A/N: Ahhh! Huge thank-you to all of my reviewers: ninjalover13, amymimi, SunAndMoon16, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, Mistress Beckett, and Rhinoceros. This chapter is—yes—the beginning of the voyage.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: I'll think of something later.

Chapter Eight

Embark.

"Rise and shine, Ms. Swann! 'Tis a bright day out and you must be on your way!" said a maid cheerfully as she opened the window-drapes, flooding the room with light.

Elizabeth groaned, digging her face into her pillow. The maid practically dragged her out of bed and forced her into her clothes. She complied like a limp rag doll; too tired to resist. And besides, she didn't hate the maid enough to be difficult. Beckett was the one she hated.

"Good morning, Ms. Swann," said Beckett pleasantly as Elizabeth walked out onto the terrace, where she was forced to eat breakfast with him.

"Good morning, Lord Beckett," Elizabeth responded half-heartedly, seating herself across from him. She looked at the array of food. Cold cuts on toast. Croissants. Her mouth watered. It'd be the last grand meal until the trip, and she knew it. She ate voraciously.

"I hope you are ready for our trip?" Beckett said conversationally as he stirred a sugar cube into his tea.

Elizabeth almost opened her mouth to reply, but then remembered that it was bad manners to speak with a full mouth. Her cheeks were stuffed with an explosion of flavor. She nodded wordlessly instead.

He seemed pleased, evident in his almost-smile. Elizabeth knew nearly all of his nondescript facial expressions by now. "You've not seen our ship yet," he asked in the tone of a statement.

Elizabeth swallowed her mouthful. "Yes, I have," she replied incredulously. "I did go head-to-head with it during the War Against Piracy."

Beckett snorted softly. "The HMS Endeavour is not our ship of choice," he said quietly. "Judging by your lack of even this base knowledge, I take you've no idea the ship we are to board."

She blinked. "If not the Endeavour, then what?"

"In due time, Ms. Swann," he responded enigmatically as usual.

She rolled her eyes. "How long do you estimate this trip will take?"

"If you give us the proper bearings, I estimate little less than a year," Beckett answered. "And if the Brethren choose direct confrontation, I estimate two months."

Elizabeth smirked. "So you think you have more than enough power to overcome them. But you can't possibly chase them around?"

"Quite," he replied. "And that is overestimating. I make a habit of never underestimating the opponent. Such arrogance can fell even mighty empires."

"Hmph," she said as she finished the last of her toast. She still thought him arrogant, no matter what he said. "Does anyone else know that I'm to be on board?"

Beckett paused. "Yes," he said, and then added," And your role is also known. As a hostage of the pirates, you've attained vital information as to the Brethren Court."

"So I'm not the Pirate King, then. Just a hostage who knows too much," Elizabeth said stiffly.

Beckett sipped his tea. "Indeed," he replied in a clipped tone. "Step out from that boundary in even the slightest, and your 'friends' will be punished appropriately."

She bit her lip. "Those are rather extreme conditions, my Lord."

He sneered. "Switching to my title at this point is meaningless, Ms. Swann. I believe you know that flattery will get you nowhere with me."

She sighed, choosing to continue eating wordlessly. He always had to make things so difficult. Or was she the source of difficulty, she wondered? Waving off the thought, she finished her meal, excused herself, got up, and left.

Elizabeth climbed out of the carriage, trying to be as graceful as possible, if only not to look like a fool to Beckett, who was already out and waiting for her. With a rather testy glare, she finally got the last of her skirts out and stepped onto the boardwalk.

"Where is it?" she demanded.

Beckett maneuvered his gaze to look upon the large, black ship parked not far away. "She's over there, Ms. Swann. You'll find her rather nostalgic, if I don't say so myself."

Elizabeth squinted, but the ship didn't remind her of any navy ships she knew. The black color was odd, she thought to herself. Britain doesn't paint its ships black. And it doesn't use black sails, either—oh.

Her heart sunk and fluttered at the same time. "Is that… is that the Pearl?" she said.

Beckett did not reply. Instead, he merely said, "Come. There's not much time to be wasting." He briskly began to walk towards the ship.

