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

Chapter Seven
The HMS Albatross, Port Royal, Jamaica

Beckett collected Edmund early the next morning – as though he needed collecting; he was up all night for excitement – and delivered him to the HMS Albatross as promised.

Edmund was in the middle of his fifth rather nervous turn around the deck of the ship when he saw a carriage pull to a stop near the pier. He was leaning up against the rail in a heartbeat, peering futilely at the window in hopes of seeing if the carriage was for him.

The door opened and a tall man dressed in all black, except for his clean white collar, lowered the metal stairs and stepped down onto the street. Edmund thought he could see another figure farther inside, in the darkness. The man in black approached alone.

As he got closer, Edmund realized that he had seen him before – with Beckett. He was Lord Beckett's man. All his doubts – that maybe Beckett would change his mind, or maybe he was never serious to begin with, maybe this was James's attempt at an edifying experience – were immediately crushed by the sudden wave of relief inside him. He hesitated a moment, unsure of what to do.

There was so much that he now realized that he had to do: the gangplank had to be lowered, but he would need help for that, it was much too big for him to handle on his own; he had to collect his few belongings, which luckily were few, thanks to him being only just a lieutenant; his captain had to be notified; he had to say goodbye to his mates–

"You there!"

Edmund returned to the railing and tried to look composed. "Aye, sir?"

The man squinted up at him. "You're the boy– Seward, aren't you?"

"Aye, sir."

"Lord Beckett is waiting for you," he said, and part of his tone seemed to add, And he won't be waiting long.

"Aye, sir." Edmund glanced at the carriage again; still no physical sign of Beckett. He bowed quickly toward it – he could feel the eyes of the man concealed inside upon him – then went quickly about his duties.

He snuck into the midshipmen's quarters, careful not to disturb the sprawled bodies that covered the floor and swung close by in hammocks. He gathered up his bundled belongings, hardly more than a few pounds, and most of it clothes. He turned and looked around at all the sleeping faces of his friends, enemies, some of whom he had known since he first started sailing nine years ago.

He saw Nate's face among them and gripped his friend's shoulder hard.

Nate started, sat up, thought better of it and gripped his head in his hands, lay back down, moaned pitifully, then shot back up and said, "Oh shit, is it my watch?" before he saw the bundle in Edmund's arms. "What–? You're not leaving already, are you?"

Some of the other boys had begun to stir, so Edmund motioned for Nate to follow him into the cramped hallway.

With a quick glance back at their messmates, Nate whispered harshly, "You're leaving?"

"I told you before that I would." He glanced to the faint rays of light he could see from the ladders up to the deck. "I don't have much time," he said.

Nate furrowed his brows, then– "Wait right here." He rushed back into the midshipmen's berth; there was a loud thump and some shouts of protest. Nate appeared again, holding something in his hand. "Here," he said, pushing it into Edmund's hands. "I want you to have this."

Edmund looked down. It was a pistol, one that Edmund had admired before. It was delicately crafted and strangely heavy in his hands. "Nate–"

"You'll probably need it more than I will," he said. He gave Edmund a calculating look – Edmund had never told him exactly where he was going, other than that he had been commissioned to do a job for Lord Beckett. "Use it well – or, I guess I hope you won't have to. I hope that Beckett's hired you for some menial work, taking dictation, figuring accounts." He smiled and rested a hand on Edmund's shoulder, keeping him at arm's length; Edmund mirrored him.

What might have been an awkward, emotional moment was broken by Nate lightly boxing Edmund's ear.

Nate helped Edmund lower the gangplank; the man in black was still waiting on the dock, although he was looking less and less patient. He walked briskly up the plank as soon as it was stable and said briskly, "Where is your captain?"

"Er." Edmund glanced quickly at Nate, who was making a face behind the man's back. "I think he's still asleep, sir. But I can go get him."

"I will accompany you."

Edmund and Nate exchanged a look before Edmund started toward the captain's quarters.

He knocked hesitantly and was surprised to hear a very awake "Come in!"

The man in black brushed past him as he opened the door. Around the man's dark coat, Edmund saw his captain glare reproachfully at the intruder. "My name is Mercer," the man said. "I'm here to collect the boy on Lord Beckett's orders."

