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

Chapter Eleven
The HMS Albatross, anchored just outside of Port Antonio, Jamaica, Caribbean Sea

Beckett. Beckett, paying pirates to do just what he had sent James out to stop? There was someone lying, and James hated not knowing who it was. For the time being, he would assume it was these men.

He expressed his disbelief with proper disdain. "Beckett wouldn't go to pirates for help."

The pirates glared at him, annoyed. "Well, he did."

James shook his head. "No, he couldn't. It doesn't make any sense. He sent me here to protect this port from people like you. And since I have written proof of these orders, signed by his own hand–"

One of the pirates caught his blunder before he'd even realized he made one. "Wait," he said, interrupting James. "What do you mean he sent you?" The answer was fairly obvious, and however much grog they might have drunk before the battle, they weren't stupid. The three of them recoiled away, and the pirate continued, "Fucking bastards. You're all in on this, aren't you? All Navy men? Undercover as pirates, my arse. Fucking trying to gain our trust by lying to us–"

"That will do," James said curtly. Edmund readied his rifle to punctuate his order. "You and the rest of your crew are now under arrest by the Royal Navy for acts of treason against the English Crown–"

In a last show of defiance, the men were shouting as loud as they could, protests, oaths, and warnings to their comrades on deck. They were quickly subdued when Edmund, close to their heads and behind them, cocked his pistol.

"You will cooperate," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice in the fresh silence. "And you will behave nicely, because, you should know, if it were up to me, I would have you all shot on the spot." He stood up to his full height. "Unfortunately, that decision isn't in my hands. We will let Lord Beckett decide what to do with you."

"Thank God!" one of the pirates exclaimed.

He pulled the pistol out of his belt, held it at his side in full view; that quieted them. "If you become difficult, I'll shoot you with a second thought. I doubt Lord Beckett would care very much either way."

James rapped sharply on the glass in the doors behind him, and his men came streaming in at once, rifles at the ready; there was a surprising lack of any struggle as they escorted the men belowdecks. Fools, James thought. They think that Beckett is on their side.

Jack was bent over double, moving very slowly and close to the ground, trying to escape around James along with the crowd of men streaming out. But before Jack could walk out the doors of the cabin, James grabbed a handful of his coat and long, matted hair, and pulled him upright.

"That goes for you, too, Jack."

Jack smiled at him, a quick darting smile, more of a grimace.

"Do you think they were telling the truth, Uncle?" Edmund was sitting in the corner, on the floor and near a small puddle of blood from the injured pirate's wound. "Is Beckett–?" He looked confused, more like a child than one of Beckett's mercenaries.

"I doubt it," James said, but he frowned. It was completely implausible, the facts didn't match up, but he couldn't help but wonder. "It makes no sense. Even Beckett isn't enough of a fool to–"

"If I may?" Jack said, raising his hand slightly, still hunched awkwardly for James' grip on his coat. "I believe I've known Beckett longer than the both of you, so might I have some input?"

"Your information is outdated, Jack."

He shrugged. "From what I've observed, James–" He grinned. "–he's still the same manipulative bastard he was when I knew him. People may change, but they don't change that much, especially when what they're doing gets them a high position of power and lots of monies and women."

James squinted down at Jack. He had to have an angle, probably was going to demand that James ensure his survival after all of this was over; but since he had very little control over that–

He steered Jack over to one of the chairs in front of his desk and forced him down before taking his own seat across from him. Edmund sat warily in a chair very near to Jack's. When Jack didn't immediately start talking, James prompted him: "Do you think Beckett's paying the pirates?"

Jack coughed politely into his hand. "My throat is a little parched." His eyes wandered over to the crystal glasses full of alcohol in one of James' cabinets. "It would be easier for me to say if perhaps I had something to wet it."

James didn't move. "We could get you some seawater, if you'd like."

Jack met his gaze and for a moment there was absolutely no amusement in his eyes, no mockery. He broke the stare first, letting out a quiet scoff of laughter and looking down at his hands. "Let me be frank with you, James: I have spent the past weeks locked up in that goddamn brig of yours with not even enough place to sit down in and the only nourishment I've had has been moldy bread and spoiled water. I want a drink. Savvy?" His eyes were hard, even if his mouth was smiling.

James worked his jaw – something clicked, and he wasn't sure if that was normal, if he jaw always clicked like that, or if he had been grinding his teeth so much in the past weeks that he had somehow managed to damage the bones. Finally, he returned Jack's bitter smile and stood to pour Jack a drink.

