Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Pirates of the Caribbean, and I don't claim to.

Chapter Six
The HMS Albatross, Port Royal, Jamaica

The summons from Beckett came early the next morning, as James sat at his desk eating breakfast. The only surprise he felt reading the short and concise letter was that Beckett hadn't sent for him the day before. He finished the rest of his simple toast and swallowed the last dregs of his tea.

Only his finest uniform would do for a meeting such as this. He pulled on his heavy blue coat, his single epaulette of a vice-admiral shaking merrily on his shoulder. His wig rested carefully on his head, his hat deftly atop it, his britches clean and white, his shoes shined. James stood in front of his small mirror and composed his face so that it was absent of any guilt.

Of course, he thought, this might be completely unnecessary. Beckett might have already learned of Jack's presence from one of his many spies. He wouldn't be surprised, the way his luck was holding. And if he had found out, it would be disastrous, not only for Jack, but for James, as well. Beckett wouldn't tolerate being lied to.

He took a quick detour before leaving the Albatross. The two guards he had assigned to watching the prisoners stood and saluted as he entered. Behind them, he saw Jack struggle through the close press of bodies to the front of the brig.

"No one is to let any of the prisoners out unless you hear the orders coming directly from my mouth. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

The walk to the East India Trading Company's headquarters in Port Royal was like a death march. It was only a few minutes away from the dockside, but James could only see the masked hangman and the swinging noose ahead of him. Beckett wouldn't hesitate, he knew. If he suspected anything at all–

He was let in by one of Beckett's servant and led up the stairs. He had been in his office before, so many times that he could have easily found his way to the spacious room if he were blinded – which was not an unlikely turn of events.

The man bade James to wait in the hall. He stepped inside and said, "A Vice-Admiral Norrington to see you, my Lord."

James heard a faint "show him in." The man opened the door wide enough for James to walk past and quietly shut it behind him. From the east-facing windows came a warm glow of the early morning sun. Through the long window directly ahead of him, he could see the harbor, just beginning to wake up.

Beckett was at his desk, bent over some papers that he was reading with obvious boredom. Seemingly completely oblivious to James's arrival, he continued working, jotting down a few notes and violently scratching out a sentence or two, before he finally looked up. A tolerant smile tweaked the corners of his mouth.

He indicated the chair in front of him. "Sit, James." He pushed aside the piles of accounts and reports and clasped his pale hands in front of him on the desk. "I expect you know I summoned you here for a reason, not just for a little chat with your patron."

"I expected so, sir."

"Good," he said, smiling. He stood slowly and walked over to a tray of food James hadn't noticed before. He watched Beckett warily, but didn't move. "I haven't had any time for breakfast all morning. Would you care to join me? Tupper overcooked my bacon; perhaps you would like it instead?" He glanced over his shoulder at James and then turned to lean back against the edge of the table. "You're looking rather nervous today, James." He grinned.

God help me, he knows! James cleared his throat and shifted in the chair, crossing a leg and attempting to appear relaxed and innocent. "Nervous, my Lord? What cause have I to be nervous?"

Beckett turned back to his breakfast. "I haven't a clue." He pulled out a chair and sat down, picking up his silverware. Before he began eating, he gestured impatiently for James to take the seat across from him. James obliged reluctantly.

Finished with one square of toast, Beckett said suddenly, "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I've brought you here."

James nodded, silent. Mr. Mercer, well-known as Beckett's mercenary, was probably waiting behind him with the cuffs and the death warrant.

"As you may remember, after you disgraced yourself by letting a certain Jack Sparrow escape, I was the only person there for you. I vouched for your loyalty, your skill. I paid for your commission."

"I remember it very well, my Lord," James said quietly, "and I thank you."

"Yes." Beckett was watching him shrewdly, chewing an overcooked bacon strip. "And as your patron, I feel that I should be able to call a favor of you at any time of my choosing. Wouldn't that be a reasonable assumption?"

"Yes, sir."

He paused, watching James. Then he said, "You will have a guest on your ship when you next leave port."

"Sir?" James sat up straighter in his chair. A guest? If he were forced to spend weeks aboard the same vessel as Beckett or Mercer, someone would end up dead, and James guessed it would be himself. He doubted he was quite brave enough to kill a man of such power. And Mercer would probably think of it first.

"Yes," Beckett said thickly through a mouthful of bacon. "He is one of my men – well, he wasn't until a few days ago. He will be carrying out a special request for me."

"Am I to run errands for you, sir?" James could hardly contain his annoyance. "With all the danger in these waters, with all the pirates attacking our settlements, I do not have the spare time to go out of my way to cater to your every whim."