"Oh," the captain said, glare slipping off his face. "Yes, of course. I have his papers," he said, shuffling around his desk for them. He handed Mercer a small pile of untidy papers.

Mercer nodded curtly. "Lord Beckett is waiting," he said, mostly to Edmund.

The captain grabbed Edmund's arm. "He'll be there in a moment. Seward, I need to speak to you."

"Very well," Mercer said, but the sneer on his face said otherwise.

The captain waited until Mercer had closed the door behind him before saying quietly, "I spoke to the vice-admiral–"

"James?" He scowled. "And I suppose he told you that I'm unqualified for the job."

"No." He sat back down, looking tired. "He's worried about you Edmund. And, frankly, I am, too; he told me what Beckett would have you do."

Edmund asked warily, "What did he tell you?"

"Only that Beckett had put you up against a dangerous man."

"I can handle him," Edmund said firmly, and he thought of Nate's pistol now firmly in his belt, beneath his jacket. He didn't have to stay here and be lectured – the man wasn't even his captain anymore. "If you will excuse me, sir." He held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure working under you; you're an excellent captain."

He grasped Edmund's hand, and didn't let go when Edmund tried to pull away. "Good luck. Don't do anything Ingram wouldn't have wanted you to do."

Beckett's face was in the shadows when Edmund walked in, but he could see from the way that the man sat that he wasn't at all pleased being made to wait so long. As soon as the door closed, the carriage lurched forward, and Edmund, sitting across from Beckett, almost fell into his lap.

"Having doubts, Edmund?" Beckett asked, his voice quiet.

"No, sir."

"Good." Beckett leaned forward, and light from the window fell on his face, casting dark, unnatural shadows. "I would hate to have to find someone else on such short notice. It's bad business."

Edmund nodded, but he was still fuming. Everyone doubted his competence, treated him like he was still a child. But he was smart, and he knew it – after all, he passed the Lieutenant exam his first try. That ought to count for something. And even though pirates might be vicious and violent, none of them had any sense of strategy; Edmund had taken classes on strategy.

The ride to the HMS Albatross was a short one, just down the wharf, and Edmund wondered vaguely why they had taken a carriage at all. To arrive in style, he decided. They were all silent, and he avoided looking into either of the other two men's eyes.

Finally the carriage stopped suddenly. Out the window, Edmund could see the towering masts and limp canvas of the Albatross. He regarded her with a keen eye and decided that she was seaworthy enough. The ship was smaller than the HMS Minotaur, his previous post. She had less cannons, he noticed, quickly counting the number of gun ports on the side he could see, and her masts didn't look quite as majestic. But she was more graceful; where the Minotaur relied solely upon utter might and thick wood – much like her namesake – the Albatross was sleek and slim, made for the chase.

Mercer opened the door and lowered the steps. Beckett walked out before Edmund and started walking to the ship without waiting. The gangplank was down; Beckett was already up it and on the deck by the time Edmund reached the dock.

He was talking to James.

When Edmund cleared the top of the plank, James looked over to him and gave him a Significant Look. Edmund scowled back, but he realized quickly that he didn't know where he was supposed to put his belongings, since this wasn't his ship, so he had to stand around like an arse until James and Beckett finished talking.

"I expect I don't have to remind you of our agreement, James," Beckett was saying.

Edmund couldn't see Beckett's face, but he could see James's reaction to it. He frowned, a deep crease appearing between his brows. "How could I forget it, sir?"

"Ah, yes. Of course." There was a smile in his tone, patronizing. "You do have such a long memory, after all. But there is something else I must speak to you about, before you are under weigh–"

"Perhaps we could take this into my cabin?" He looked over to Edmund as Beckett and Mercer headed obligingly for the double doors. "Tom will help you find the way to the wardroom," he said and left Edmund standing alone on the deck, clutching his stuffed bag to his chest.

Someone gripped his shoulder. Edmund spun around; a tall man with an uneven mop of dark hair and leathery skin did his best to grin down at him, though it made Edmund feel more nervous than at ease. "This way," he said in a surprisingly soft voice. He jerked his head toward the familiar dark square of the ladder down to the lower decks. With one scarred hand – which, Edmund realized with a shock, had only four fingers – he grabbed his bag from his arms and started for the ladder. Edmund had no choice but to follow.