Even before he handed Jack a glass full of brandy, Jack said, "It seems like it would be Cutler's style to do something like this, playing both sides against each other for his own amusement." He took a generous gulp of the alcohol and coughed several times, his eyes watering. He looked to be in ecstasy. "Ah, how I've missed that taste."

"Then you think Beckett has been paying pirates?"

Jack easily finished off the rest of the drink and set the glass on the table in front of him. He shook his head, waiting for the burn to reside. "No, you didn't let me finish," he said. "I could see Beckett doing something like that in other matters, but when his business in involved, he has very little sense of humor. Unless he's truly lost it since last I spoke to him – completely possible, as he was already on the way when I worked for him – he wouldn't ever dare wasting money by giving it to pirates who probably wouldn't carry out his orders anyways."

Edmund leaned forward. "Then why were they saying that Beckett was paying them? Wouldn't it have done them better to just tell us that they were undercover as well, or that they had a Royal Pardon, or something? Why would they hit upon that defense of all things?"

"Would you have believed them if they'd told you that they were working for the King?" Jack said, raising an eyebrow. Edmund shook his head. "There! You have your answer. What are we doing now? We're considering the plausibility of their words; you're half-convinced that they're telling the truth. It's just far-fetched enough to get us wondering, not ridiculous enough to allow us to see through their lie right away." He sat back and said to himself, "In fact, that would be very handy; I'll have to remember that one."

James hated that he was relying on Jack; he was a pirate himself, probably looking out for his fellow outlaws in ways that James couldn't yet see. But still he said, "They're not working for Beckett?"

Jack shrugged. "You'll have to ask Beckett that. But in my opinion, he is much too– crafty to get himself caught up in such an uncertain and undesireable deal."

Edmund exchanged a glance with James.

"Hey," Jack said suddenly. James snapped his attention over to the pirate again to see him leaning across Edmund to grab something hanging off his throat. He tugged lightly on it when Edmund began to struggle violently to get away. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just wondering what this is that you've got here."

"Sparrow," James said sharply.

Jack shot James a glare. "Relax, both of you. I'm just curious."

Edmund stopped struggling, watching Jack with wild eyes. He looked ready to bolt, but how he would escape with Jack holding onto one end of a tightly tied tether around the boy's neck, James didn't know. He brought his pistol out and held it on the desk, pointing at Jack.

But Jack seemingly noticed none of this. He opened his tightly clenched fist and looked curiously at what he found inside. Gradually, a new expression too over his features. "Where did you get this?"

James leaned over and saw what had caught Jack's attention: it was Edmund's ring, the one that had belonged to his mother.

Edmund recoiled slightly, and the ring fell out of Jack's palm and swung lightly into Edmund's chest. "Why?"

"Just curious."

"Why?" James recognized this as the boy's way to evade questions, something he had used on James many times when he was younger, and many more times on Ingram.

Jack let his hand drop. "Nothing," he said, his voice sounding thoughtful. "It just looked familiar, is all. But there are probably lots of rings out there like it."

Edmund's brow creased and he looked ready to launch into a heated defense of his mother's ring, of its charm and beauty and value, but James spoke first. "Edmund, if you'll please escort Sparrow back to the brig. When you've made sure the brig is secure and locked up, come back here – I'd like to speak with you."

Edmund shot him a sullen glare but pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed Sparrow roughly – perhaps more roughly than necessary – by the arm, hauling him to his feet as much as could a wiry young man who hadn't had his growth spurt and probably never would.

Before the stepped out, Jack turned around and bowed low to James, sweeping his hat off in a wide arc. "I bid you adieu, sir."

Edmund tugged sharply on his arm and all but pushed him towards the two swinging doors. Before the closed behind the pair, Jack stopped Edmund and said in a confidential voice, leaning close to the boy. "You didn't happen to chance upon this–" He tugged sharply at the ring strung around Edmund's neck. "–did you? Maybe lying out on the streets somewhere?"

Edmund jerked away from Jack and said curtly, finally at the end of his patience. "It was my mother's."

"And your mother–"

"Is dead."

"Ah."

The doors swung shut with a loud clack and the rest of their conversation – if there was any more – was muffled.

James let his shoulders slump, scooted forward in his chair, and rested his head in his hands. The silence made it easier to think, after all the excitement of just a few minutes ago; unfortunately, it also had the adverse effect of making it easier to remember what he had done. He peeked to the side, leaned back a bit; the bright red pool of blood was still there, congealing.

He clasped his hand tightly over his mouth.

Of course he had shot men before, many more men that he cared to admit, but all those times, it was impersonal, far away, him or the pirates. Mercy – sometimes he gave them mercy, an honorable death during battle instead of at the end of the rope. He had never thought of that as honorable. But then again, he had never shot a defenseless man before.

He would have killed me, were he in the same position. He really was being merciful; pirates weren't known for their forgiveness, and neither was the Royal Navy. He shot the man for the good of all, to get information that might save many lives.

But they hadn't got the information because he shot the man – if anything, his rashness had the opposite effect. They had only got what information they needed when he brought Sparrow up and after a fellow pirate coaxed it out of them.

A small part of his mind – perhaps larger than he cared to admit, but very carefully locked away, buried, chained, gagged – said, Ah, but it felt good, didn't it, holding another's life in your hands?

"Oh God," James said, suddenly feeling cold and sick. "Oh God, I'm turning into Beckett."

The doors banged open, Edmund halted his building tirade when he saw the expression on James' face. He was more reserved, more careful; he watched with wariness as James tried to compose his face. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes."

James motioned to the chair in front of him. Edmund sat down slowly, as though James were a wild animal that would spring at the slightest provocation.

His eyes went first to the place where the ring hung around his neck. "Is it still there? Sparrow has a nasty habit of filching pretty things." James tried a weak smile; it held.

Edmund clasped his hand around the ring without looking at it, without having to look at it. "What did you want to speak to me about?"

James sighed, leaning back in his chair as if he could make Edmund feel more at ease by appearing to be calm. "We'll be heading back to Beckett now, to hand over the prisoners and hopefully put both them and their lies to rest."

Edmund looked down at his hands. "Oh."

James decided to get right to his point. "The first thing he'll ask you will be if Sparrow's dead."

"Probably."

"What will you tell him?"

Edmund met his eyes, no emotion showing on his face. "What do you want me to say?"

James smiled; it was his turn to look away. "You're an adult. I wouldn't presume to tell you what to say to your employer."

Edmund looked out the warped glass of one of the windows, silent and tense. Finally, he said, "I suppose that I have to tell him the truth."

James closed his eyes and held his breath, facing away.

"I mean, he hired me to capture him, right? And Sparrow's a pirate, like the rest of them. He's probably done worse things than some of them. And if he happens to escape before you think it's the right time–" There was venom in his voice now. "–I'll never be able to forgive myself. What if he kills again?"

James' jaw felt almost too tight to move enough to speak. "If you tell Beckett that Jack is hidden on my ship, he'll inevitably find out from either Sparrow or yourself or one of my men or one of the other pirates that we've had him much longer than a few days. And if he finds that out–" He had heard stories about what Beckett did to people who disobeyed him: cutting off joints, fingers, hands, blinding, branding, cutting, whipping, prison, death. Jack himself had defied him once, and only his uncanny luck had allowed him to escape before Beckett finished him. He spoke with emotion in his voice. "If he finds out that I've been lying to him all this time, he'll kill me."

Edmund's face reddened, and he said hotly, lowering his voice as though Beckett really did have spies in the walls. "And if I don't tell him, he'll find out eventually, and then we'll both die."

James spoke in an equally savage murmur. "I have worked too hard for this to let you go and ruin everything. Stop being such a child," he snapped. "Stop only thinking of yourself. This is bigger than just your selfish desire for revenge, Edmund."

"Oh, and you should talk. What have you had to sacrifice?" he spat. "Look at you– you're disobeying your oaths to the King, all to keep your position–"

He slammed his fists down on the table. "Shut it! Do you think that I like who I've become? I don't enjoy this, Edmund; but there's no other way."

Edmund stared back at him, silent and defiant.

James sighed in frustration. "Get out. Give the men orders to sail back to Port Royal."

---

A calm settled over him as the day gradually brightened.

It was then that he resolved that he would have to lock Edmund away as soon as they made port. He couldn't risk anything.

Author's Note: Wow, has it really been that long since I last posted? Stay tuned, dear readers, because this is where it begins to get very, very interesting. And thanks a ton for your reviews! Any feedback, constructive criticism, gushing, whatever is greatly appreciated. (: