Scurrying over to the fireplace, Elizabeth sifted through the various brushes and pokers for the branding iron. They must have taken it with them, she thought, her memory of her torture hazy at best. She remembered being branded, every agonizing detail, but the details of what was around her, of what they had with them, blurred. Picking up one of the pokers, she laid it over the logs on the fire and hustled back to Beckett's desk. Rifling through the drawers, she at last found a handkerchief. She crossed back to the fireplace and sat down next to it, fingering the ash on the stones.
"Sitting among the cinders?" Beckett asked, entering the room. She bunched the handkerchief up in her hand. "It's quite a reversal of fortune, isn't it? A tragic fairy tale? A rich governor's daughter reduced to sitting among the ash. I might have use for a maid once I find the chest, if I decide to keep you alive."
Elizabeth crouched, repositioning herself closer to the fire. Behind her back, she was already winding the handkerchief around her hand.
"Or perhaps you'll have other uses."
"I wouldn't bet on it," she said. "Where is Mr. Mercer?"
"He'll be along directly," Beckett said with a smug tone. "Of course, he need not come back if you'll tell me where the chest is this very second."
Her arm moved as slowly as it could, her fingers skittering along the stones like they were piano keys.
"Miss Swann," he sighed. "You leave me no choice."
Elizabeth swept up the fireplace poker like a sword and positioned it right between Beckett's eyes. With nothing more than a push, she could scald his forehead.
"No, you shouldn't have left me alone," she said. "You're still left with a choice."
"Which is?"
"Listen to me and do as I say or we'll see how you like having your flesh singed off of you." He said nothing, but took a few steps backward toward his desk. Right where she wanted him. "Take a seat. You're about to write a letter."
"A letter?" he gibed.
"A very important letter. Paper and a quill. Now." She waited for him to dip his quill into the bottle of ink. "You'll address it to the King. Don't hang your mouth open like that. Write! You're going to resign your position, feeling too much shame about what happened at Shipwreck Cove. Instead, you're leaving the East India Trading Company in the care of James Norrington."
"James Norrington!" he repeated, for once losing his coolness and staring at her with a scorching ferocity.
"Yes. He has retired from his admiral's position and has expressed to you many times how highly he thinks of the Company. There is no better man for the job." She watched him write over his shoulder, making sure the words coincided with what she said. "As for the pirates, there were far less than you originally theorized, hence your shame about losing. In the battle, William Turner, Hector Barbossa, Joshamee Gibbs, Elizabeth Swann, Governor Weatherby Swann…" she swallowed, "and Jack Sparrow were all killed. The Black Pearl was taken by the Company, so when you see it out sailing, you'll do well to leave it alone. She is probably out doing some privateering. You'll want to say all this much more formally, though. After all, it is going to the king."
"So it is," he snapped.
"Seal it."
He applied his seal to it and held it out to her.
"The heat from that poker isn't going to remain there forever," he said.
"I still wouldn't like to be beaten to death with it. Oh no, you're not setting it back on your desk just so you can throw it into the fire. We're going down to the pier to find a messenger." She paused, remembering the guards outside the windows. "You have a pistol in this room. You'd be mad not to."
"You're mad to try and take it."
Elizabeth lifted the poker above her head.
"Underneath the window sill."
Keeping her eyes on him, she reached behind her and felt under the velvet cushion on the window sill. Cold metal chilled her fingers.
"Doesn't this bring back memories?" he said, eyeing the pistol. "And what do you plan to do once the letter has left Port Royal, Miss Swann? We simply part ways and I return here a broken man and you to your abandoned mansion? I would certainly hate to be a woman alone in the world."
"Call your guards off from the window and then we'll consider our options, shall we?" she snapped.
"We need to dock as soon as possible," James said, approaching Jack at the helm. Gibbs was tying Barbossa to the railing.
"So you got hold of her, then?"
"I did. I doubt that I being the one who asked it of her will spare us."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a pessimist?" Jack asked.
"Maybe chasing after your lot for too long made me that way." Jack cocked his head at the resignation in his voice. Of course, come five minutes' time, they would be docking at Port Royal, he would find Elizabeth, and then strangle every breath out of Cutler Beckett's insignificant little body. The waves began to rise, sending the Pearl careening forward. Hold together, he prayed to his ship. Hold together, even if it's just this last time…
The roaring wind sent Gibbs reeling back, giving Barbossa just enough time to wiggle out of his ropes and draw out his sword. Jack heard the clanging of cutlasses behind him, Gibbs blocking a rapid advance. Torn between the duel and guiding the ship through, he winced and held his hand out to James.
"Guide her in!" he shouted to him before diving for Barbossa, sword drawn.
"Ye won't be able to beat me with a sword, Jack, never have been."
"First time for everything."
The Flying Dutchman surfaced from the turbulent waters. Hurricane, Will knew, without knowing how he knew. He could feel a tug in the space where his heart had once been, pulling him to where there was about to be loss of life on the sea.
"Will!"
"Mary!" He squinted to catch her form camouflaged in the sails and the swirling clouds. "You have your wings back!"
"They need us on the Pearl something fierce, Will!"
"That's where we're going!" He maneuvered the ship through the rushing waves, spotting land not too far off—Port Royal. "Let's make this ship ride the waves!" he called down to his crew.
"Aye, aye!" Bootstrap bellowed back, and in an instant, the ship skipped through the abominable tempest like a flat rock against a pond. Will could make out the leaves of the palm trees blowing straight back, like flags tied to a flagpole. For a fleeting moment, he paled at the thought of the blacksmith shop being destroyed, but shrugged it off, the Black Pearl just ahead.
"Bring her in, boys!" Gibbs ordered Pintel and Ragetti. He couldn't look back, not now while Jack and Barbossa were locked in a fight…to the death most likely. Don't look at it, he scolded himself. "Snap to, ye dolts! It'll take the lot of us to dock the Pearl in this!"
Foamy waves washed upon the deck, obscuring Jack and Barbossa's boots. The ships in Port Royal's harbor banged against each other, barely enduring the angry ocean. No. They wouldn't all be washed away, Gibbs asserted. After all, James Norrington, Calypso's savior himself, was on this ship.
"Put your backs into it!" he shouted.
"Will? Will!"
"Elizabeth?" What on earth was she doing sprinting down the pier in this? Her hair blew so wildly he couldn't see her face, just a …was that a fireplace poker? Although it was far from his body, he could feel his heart increase its beating, pounding in rage at the fact he couldn't step on land to help her. All he could do was hold out his hands and help hoist her up onto the deck.
"What are you doing? This is a hurricane, you know!" he said, holding her.
"Can you take this to England for me?" Something flapped against his arm. He looked down to see a sealed envelope in her hand along with the pistol.
"England? What are you…watch out!" He thrust her to the deck and stepped in front of her, a bullet zooming right into him. Beckett sneered at him, lowering a pistol just enough to run towards the Dutchman.
"What happened?" he asked, keeping her crouched low on the deck.
"He got away from me and stole the pistol right as I saw you coming," she said breathlessly. That didn't begin to answer his questions. "Jack? Where's the Pearl?"
"She's still fine," he said.
"Please, you have to take this to England. Make sure you leave it somewhere where it will be delivered to the king."
"I can't even step on land!"
"Use buckets like Davy Jones!" she yelled at him, lifting the poker and bringing it down on Beckett's fingers just as he was about to hurl himself over the railing onto the ship. "Or send Mary!" She swung at Beckett again, the pistol flying from his hand and knocking against the deck. "Make a deal with some shipwrecked pirate!" She took another swing, but felt a sword meet the poker halfway. It was Mercer, grinning at her through sideways rain.
Bootstrap flew at Beckett with his own sword, leaving Will feeling a moment's worth of uselessness until he spotted Jack and Barbossa on the Pearl.
"Ye needed immortality to kill me the last time," Barbossa taunted, nicking Jack's hand. "What makes ye think you'll be able to even walk away?"
"I had him last time, too," Jack said, jumping back and letting Will enter into the fight. Maybe he would start to like that appearing trick. The three of them parried on a tossing-and-turning deck, the wind wrenching their coats and sleeves. Breaking free of them for a brief second, Barbossa edged closer to the cabin. Will drew back his sword and launched it, pinning him right against the cabin door.
"Tell me, Barbossa," he said, "do you fear death?"
"Ye can't kill me, boy! Calypso's rules don't let ye!"
"I can't. But he can."
Will stepped back just in time for Jack to impale Barbossa with his sword, driving it straight into his gut. Neither of them said a word, only exchanging a stare that could forge metal. Barbossa's was the first to break it, his eyes going still.
A/N: "And where the offense is, let the great axe fall," comes from Hamlet. Its context is that of revenge, but I interpret it more or less to say, "let the guilty be punished." I regret to inform all of you that there are only two chapters left, so please leave me a review to let me know how I'm doing and whether or not you've predicted the ending. I think you'll all be pleased.