eyes. But she musters her courage anyway. "I am here to—"
The bosun slaps her. "You'll speak when spoken to!" Mary gasps at the pain breaking out in her cheekbones, having never been slapped before. Ow! How dare you!
His wrist is grabbed—painfully—by Victor, for his efforts at showing off dominance. "And you'll not lay a hand on those under the protection of parlay!"
"Aye, sir," says he sullenly, scanning the skies for something to arrive. Victor releases him. Turning to Mary, he smiles—it shows both silver and gold teeth. Scratch silver, it must be platinum.
"My apologies, miss. As you were saying, before you were so rudely interrupted?"
"Captain Hook..." says she, mustering more courage and confidence, "I have come to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal."
Victor is both impressed and amused. "There was a lot of long words in there, miss, and we're not but humble pirates... What is it you want?"
She stares at the monkey on Victor's shoulders. It is staring eerily at her. Victor takes note of it, and pushes it away. Mary gulps as the animal lands with a soft thud.
"Leave. And never come back." She says, but Victor and the pirates laugh. She looks around in dismay. She has no supporters aboard the pirate ship.
"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request," and then, when he sees the lack of reaction from Mary, he supplies helpfully, "Means 'No'."
She grits her teeth, and reaches out for her medallion hidden under the bodice of her dressing gown. "Very well." She quickly slips the medallion off, darts to the side rail, dangles it over the side of the ship. The pirates go quiet. Some of them even go after her to stop her, but Victor shows up a warning hand to stop them in a gesture of 'I'll handle this' behind Mary's back.
She turns to them, "I'll drop it!"
"My holds are bursting with swag," he barks out a laugh, "That bit of shine matters to me... Why?"
Now it all makes sense to her. They must be needing the medallion for some sort of ritual, "Because it's what you're searching for. You've been searching for it for years. I recognize this ship. I saw it eight years ago, when we made the crossing from England."
Victor looks interested and even more amused, "Did you, now?"
Mary glares at him. She's getting nowhere. Her heart thunders in her chest, and then goes silent abruptly.
"Fine. I suppose if this is worthless, there's no reason to keep it, gentlemen."
She flips the medallion up, off her finger—No reaction from the crew. Maybe she's got it the wrong way after all. She catches it by the chain, and then catching hold of one of the mooring lines, she clambers up the deck rail clumsily. This time, the crew lets out a gasp. They're not really after the medallion. They're after her, she realises, for some reason only they knew.
"I'll throw myself overboard!"
No sooner she finishes her words that she finds herself being thrown forward by something—someone—behind her. She can't see what it is, but the crew cheers, and Victor takes his ridiculously big and feathered hat off, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. She gasps in horror as she feels a grip on her arm, only to see nothing but a pair of disembodied hands... not hands, the shadow of hands, only that its much, much real than a real shadow. She is safely transported back to the deck, where she smiles helplessly at the pirates, covering herself with her dressing gown.
"You have a name, missy?" comes an adolescent voice from behind her. She turns to see the youngest of them, a beautiful boy with a beautiful smile, but the pirates all look at him like he's their leader, Victor completely forgotten.
This is Pan, the leader of the Lost Boys, but you already knew that.
"Mary—" she stops herself from saying "Morstan"; then she steps forward, "Watson." Spinning and eventually, embroidering the lie further, "I'm a maid in the governor's household," she curtsies.
Victor and Pan react to the name Watson: it confirms what he has suspected. The other pirates surreptitiously exchange glances and nod. Mary hears the jubilant whispers of 'Watson'. Pan looks her from up to down. She doesn't look like a maid in any way.
"I'm Peter," Pan extends his hand, talking like a grown up for such a young boy. Mary curtsies like her maid used to, "You've got sand, for a maid."
She curtsies again. "Thank you... sir."
"And how does a maid come to own a trinket such as valuable as that?" He examines her, "A family heirloom, perhaps?"
Mary walks into it, not realising that she's saying all the wrong things, "Of course. I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean." Says she, pretending to be offended.
"No, no, nothing like that," Pan comes to a decision, "Very well. You hand that over, Captain Hook will put your town to our rudder and ne'er return.
Mary examines the little boy suspiciously. He's a little strange, too young to live with pirates and acting like a grown up all the time, "Can I trust you—?"
"It's you who invoked the parlay!" Says Victor outrageously, "Believe me, Miss, you'd best hand it over, now... or these be the last friendly words you'll hear!"
Mary hesitates, but she has no choice. She holds out the medallion. He grabs it, clutches it in his fist like hope.
"Our bargain...?"
Pan and Victor grin devilishly—but then Pan nods to Victor, and Victor to the huge brunette, "We're leaving, Mr. Smee."
Smee, the bosun, bellows, "Still the guns, and stow 'em! Signal the men, set the flags, and make good to clear port!"
For the first time since the attack began, the booming of the guns ceases. Mary is surprised—and relieved. The pirates hustle to follow orders. Victor turns away. Pan is gone. Again, and so is his shadow.
"Wait!" Mary rushes after Victor, "You must return me to shore! According to the rules of the Order of the Brethren—"
Victor wheels on her, "First. Your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement, and so I must do nothing. Secondly: you must be a pirate for the Pirate's code to apply. And you're not. And thirdly... the code is more what you'd call... guidelines than actual rules."
He grins gold and silver platinum at her, "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, Mrs. Watson."
Mary stares in speechless terror, and reels backwards, where she is grabbed by the Twins, Pintel and Ragetti, who twirl her around, screaming to her, "Let's hear a story, mum!"
"Come on, tell us a bedtime story mum!"
As the Black Pearl turns out to sea, Mary is led back along the deck to the captain's cabin. The fog starts to dissipate, turning to a light mist; through it, the Black Pearl makes for the scarlet glow of dawn.
If you're going to ask me whether I was watching 'Once Upon A Time' this weekend, well... you already know the answer :D
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