He wasn't sure why James had thought that he would need escorting to his sleeping quarters – one ship was much the same as another, especially Navy ships, which seemed to follow the motto "Sameness is godliness." The wardroom was exactly where he expected it to be.

"In here," said Tom, rather unnecessarily. "You get your own room now, however small it may be. Your quarters are behind the third door on the right." He shoved Edmund's bag back into his arms.

"Thank you," Edmund said, stumbling slightly. "But, er."

Tom stopped and looked back.

"Er, why am I bunking with the other officers? I'm not to have the duties of a lieutenant, am I? I was given to understand that as I am in the employ of Lord Beckett…" His voice trailed off.

"Well, that's to be determined, isn't it? Anyway, would you rather be sleeping on the deck, or with the other sailors, or in the hold?" Tom grinned. "I wouldn't complain too much if I were you; the wardroom isn't all that bad." And with that, he tromped off back above deck.

Edmund slowly opened the door Tom had indicated. It was no more than a few feet wide and a little longer than that. Edmund had grown used to sleeping amongst a score of other boys, their hammocks swinging in time with the dips and bucks of the ship; now he would be alone. He would appreciate the privacy. There was a small bed in the corner, but little else. He set his bag down on top of the bed.

He wasn't sure how long James and Beckett would be talking (he hoped it wasn't about him at all), and he wasn't sure exactly what he should be doing at the moment. It wasn't his ship – he was more of a guest – and he had only just arrived, so they couldn't expect him to help ready the ship for sail when he had no idea of this captain's certain quirks and unique rules.

It couldn't hurt to explore.

The gun decks were very much the same as the ones on the HMS Minotaur, except – as he had guessed – the Albatross had fewer guns. Not many fewer, mind, but the difference was notable. The crew would be smaller then, he thought.

He wandered aimlessly over each deck, looking around the odd corners, inspecting the galley, avoiding the eyes of the sailors that watched him suspiciously. He tried his best to project the confidence of a commissioned officer of the Royal Navy, a hired man of Lord Beckett, head of the East India Trading Company – and failed miserably. He was relieved when he heard two men speaking to each other, one of them saying something about "readying the sails." He would be alone below decks.

Well, mostly alone.

He was well below the water line by now, and everything was cooler and damp. He could fairly feel the pressure of the millions of tons of water pressing in on him from all sides.

Everything was dark, except for the faint light from the decks above, so he was surprised to see a flickering yellow glow of light ahead. He approached cautiously, readying a brisk speech about "inspecting" and "carry on, man."

Until he realized it was the brig. The candle flickered and he saw bodies, faces, like one huge, moving, breathing mass.

His first question was: Who are they?

His second was: Why are they still on the ship?

The only conceivable reason for which James would have stopped at port would have been to hand over prisoners he caught at sea – but they were leaving port, and these men were still huddled behind rusting iron bars.

His boot scuffed on one of the warped boards of the floor, and all faces turned to him. "Er."

"Don't recognize you," a voice said. For a moment, Edmund couldn't spot the speaker, until the man pushed forward from behind the wall of bodies in front of him. He pressed himself to the metal bars and rested his arms on horizontal rods, looking relaxed, in control. "Although, to be fair, I don't get out much to see the crew. I doubt I've even seen half of you."

This last bit was lost on Edmund. He almost had a fit. His quickened pulse drowned out any sound until the roar of his blood was the roar of ocean heard in a shell.

The man– the man from the poster. The man he was supposed to kill.

"You all right, boy?" Jack asked, squinting at him.

Edmund's hands reached for the Nate's pistol, which he realized with panic was back in his room, and he backed into the hallway. He heard Jack shouting faintly from somewhere behind him, but he took the stairs of the ladders two at a time until he had passed the deck of the wardroom and his weapons and was on the uppermost deck in the crisp air and amidst the crowd of men doing the necessary preparations to go to sea.

Beckett was just leaving James's cabin, Mercer close behind him, James himself following more slowly, his face stony and blank. "I hope to hear from you soon," he said to James as he started down the gangplank.

"Believe me, sir, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to come to you with a satisfactory report." His words were hollow and rehearsed.

Beckett smiled.