Beckett looked up at him, completely unconcerned by James's open hostility. Rather, he seemed to expect it of him. "Oh no, you have me wrong; you won't be asked to go out of your way. His duty will likely be accomplished by his accompanying you."

"I don't understand."

Beckett swallowed his food. "Young Mr. Seward–"

James almost jumped out of his chair. "Seward? Edmund Seward?"

"You know the boy?" His lips twitched with an amused smirk.

It had been years since James had last seen Edmund. He had only been a boy then, a child. "My– Vice-Admiral Ingram was the boy's adoptive father. I know him well."

Beckett laughed aloud. "Well, then it is good fortune for you both!"

James settled back in his chair, a heightened sense of anxiety pulling at his nerves. Why would Edmund be working for Beckett? Ingram had never held the man in very high regard; ever since his arrival in the Caribbean, Beckett had been imposing himself in the Royal Navy's affairs, pushing them to commit more ships to protect the valuable shipments of cargo that Beckett's men carried. Ingram had expressed many times to James that the man would do better to–

Beckett interrupted James's thoughts. "Young Edmund will be carrying out a very important mission for me." He was taunting James.

"What mission, my Lord?"

"Of course you remember our friend Jack Sparrow."

"Very well, sir."

"Edmund is going to kill him for me."

James's heart nearly stopped; he coughed violently. He was unable to hide his surprise quickly enough. "Kill him?"

"Why? Is there a problem? Do you plan on pleading for the life of the man that nearly ended yours?"

His angry conversation at the Turners' echoed in James's mind. He said quietly, "No. But, if I may ask it, what is it that makes my Lord think that his accompanying me will help him find the pirate?" He tried to force away the thought of Jack, not even a mile away, locked and hidden in the brig of his ship.

"You will be around pirates," Beckett said impatiently. "He's bound to show up eventually. I know Jack; he is drawn to lawlessness, chaos."

James hardly heard what Beckett said, other than short snippets of his words. His mind was busily spinning. Edmund couldn't set foot on the Albatross. He would have to find a way to prevent him, or at least a way to delay it so that he could move Jack or ensure that Edmund sailed on a different ship.

"–tions?"

James snapped his head up, met Beckett's gaze. He was losing patience. "What?"

"I said, 'Do you have any objections?' Norrington, you're acting very strangely today."

"I didn't sleep much last night," he said absently. Quickly, he said, "But I do have an objection."

Beckett raised his eyebrows skeptically and sat back in his chair. "Continue."

"I wonder about the boy's safety. Sparrow may be a fool, but he's a dangerous fool. Edmund is still just a child; there is no way that he would ever be able to stand against Sparrow."

"I thought of that." He didn't add anything more; no soothing words, no deft assurances of the boy's safety.

Alarmed, James said, "And what did you conclude?"

Quietly, maliciously, Beckett said, "Well, he is not my son."

"So you would send him to his death?" James's hands gripped the arms of his chair, and his knuckles shone white, his veins a pale blue. He found himself wondering what Ingram would have done in his situation. Certainly he wouldn't have bowed down and let his foster son go merrily to be slaughtered.

He remembered something Ingram had said to him once, after he had refused to hang a prisoner: There are some orders, James, which are never meant to be followed. He had said this to him as James carefully cleaned the wounds on his back, great long rips from the cat-o'-nine-tails.

Ingram would have stopped this.

"James." He looked up to meet Beckett's eyes and tried his hardest to channel the iron will of his deceased mentor. "Tell me, do you fight so valiantly against Edmund's accompanying you out of interest for the boy, or perhaps for some other reason?" Something shifted behind Beckett's eyes, beneath the carefully pleasant mask. "You are fighting rather valiantly, James."

"For the boy's interest," he said quickly. He took a deep breath. "He will not come, not on my ship. This is wrong, no matter how I look at it. He will be throwing his life away when he has clearly earned much more than a meaningless death. I refuse."

Part of Beckett's calm mask fell away. He frowned. "He is a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and you suggest that there is a difference between these two employments? He will die an early death in either case. And, being a Navy man yourself, would you deny that it is an honorable trade?"

Without thinking through what he would say, James snapped, "At least in the Navy he is fighting to protect his country's interests, not yours."

Beckett glared at him with open hostility now. His breakfast lay forgotten and cold before him on the table; his hands balled into tight fists. His jaw worked, his breathing quickened. Finally he said in a dangerously low voice, "If he doesn't sail from this port on this ship, than neither shall you."

James looked down. His life without a commission was not one he wanted to relive.