"Oh, wait!" Elizabeth said breathlessly and came after him, quickly trouncing up the plank onto the deck. Her eyes looked around, marveling at the deep, dark wood. Yes, it was the Black Pearl. Gilded with silver, refurbished, polished, no longer a pirate's ship, yes. But still the Pearl. She wondered if Jack knew.

Turning to Beckett, she said, "So this is the ship we are to be boarding."

A curt nod in response. "Mr. Parker, here, will show you to your quarters."

Derrick sighed and walked over to Elizabeth. He didn't look nearly as flushed as he did when he had come to visit her in the courtyard. Perhaps he'd been a little drunk, then. She almost giggled at the thought. "Alright, Ms. Swann, just follow me, then." The two of them made their way into the bridge, in a rather warm, cozy room. It wasn't too small, but it certainly was not very large. A petite bed and a mirror had already been set up, along with a few tables and a miniature bookshelf. Elizabeth flushed at the bookshelf. Had Beckett himself arranged for it, or did it come in all rooms?

"And that's it," Derrick said as two soldiers dragged Elizabeth's things into the room. She had packed them neatly into the large bag; most of it was clothes. Once the guards left, though, he abruptly turned to her.

She instinctively stepped back. He was dangerous. She didn't trust him.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you and Beckett are planning," Derrick said in a low voice. "But I know it's nothing good."

She narrowed her eyes. "You'll find that I am trying my best to not be involved in any of his plans, thank you very much."

He smirked. "Really? It seems to me that the two of you are actually consorts."

She shook her head, astonished. "No! Of course not. We're nothing of the sort."

With a shrug and a look that implied he didn't believe her, he said curtly, "If you say so, Ms. Swann." Turning, he left her room.

Elizabeth slammed the door shut behind him. How… annoying!

Teague sighed, giving the two of them a good look. They stood tall and erect and nervous, their rifles hoisted up in their hands and their eyes wide with fear.

"Really," he said dryly.

Murtogg and Mullroy nodded profusely. "The Lord Beckett strictly said that this dock must remain closed off."

Teague looked to the Pearl. "Did he," he said, squinting. He could barely make out Elizabeth Swann going below-deck with that Parker boy.

"Yes. I swear he did," Murtogg said.

"Or was it that Parker guy who said it?" Mullroy argued.

Murtogg turned to his cohort. "No, I swear it was the Lord Beckett who said it."

"According to my memory, it was Parker. And we don't take orders from Parker."

"It was not Parker."

"Oh really. Then do tell me the appearance of the guy who told you to do this."

"Well, he was wearing some mighty fancy clothing."

"So you're telling me you saw a short little fellow with a white wig?"

"Well..."

Teague watched the two of them barter back and forth. Rolling his eyes, he quickly strode past the two of them, beginning to sneak towards the Pearl.

The two of them, having resolved their argument with the verdict that it had been Parker, turned back to the spot that Teague had previously occupied. "And that," Mullroy said triumphantly, and then faltered. "...Where did he go?"

Murtogg whacked Mullroy on the back of the head. "It's your fault we lost the guy!"

"'Tis not!"

"Yes it is!"

...Teague could barely make out their voices by this point as he crept onto the Pearl. He quickly made his way into the hold, and then squeezed himself between some crates. Sighing, he settled into the wood and waited.

The needle spun in circles, around and around and around, before finally settling on one point. Beckett looked up from the compass and stared out the window, his eyes following the direction of the needle. Then he muttered under his breath, "Bloody thing doesn't even work." He snapped it shut and turned away from the large window, pacing around his office, straightening out papers and objects as he walked. So much for his bargain with Jack, he thought to himself disdainfully. What was the point of a compass that neither pointed north nor knew what you truly wanted? Nor had the sense to even discern what means would truly help you achieve your goals? Oh, he wanted to break the damn mechanism into pieces. But he knew it would be useful later. And breaking things in rage—well, that was just barbaric. And Cutler Beckett liked to think of himself as far from barbaric as possible.

He put the compass back down onto his desk, softly and gently, like how he handled everything. Sighing, he headed out of his office and went up onto deck, where his men were still straightening things out, preparing for the long voyage. He did not even bother to hide his annoyance.

"Commodore Groves," Beckett said loudly.

The newly-appointed Commodore rushed over, trying to straighten himself out before Beckett could see him. "Yes, sir?" he said quickly.

Beckett began adjusting the button of his cuff. "How soon can we be prepared to leave?"

"Soon, sir. Very soon. It's just that Mr. Parker wanted extra things to be packed. He anticipates trouble, sir," Groves responded.

"Hm," said Beckett. "I see. Very well, then. Make it quick, please. And where might Mr. Parker be found at the moment?"

"Right here, Lord Beckett," said Derrick as he strolled over from the bridge.

"Ah." Beckett turned to face his right-hand man. If only this one were as loyal as Mercer, he thought to himself disdainfully. He may have proficient skill, but he makes a blunder on his emotional principle. "I trust you successfully found your way to Ms. Swann's quarters?"

Derrick looked insulted. "Do you think I'm incapable of even a fool's task like that?"

Beckett smirked, looking down at his sleeve again. "Perhaps so," he said softly. Raising his voice again, loud enough to hear, he said, "Pray tell why you requested extra provisions, Mr. Parker?"

"I've a bad feeling about this trip," Derrick said numbly. "Almost as if there's an ominous air to it. I don't like it. We ought to bring as many things as we can. Just to be safe."

Curious, Beckett thought to himself, but commented nothing aloud. "Fine. You'd best be on your way, then, Mr. Parker. I'd like for the fleet to leave as soon as possible."

Derrick nodded and headed off. Beckett sighed, pacing around the deck again. He was impatient and annoyed. How could this possibly take so long? He wanted to leave Port Royal now. And he wanted the pirates gone now. The wait was agonizing and unbearable. And everyone seemed to be his enemy at this point.

What had he done to cultivate so many enemies? The pirates were his enemies, yes, that was true. The people he had manipulated, yes, they would hate him, that was reasonable. Yet it seemed now that everything was against him. Time, the seas, the skies, everything. Were they trying to warn him of something? But surely God's will would be with him. They were pirates. Filthy, disgusting, and greedy. It was not only good business to rid the seas of them, but also charitable. Consider some hundreds of small villages saved for every pirate ship sunk.

So why, then, that ominous feeling?

The ship lurched and began to move. Jack grabbed onto the bars of his cell as the Endeavour sailed forward, then slowed to a more steady pace. "Mr. Gibbs!" Jack exclaimed.

"Aye, Jack?" said Gibbs's voice through the next cell over.

"Have you any extra rum to spare?" asked Jack in his silky voice.

Some shuffling. Gibbs's voice rang out clear: "That be a 'no'."

Jack looked dismayed.

"Jack," drawled Barbossa. "There be better things to desire than a drink at this point. Such as a means of escapin' this prison."

All the guards had left the brig in favor of working up on deck, and so the three pirates had been left alone. Still, the guards supposed that it didn't matter; escaping the brig meant getting onto the guard-infested deck.

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched. "I don't really think there's any way we can get off this ship anyway."

"Aye," said Gibbs. "My mind's in with Jack. This place is a soddy hell-hole if I e'er laid me eyes upon one."

Barbossa grunted a slight. He knew this to be true, but he certainly did not want to stay here any longer. He shouldn't be caged like this. And neither should Jack. "What can we offer Beckett in returns fer our freedom? Surely with Ms. Turner, he's not be needin' any one o'us," Barbossa grumbled.

"Right y'are there," Gibbs responded. "Ms. Swann's probably got more information in that head o'hers than us. And easier t'coax, too."

"What d'you mean, easier to coax?" Jack said disbelievingly. Gibbs didn't seriously think that Beckett would actually—?

Barbossa laughed sardonically. "Aye, that be true, Gibbs. I ne'er seen an easier soul t'sway since I laid me eyes upon her."

Jack narrowed his eyes, but also bent backwards. "Twaddle-speak," he exclaimed. "Lizzy isn't that easy."

But deep inside, though, he rather doubted it.

A/N: Alright! Finally! The voyage! I can't wait for all the twist(s) I have planned later on (what plans?). Thanks so much to all my reviewers again. You guys are the stars in my sky and the bubbles in my bubble-bath! Oh wait… that's just creepy. oAo; I also realize that I really enjoy writing from Beckett's perspective. Then again, I've always found villains more fun to write.