"James!" Edmund stumbled over to him. "Uncle! I must speak to you! Down there– I just saw–"

James clapped his hand over Edmund's mouth. The boy froze in shock.

Beckett had stopped at this and was looking back at Edmund with a level of interest he had never shown toward him. His eyes settled sharply on James. "What's this, James? A secret you've been keeping from me? Let the boy speak. What did you see, Edmund?"

James reluctantly let his hand fall to his side, but one he kept gripping hard onto Edmund's upper arm. He squeezed it, his fingers digging into Edmund's muscles.

Edmund quailed slightly under Beckett's intense stare. "I– I saw–" He looked up at James, who was staring back at Beckett. His mind screamed, No you fool! Idiot, such a stupid, good for nothing little turd, this isn't some game, this is life and Beckett wants this man for some reason or another and it's probably a good one, too, seeing as how he's a pirate and you should just tell him and be done with it and why is Uncle squeezing so hard, but why is the pirate on this ship, shit, Beckett will have me killed if I don't tell him–

"I saw a woman."

And the voice went silent, overpowered by the deafening rush of shame and shock of lying, and all he could think of was the look Ingram had given him once when Edmund had done something to embarrass him.

"A woman?" Beckett repeated, eyebrows rising mockingly. "My, James, I wouldn't have placed you as that kind of man."

"Must be one of my men's, sir," James replied quickly. "I will handle it."

"I do hope so," he said, but his mind was already on other, more important things. He walked off and stepped into his carriage without another word, followed always by his black shadow, Mercer.

The panic slowly dissipated. And with it came the realization of what he had done. "James!" he shouted suddenly, gripping his arms. "James, I have to tell him. I saw Sparrow! Sparrow! Sparrow is in your brig, and I have to tell Beckett–"

The carriage was out of view by now. James ripped his eyes away from the turn it had disappeared around and dragged Edmund to his cabin.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, bouncing slightly with the impact.

James slammed him against the wall in a moment.

Edmund sputtered in shock. "Wh– What– What are you doing? What–?"

"You saw nothing," James said savagely. There was something crazed in his eyes, like a cornered animal.

"It is Sparrow." He couldn't stop the hurt accusation from coloring his voice. He had never respected James – or anyone for that matter – as much as he had respected Ingram, but he would never expect James to sink this low.

James said nothing.

"I'm supposed to kill him, Uncle. You know this. As I remember it, you didn't think I would be able to, and now I'm starting to wonder why. Was it because you planned to protect him and you didn't think I would do everything in my power to get to him – kill you if I had to." These last words came in a rush, and even as he said them his voice shook and he knew he wouldn't ever be able to do it. He said the only thing that he thought might sway James. "Ingram would have done something."

The dangerous animal in his eyes faded, and he looked sadly at Edmund. "There are some orders, Edmund, that are never meant to be followed."

"This man is a pirate. He is dangerous–"

"Don't speak to me as though I don't realize that." James's jaw worked in frustration. "You're still too young, Edmund. You don't understand yet that there are greater evils out there, greater evils than just one man could ever create."

"I–"

"No, let me finish." He let off some of the pressure on his shoulders. "There are hoards of pirates endangering the lives of countless citizens of the England. People are dying, Edmund, people are dying because we don't have enough power on our side to stop their sheer masses. Innocent people are dying."

"And what does he–" Edmund jerked his head to the decks below, "–have to do with that?"

"He will be– useful" was all James said, and even that seemed to take effort.

"But–"

"Sir, ready to make sail!"

James turned to the door. "A minute."

The shadowy figure on the other side of the glass moved away.

Turning back to Edmund, he said briskly, "I won't speak of this any more. And I don't trust you enough to behave, so–" Out of his belt, he drew a set of irons. Edmund tried to struggle away from him, but James was a good deal taller, and he easily overpowered the boy and dragged him over to be locked onto the leg of his sturdy table, bolted to the floorboards. "Hopefully you'll be able to stay out of trouble here." He turned and walked out onto the deck.

"Get back here, damnit! Uncle! Let me go; unlock me! I know that you can hear me, you're not that far away yet! Goddamnit!"

He shouted himself out before too long, and he leaned his head back against the table leg, wrist smarting from tugging so hard, head aching from trying to stand too quickly and forgetting that he was sitting under a table.

James came back more than two hours later, to find Edmund valiantly battling to keep his drooping eyelids open, slouched over with his head poking out from beneath one of the table corners.

He bent down next to his adopted nephew and unlocked the iron around his wrist. "There," he said in soothing tones. "You can go belowdecks now, get some sleep. We can discuss your duties on the ship later, after you're not– after you've rested."

Edmund didn't immediately sit up, though the anger and indignation that again surged forth was enough to wake him up; his eyes stared forward moodily. He wanted to show him that he was the one in control of whether or not he was sleepy, not James. He was the one deciding when he wanted to go belowdecks.

James hovered by his side, out of his range of vision, seeming as though he wanted to say something. But finally he sighed, stood up, and pulled out the chair behind his desk and began working.

After a few minutes had gone by, Edmund got up and shuffled out, letting the door slam behind him. It was still before midday, but the main deck was less crowded now, as some of the men had retreated below, as they weren't on watch. Edmund was spared having to walk through the crowd of new faces, since the wardroom was on the deck above where the crew slept on the Lower Deck, but as he passed by one of the ladders that led below, he could hear the shouting and laughing.

There were some men in the small open room at the end of the narrow hallway, their figures thrown into shadow by the brilliant sunlight that streamed through the wide windows, but Edmund didn't feel like introducing himself just yet. He opened his door quietly and none of them seemed to notice – nobody said anything, at least.

He noticed now that there was part of that window in his room, and the brilliant ocean reflected the light of the sun back into his face. He also noticed that his bed didn't have any sheets, nor could he find any in the room. These were probably something he was supposed to have brought, but that everyone had neglected to tell him about.

Annoyed and in too bad a mood to go and inquire about obtaining sheets and a pillow, he shoved his bag onto the floor and curled up on the lumpy mattress. He would miss the comforting pressure of the canvas hammock that cradled him on all sides, leaving only a foot wide gap for air above–

Something hard rolled out on the floor from inside his sack.

He looked over the edge of the bed and immediately made a desperate grab for the object. It was cool against his palm, and just holding it made him feel a little better.

He uncurled his fingers and looked down at it – a ring, his mother's, or used to be, before she–

He knew it well; he had looked at it at least once a day, every day for as long as he could remember. Ingram had first given it to him when he began his service in the Navy at age ten. He hadn't told him much about it then, just that it had been his mother's and that he should keep hold of it with his very life. More of the truth would come out as he got older.

It was made of gold, molded into delicate designs on the surface – vines, animals, words in another language – and set in its top was a large, deep red stone. It was mostly opaque, but only because of the strange color; if Edmund turned it so that the light hit it right, he could see the engraving of a suit of arms that he didn't recognize – a lion on one side, a bird on the other, a pair of swords crossed between them. It just fit on his ring finger.

He had relaxed a good deal, holding the one thing that connected him to the family he had never known. Before he fell asleep, he heard Ingram say to him, out of the past, "This was your mother's, Edmund. Before she died, she had wanted you to have it, because, she said–"

"You knew her?" little Edmund asked eagerly. "You knew my mother? What was she like?"

Ingram smiled sadly. "No, Edmund, I didn't know her. But she was a fine woman, that I know, whatever anyone else will tell you."

Edmund stared up at Ingram for a moment, then said, "Why did she want me to have it?"

Ingram smiled and resumed from where Edmund had interrupted him. "She said that itt was the only thing that you would be able to remember her by, the only thing that would remind you of what you needed to do."

"What did she want me to do?" Edmund asked. "Do– do I have to– to kill pirates?" His voice squeaked at the end.

Ingram smiled. "Well, we will speak of that another day. But I think one of her deepest wishes was for you to find your father…"

Author's Note: The chapter that would not quit! I'm sorry that this took so long to update, but Real Life kept getting in the way of me writing this. I hope that this extra long chapter will make the long absence up to any of you out there that are actually reading this! Hopefully a few more updates this week, before I go off again for another few weeks. So, if you're enjoying this, please let me know! It always helps to know that you're writing something that other people can enjoy.

I learned something interesting while writing this chapter: Hello and its variants weren't used until the mid nineteenth century (as far as I can tell). So that makes me wonder: what did they say before, exactly? Anyone know?