A/N: Agh! Sorry about the slow update again! orz Anyway, I... looked at the huge amount of reviews I have, and I have to say, I'm really happy again! All of you are so wonderful, and I'm glad I can write a story that many people can enjoy (even Beckett haters, lol XD). So, big gratitude to all my reviewers once again: ninjalover13, Mistress Beckett, Miss Cuttlefish, SunAndMoon16, Countcresent, and Lady Elizabeth Beckett! Anyway. Sorry about the hugely long wait. I had a bad writer's block, which means this chapter won't be very good at all. X_x;
Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.
Warnings: A really god awful horrible attempt at Tia Dalma's accent. May result in eyes bleeding.
Chapter Thirteen
Guilt.
Tia Dalma smiled slyly, circling Elizabeth, running a hand across her cheek. "It seems dat fate 'as touched upon you..." she drawled in her thick accent. "Elizabit... Turnuh."
Elizabeth flinched as Valor looked to her incredulously. He was about to open his mouth to question this odd name, but then Elizabeth said, "I... don't know who she's talking about."
The sea goddess grinned. "You have made de right choice. You leave him behind... on dis island... 'e cannot get to you."
"How can you be so sure?" Elizabeth inquired, trying to ignore Captain Valor's curious gaze.
Tia Dalma's playful mood was suddenly angry and wrathful. "...'im supposed to be dead. Killed from de battle ag'inst de pirates." Elizabeth merely stared silently as Tia Dalma circled around, continuing her speech. "I will make sure dat him live no longer. 'E cannot go to dis city for help. An' 'e won't be able to stand de island water for long."
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "So you... you intend for him to perish here. Alone."
The sea goddess smirked again, playful once more. "So you 'ave nothing to worry about. Ms... Turnuh."
"Very well." Elizabeth suddenly felt odd. The idea of Beckett dying so slowly at her own acts did not sit well with her.
Wait—what? Was she actually beginning to care for him? She pushed the thought out of her mind. She ought to rejoice at his pain and misery, not despair in it! No. No, she didn't care about him. He could rot and die here on this godforsaken island for all she cared! She hated Beckett. She didn't care about him.
Tia Dalma turned and began to walk down the back street, waving her hand so that Elizabeth would follow. She did, and as she strolled along, Valor caught up to her. "Elizabeth Turner, is it?" said Valor, cocking a brow.
She turned her head to him, sighing. "I'm sorry, Captain, sir. My life is in danger... the Lord Beckett is pursuing me... I felt a disguise necessary," she lied, but in the tone of reluctant truth.
Valor blinked yet again. He didn't quite mind being lied to, but now this lady had piqued his curiosity. How odd. And Tia Dialma apparently knew this girl as well. "Cutler Beckett is chasing you?" he inquired curiously.
"Yes..." Elizabeth nodded. "I... ah... have information that he requires." Pausing, she added, "So he would do what he could to get it out of me. You must understand."
Valor nodded. "I see... I understand how distressed you must be, Ms. Turner."
"Please," said Elizabeth. "Call me Ms. Hall... I intend to start life anew once Port Royal is reached." And that, at least, was true. She could not go on as Elizabeth Swann, or even Elizabeth Turner. That woman was dead. Killed by pirates.
"Sound reasoning, Ms. Hall," said Valor politely.
"Ms. Hall," Tia Dalma said, turning abruptly. "I will give you a fair wind to de Port Royal. Go quickly an' do not come back." She nodded to Valor, giving him an unspoken message.
"Wait—!" exclaimed Elizabeth, but Tia Dalma was gone.
She was taking too long. Far too long. Arms crossed over his chest, Beckett leaned against The Merry Lemon's wall and waited. He had been waiting for even longer when a fierce wind suddenly picked up, blowing straight towards the direction of Port Royal. Blinking, he gazed skyward, and then swiftly headed into The Merry Lemon himself, intending to see what was going on. He walked into the back room—and saw it was empty. Devoid of anyone. Even the smoke had left it.
"Ms. Swann? Captain Valor?" he called softly, yet knowing that he would receive no response.
Sighing, Beckett shook his head. He began to leave when Tia Dalma suddenly stepped out from the shadows, approaching him. He shot her a stare. "Well, well. If it isn't Calypso," he drawled coolly, attempting to act calm and composed. And superior.
"Beckett," she snapped. "You scum of de sea. You should have not come here."
"So the sea prefers the very pirates who bound her, even after all the blood they have shed upon her waters?" he responded in the form of a question.
"And you are no better d'an de very ones hang," Calypso snapped. "Your sinners are great, but your sins are greater."
"Oh really," Beckett said, not paying much mind to the goddess's senseless drabble. "So you, I suppose, are the one who has put me through all this grief and issue. I assume, then, that Valor's pitiful and terribly-fabricated excuse was all your work. Then again, such sloppy plans are fitting for such a brackish woman."