"I insist, Norrington." His voice was hard, not to be questioned or denied.

He said a quick, silent apology to Ingram for not having the strength enough. He nodded.

Some of the tension went out of Beckett's face. He stared James down until he was sure he wouldn't trouble him any longer with his defiance. Then he looked over to the far corner of the room, over James's shoulder. "Mr. Mercer."

James turned only slightly to glance over his shoulder. Mercer stepped silently out of the shadows and placed his pistol back into his coat. He had been listening the whole time, ready to step in to further convince Norrington if necessary.

"Please escort James out, Mercer."

James stood and walked to the door with as much dignity as he could feel beneath the weight of Ingram's inevitable disapproval and anger – wherever he may be.

Beckett stopped him for a word before he opened the door. "I expect that you will be leaving Port Royal tomorrow. I will bring Edmund to the HMS Albatross in the morning."

"Yes, my Lord."

---

The first thing James did, as soon as he was free and out of sight of Beckett's headquarters and Mercer's unnerving stare, was walk straight to the docks. He stopped the first boy dressed in a lieutenant's uniform with a rough grip on his arm. "Do you know Edmund Seward?"

The boy looked surprised. "Er. Yes, sir." His eyes darted nervously to James's epaulette, and his hand went automatically to his forehead in a salute.

"Where is he, do you know?"

The lieutenant took in James's anger and agitation in one wary once-over. Hesitantly, he asked, "Would he be in much trouble, sir?"

"No," James snapped impatiently. "I need to speak with him. Urgently."

"Oh." Another nervous glance. "He– I mean to say, I think– I think I saw him in a tavern. Over there. On the corner."

James was off at a brisk pace before the boy had even finished. He peered up at the sign of the indicated tavern: the Thirsty Sailor. He pushed open the door and cast about, searching for Edmund's familiar face.

A sharp laugh towards the back of the establishment drew his attention. A group of sailors, still in their uniforms, sat clustered together around the bar, a couple plates of bread and meat and cheese spread out between them. They continued talking and laughing until one of them saw James approaching. He nudged the others and they all hurriedly stood and saluted him.

Edmund was toward the back of the group. He saw James first. "Uncle?"

The other boys turned to him, shocked. Some of his friends questioned him quietly, but he remained staring at James, more surprised than frightened. James beckoned to him. Edmund extricated himself from the crowd, muttering quick apologies. He walked ahead of James out the door.

But the minute they were on the street, Edmund spun around with a wide grin on his face. "Did you see the looks on their faces when they saw you? I thought Nate was going to vomit he was so frightened. And their reactions when I called you 'uncle'?" He laughed easily. "It's good to see you again!"

"We've been through this before, Edmund. I really would appreciate it if you would stop calling me that. It gives people the wrong impression."

"Father told me I could."

Norrington spoke without thinking. "Well, he wasn't really your father." The boy's sudden stricken look reminded James what he was dealing with. Ingram hadn't been dead more than a few months; and Edmund had been so fond of him. He sighed. "I'm– sorry, Edmund. I just– I'm under quite a bit of pressure, right now. I saw Lord Beckett this morning."

"Did you?" His tone was distant, disinterested. He was sulking like a little boy. James couldn't help but remember the days he had spent with Ingram, interacting awkwardly with the hyperactive youth.

He stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and turned Edmund to face him. "Did you agree to work for him? For Beckett?"

"I asked to. I wanted to; I want to." He wouldn't meet James's eyes.

"Why?" James said angrily. "Have you considered the dangers involved?"

"Of course I have," he said quietly.

"This is not a job meant for you, Edmund. Beckett is using you. He knows that you will die–"

"And maybe I will!" He pulled out of James's grasp. "Maybe I will die; I probably will. But you're wrong; I am meant for this. You might remember my mother." He was shaking with emotion and having a hard time keeping is voice steady and even. "They took me from her. Don't I deserve the satisfaction of showing these pirates the pain they put me through? Don't I deserve revenge?"

"You have had a hard life, Edmund, but so have we all. I've lost many friends to pirates; I almost lost my own life at the other end of a pirate's pistol more times than I can count. But I know that killing Sparrow will do nothing to heal you."

Edmund walked away. James watched him walk up the street, turn a corner, disappear from sight. He didn't have the heart to stop him.

Author's Note: This will probably be my last post for a few weeks. I'm going on vacation, and I have no idea if I'll be able to access the internet where I'm going. So expect this story to be quiet for a bit. (But don't let that keep you from reviewing!)
Thanks for the reviews! Keep reading! (: