Was there no end in sight of this insurmountable hell? The bars that made up the Flying Dutchman's brig chilled James' fingers, the soft, mossy texture on them rubbing onto him. His exhausted body longed to let his back fall against the bulkhead, but he didn't want to stick to anything. Sparrow seemed to feel the same way, standing in the center of their cell, a finger on his chin. He watched him scrutinize the bars, deep in thought. To think these same eyes that sacked ports and emptied legitimate merchant ships had beheld El…Miss Swa…Captain…what a topsy-turvy world, to say the least.
"Come, come, Jamie-lad, you're about to burn a hole in me if ye keep it up."
"Why are you even here?" Sparrow looked at him as if he'd failed to understand a joke.
"The key."
"Still chasing after that bloody key?" James held his head back. To hell with sticking to the bulkhead. A few of the hairs fell out of his tail, clinging to the seaweed texture just as he'd predicted. "I would have thought with your recent good fortune…" He couldn't bring himself to continue.
"I fancy Calypso has someone else in mind for the task, but chests don't very well open unless the appropriate key turns the lock, so someone must be here to find the key and transport it to the chest. That's called fruition."
Smug to the last. To be locked in his pirate ship's brig was one thing, but to be locked up with Jack Sparrow himself made his knees buckle with rage. It took a split second for his brain to channel the umbrage into a swift drawing back of the arm. He swung right into him, knocking him off his feet and onto the stony floor. Still on the ground, the only sound between the two was that of Sparrow cocking his pistol, the barrel pointed right between his eyes.
"Ye don't want to be doin' that, mate," he said, his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. James stood frozen while Jack picked himself back up, the pistol unwavering. His eyes took on a steely fire. "Ye see we all need the key, and to have the key we must find a way out, and to get out, I need to be in possession of all me faculties, savvy?"
"Don't…"
"I'd have but one qualm over shooting you now, Captain." He bit the last word. "Now don't put me in the mood to ignore it."
Sickeningly arrogant, James thought, watching Sparrow stow his weapon without waiting for an affirmation. The man rubbed his jaw with his free hand and resumed his examination of the bars, his forehead crinkling.
"Fine," he said. "If you think of something, tell me." A plan turned in his own mind, finding his way back to the Black Pearl and demanding of Barbossa where he had stashed the Pieces of Eight.
"Think like the whelp. Think like the whelp," he heard Sparrow repeat to himself. "Half barrel hinges! Leverage!"
"What?"
"Leverage! Pry open the door. With what? With that." Unsheathing his sword, he slid onto the floor and stretched it under the bars for a large piece of wood on the other side.
Ah. Leverage.
"Here." He loosened the belt strapped around his chest and squatted onto the floor, snaking the belt until it hit the wood, sliding it closer to them. "Now do it."
Jack stretched his arm as far as it would go and scraped the tip of his sword into the beam. Pulling, he lurched it through into the cell. They pried the door open and crept through the labyrinthine hull of the ship to the main cabin. Both had their pistols drawn and both knew what little that did on this ship.
"Looks as if two of your men are guarding it," Jack said, keeping his eyes on the chest. "Now perhaps if you can go in and do a little bit of admiral-worthy acting you can correct your previous…Commodore?" He brought his arm up to his face before he turned, remembering how the pounding headache waking up after an oar hit you in the face felt. He was alone. "Norrington?" he hissed down the corridor. Nothing. Well. That can't be good. "James?"
Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent underneath it, he thought, rolling his eyes at the absence. Strutting into the cabin, he flashed a smile at the familiar soldiers with their muskets and bayonets crossed over their bodies.
"Stop or we'll shoot!" the stockier one said.
"Good one. Admirable though it may be, why are you upstanding gentlemen here when you could be elsewhere?" He pointed up toward the deck, the sound of cannon fire thundering above them like a squall.
"Someone has to stay and guard the chest."
"There is no question, there has been a breakdown in military discipline aboard this vessel," one of them said to the other.
"I blame the fish people."
"Oh! So fish people, by dint of being fish people, automatically aren't as disciplined as non-fish people?"
"Seems contributory, is all I'm suggesting."
Well, they certainly hadn't changed, Jack thought, finding their banter a bit endearing.
"It is true, if there were no fish people, there would be no need to guard the chest."
"And if there were no chest, we wouldn't need to be here to guard it." They both glanced behind them to find Jack, and the chest, gone.
James cut through the horde of Davy Jones' crew like he was in a thicket, swiping at everything in sight until he caught sight of some rope. Swinging over the smoke and shouting, he stumbled down onto the deck, his fingertips all that was keeping him from falling. Racing over to the mast, he gripped Tia Dalma's ropes, the woman behind them all keeping her eyes on him, like she had been expecting him.
"Do you want to be set free?"
"You da one to come to do it?"
"They won't last without you."
"Ha! What makes you tink I would protect dem?" He cut through her ropes like a wild man. Shredding them like a well-born lady's layers, he weaved through the fight, sword still drawn. It didn't matter who saw him. The swords and shouting of the enemy kept them occupied. Throwing her over his shoulder, he hurried down the steps. Resting on a chair off to the side was the bowl that held all nine Pieces of Eight. Convenient, Barbossa, he thought. Most convenient.