"Know your place," she snarled as she came closer to him, threateningly. "I will make sure dat the last t'ing you know is the feeling of a painful death."
Beckett stared at the goddess, but he felt no sense of marvel. She was just a woman to him still, and little more. There was nothing to be afraid of, but yet there was. It was anger, though, that clouded what should have kept his snarky comments down. He was unspeakably annoyed—infuriated, even. Why? Honestly, why? His situation was awful, and these people weren't even bothering to come up with good excuses on why. It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Really.
"Why?" he said, deciding to voice his raging thoughts.
Tia Dalma narrowed her eyes. "Dis town will not help you," she said. "Nothing on dis island will. You will change yourself, or you will die."
Then, she vanished.
"So this is your ship?" Elizabeth marveled as she ran her fingers over the wooden rails.
Valor nodded as he his crew rushed to prepare the ship around them. "The Gilded Lancer. Never a prettier ship, if I don't say so myself."
She laughed. "Don't all captains say that of their own vessels?"
He smirked. "Perhaps so, miss."
Leaning against the railing, she smiled and said, "So you fancy yourself a privateer, do you?" She gave a nod to the British flag raised up upon the ship.
"Quite," he responded. "Even though my Letter of Marque is practically obsolete at this point."
She laughed. "Not completely lawful, are we?"
"You'll find that there's goodness even among the unlawful," he answered.
Elizabeth thought about that for a few seconds. Then, she said, "I don't doubt that."
Valor slipped his hands into his coat. He was quiet for a bit. Then, he said, "I must admit that... I'm curious. Where did you come from...? Clearly not from Port Faith."
She hesitated, considering whether she should answer honestly or not. "Ah... well, I..." she paused again, and then haltingly said, "I washed up here on the beach with him... We were on the same ship until these pirates threw us overboard."
Intrigued again, he prodded her with another question: "How did Beckett become interested in you in the first place?"
"Well, I... was a hostage of the pirates, so I knew exclusive information about them. He wanted to know," she explained.
"But he brought you on the ship with him?" he questioned.
Elizabeth nodded. "He thought that I would be more effective were I actually present by his side."
"I see," said Valor. Getting off the rail, he looked around, pausing, before saying, "I understand how difficult things must have been for you, and I only hope to see your circumstances improve. Feel free to make yourself comfortable here, Ms. Hall."
She nodded gratefully as he turned to leave. Then, she reached into her skirts and procured Beckett's book and her father's note. She sighed, giving each a glance. Remnants of her not-so-far past. A promise to avenge her father's death. A reminder of the bookworm she was before she had been whisked away into the world of piracy. She tucked them back into her dress, keeping them close to her again, and then surveyed the ship to pass time.
It was all so strange, really. The situation. Elizabeth could hardly believe what had happened to her in all this short time. Perhaps she really did feel sympathetic towards Beckett... but he deserved it! That smug bastard! After all that cheating and tricking, why, he more than deserved everyone's hatred. It was justified. It was alright for Tia Dalma to hold a grudge. It was alright for her to manipulate an entire town. It was... it was only right.
Elizabeth told herself that she was glad Beckett was finally out of her life.
Beckett wandered the roads, occasionally adjusting his coat button, otherwise on the lookout for a specific building. He was looking because he had been turned down everywhere else. Fine, then! Captain Valor was not an option. Elizabeth had seemingly deserted him. Tia Dalma was out for his blood. Port Faith would kill him the moment they found out who he was. Then, at least, there was one other person to turn to on this miniscule, ridiculous island.
Circe. If anything, she could be considered Calypso's sister of sorts. She went by many names, but most knew her best by Maiara, the alias that she used most often. Unlike Calypso, she was neither fickle nor unpredictable.
Of course, it wasn't as though she was any less dangerous than Calypso. Rather than being fickle, Circe was deadly committed, and those who betrayed her iron trust were rewarded by her fearsome wrath.
Last he had checked, Beckett saw that she was here, in Port Faith. While it was true that it had been a while since they'd last met, time was insignificant to the magic goddess. Years to Beckett was only days to her. She would certainly still be here. And it was a good thing that he had been fair to her. She was likely to greet him kindly, if not with great hospitality.
Eventually, he found himself at the edge of Port Faith, opposite of the way he had entered. A small, run-down shack sat lodged between two palm trees, and a spicy scent surrounded it. He let in a full breath before he walked over to the doorway, which was covered only by hanging dried seaweed. There was no way to "knock," except by the seashell bell dangling by the doorway. Beckett reached forward and gave it a quick ring.
There was shuffling in the back before a wispy, but mature voice sounded out. "Come in."
Beckett nodded as he headed in, pushing the weeds out of the way as he entered. The inside of the shack was decorated with all sorts of shells and other marina life, dried and put into little containers. A strong smell of herbs and spices permeated the home, and several jars of weird concoctions sat here and there. A table sat in the center of the house, and sitting behind it was a woman.
He approached her gradually, and she smiled warmly as recognition filled her eyes. "Cutler Beckett," she said in a decidedly lower-class British accent.
"Ms. Maiara," he said lightly, inclining his head just a bit. She was the same as always. Ink black hair up in a loose bun, shocking blue eyes that seemed almost electrified, much like a lightning storm. Oddly pale skin. She was as human as the next person, but there was always something off about her. Perhaps, if it wasn't too rash to say, Beckett had known that she wasn't entirely normal from the start.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she said conversationally as she gestured to a chair, which he got seated on. "What brings you here to humble little Port Faith? It was only a short while ago that you came to me, asking about all those myths...no?"
Beckett pursed his lips. It had been years ago, actually, but he knew the way that the gods treated time. "I'm in need of your help, Ms. Maiara," he admitted.
Her brows rose as she leaned forward. A minty scent rolled off of her as she came closer. He didn't particularly mind it, but goodness, was it powerful! "Help?" she inquired, the word slipping off her lips like honey. "From me?"
"Of course. That's why I've come here," he responded, placing his hands upon his lap.
She grinned. "Then it must be something important if you have come all the way here just for it. Is it information that you desire?"
He gave an imperceptible shake of his head as Maiara began to pour him a cup of tea. "I have more than enough information already, I believe..." Pausing, he said, "No. What I am looking for is a way off of this island."
She looked up at him as she poured herself her own cup. "You must have come here somehow through a method. Can you not leave through the same way?"
"Marooned," Beckett said softly.
Her eyes widened just a slight as she lifted the teacup to her lips, taking a sip. Deciding to move on from the subject, she asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Indeed I did," replied Beckett, satisfaction creeping back into his tone. "I was able to locate Davy Jones, as well as his heart... but Jones is now dead, and his ship has gone down with him. Supposedly one of the crewmembers has taken over the task, and the Dutchman shall haunt these waters no longer in the tyrannical way that it once had."
She nodded. "So that is over. What have you gotten yourself into this time, then?"
He smiled, snorting softly. "Jones was only one way I employed for this far grander task, Ms. Maiara."
"And what is this 'far grander task'?" she inquired curiously.
"The eradication of piracy, in and of itself," Beckett declared proudly, as though he took pride in just having the goal.
She blinked, taken aback. Gathering her wits again, she said, "You do know that's impossible."
His brows rose. "Nothing is out of reach, Ms. Maiara. Perhaps that is an ideal I once had before I knew of the existence of the immaterial, but now that I have been enlightened, I feel that even the most difficult of goals can be achieved."
"Even curses and goddesses cannot tear down the human spirit," Circe argued softly.
"You'll find that they can." He paused, letting himself take a quick sip from his cup of tea. "Through fear, one can attain civil obedience."
"You intend to rule like a tyrant?" she questioned.
He hesitated. Then, he shook his head the slightest. "No, not particularly." Beckett placed the cup back onto its saucer, finding the tea to be distastefully bitter. "Regardless. I intend to eradicate piracy as an organized crime. Starting by eliminating the Brethren Court."
Maiara smiled, settling back into her chair, the tense air gone from her. Now this was a topic she could discuss. "I suppose that while you were on this task of yours, one of the Brethren attacked your fleet and marooned you onto this island?"
Pursing his lips, he gave her a look that answered her question "yes." Beckett reached forward and took a sugar cube, daintily dropping it into his teacup and stirring it with the spoon.
"Then you need a boat," she thought aloud. "Why didn't you go to that Valor boy?"
He gave her another stare, a more venomous one, but with a tired overtone.
Her lips curled into an amused smile. "Ah, I see..." she put a finger to her lips. "I am afraid that the only thing I can do for you is... direct you to a nice ship that you can commandeer."
Beckett's brows rose. "You intend for me to steal property like a lawless pirate?" he said, almost offended by the notion. "I think not."
Maiara chuckled. "It is in the name of justice. And you have done far worse things. Haven't you?"
He pursed his lips. "Within the law. Were I to steal a ship from here..."
"Port Faith is a lawless cesspool. Certainly not as bad as Tortuga, but bad nonetheless. I see no harm in you stealing from stealers," she interjected.
Sighing, Beckett grabbed for his teacup again and took a sip. "And how am I to commandeer a ship on my own?"
She grinned. "I have contacts."
He leaned forward onto the table, narrowing his eyes. "And just how many contacts do you have?"
A/N: RAAAAAAAWR! I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to write! Really, I am... ugh. I've been experiencing a lot of technical issues with my computer, to be honest. Anyway, that's all for now! Sorry this chapter is so bad, I've been having writer's block...