"If I remember my stories correctly, the brethren court wouldn't have even known what to do if someone hadn't told them. Who told them how to imprison you? Who was it?"
"Davy Jones." He eyes flashed a terrible red. She leaned her head into him, soaking in his proximity. "Ye best know to keep up wid me." A wide grin spread across her face.
"That won't be a problem."
"Batten down the hatches! Stick to your guns!" Gibbs ran back and forth between the men before positioning himself at the end with his own rifle.
Another wave of soldiers and crewmen descended upon them on the deck of the Pearl, swords and pistols ready for bloodshed.
"Barbossa!" Elizabeth yelled across the deck to him. "We need you back at the helm!"
"Aye, that be true!" She took a step back, surprised at the rapid speed with which the man swiped away at every obstacle in front of him just to make it to the steps and up to the helm. Bringing her sword up just in time to block a side attack from one of the soldiers, she spun around and greeted her assailant with a coquettish smile before taking the offensive.
Mary hovered above the action, flying from the Black Pearl's sails to those of the Flying Dutchman, scanning the deck for any sign of James. Below, the door to the main cabin opened to reveal Jack tiptoeing out, the chest tucked under his arm. Just when she was sure she wouldn't like the man, she thought, clasping her hands together. Her eyes widened at the sight of Davy Jones himself coming up right behind him.
"Well, looky here, gents, a lost bird! A lost bird that never learned to fly."
Not if Mary Read has anything to say about it, she thought, pursing her lips together and swooping down to Jack, blending in with the sails.
"To my great regret," she heard him say as he stuck out on arm, draping it over her. "But never too late to learn, eh?"
She shot back up into the air with him in tow, flapping her wings so hard she felt they would snap right off of her. The laugh of one of the crewmen came straight for them. One of the crusty conch shell crewmen swung right into her, knocking Jack over onto the mast. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mary batted her wings at him and sent him crashing back down onto the deck. Behind her, the clashing of swords stung her ears. Davy Jones had already teleported himself up onto the mast, right in front of Jack.
"I know how to set ye free, mate," he said.
"My freedom was forfeit long ago." They parried against the thrashing sails, the wind howling across the horizon. Jack tried to keep the chest behind him.
"Throw the chest!" she shouted up at him. Jack flung it down to her, his eyes on Jones' sword.
"Fool!" Jones scoffed at him. "You can do nothing without the key!"
All in good time, Mary told herself, wondering if she let it plummet down onto the deck of the Pearl if it would smash open and expose the slippery heart. No. There was too much chance of it landing in the wrong hands. Oh where was James? Every chance at a familiar face was blocked with swords and smoke.
"Elizabeth!" she called. "Take the chest!"
Kicking away her latest adversary, Elizabeth opened her arms and caught the chest. Racing to the helm, she stopped to see Will battling two uniformed soldiers.
"Will!" Elizabeth dove in, sword ready, and pressed her back against his. They pushed off each other and into the attackers. They spun back around at exactly the same time, blocking each other's swords with a stiff laugh. "We have the chest! Hold onto it."
"Where's the key?" he asked. Shaking her head, she peered over the anarchy on the decks of both ships to see Jack and Davy Jones locked in their own sword fight up on the mast.
"Guard the chest," Elizabeth breathed, running over to the rigging and gripping a rope with white knuckles. Slicing at the rope, it sent her reeling onto the deck of the Flying Dutchman. One of the crewmen, an eel in sailor's clothing, snaked its head at her. She readied her sword.
Will clamored down the stairs below decks to hide the chest, his own heart pounding so loudly he could hear it. He remembered the small storage space on the other side of the staircase by the brig. Surely if Jack could bring back the key, they could come back down here without any trouble. He once again pushed out of his mind any doubt that James Norrington would want to stab the heart. He couldn't think about that right now.
Throwing a blanket off of a few crates, he set the chest in between them and covered it back up. His hand flew up to his forehead, allowing him to close his eyes and calm down, if only for a few seconds. They had half of the puzzle sitting right at his feet.
Without taking his eyes off it, Will walked backwards returning to the staircase, only to hear a final groan deeper within the storage. Holding his breath, he kept his hand on the handle of his sword, creeping closer to where he thought he had seen movement. The hold was filled to the brim with crates and boxes, all encased in a shadowy din. Bunching up some of a ratty blanket in his fists, he pulled the whole thing up in one motion.
"Turner?"
"Norrington?"
A/N: Hee hee, the goal of this chapter was for the chest to change as many hands as possible. The innocent flower bit is from Macbeth. The chapter title comes from King Lear, my least favorite of Shakespeare's plays that I've read/seen. I am an absolute sucker for anything that refers to Jack as a bird or compares him to such. Plus the "lost bird who never learned to fly" has to go in my Top Ten Favorite POTC quotes because it's such a juicy villain line.