TWO: Infamy Sauce
What did Cutler Beckett want most in the world?
Money? Psht, he had enough of that. Power? Well, you could always use more power. But what Cutler Beckett wanted, most in the entire world, was to go down in history; one of the bravest, boldest, smartest men ever to work for the East India Trading company. Or something like that.
But, as luck would have it, he was now going down in history as a stark raving lunatic who betrayed the King's Crown and killed his own mother. It's a funny old world.
He remembered the cold feeling that had spread over him when he'd first read the papers—the headlines boldly speaking that he had murdered his mother; the well-known airhead, Audrey Beckett. He had been there when she had died, alright... but he hadn't killed her. Of course, many people were slightly dubious as to whether Beckett really killed his mother or not... after all, there was no proof, and Beckett had attempted to save her just a few days before.
Back to what he wanted... he was certain that 'Jack dead' was high on his list of priorities, but he wanted to go down in history. To live on after he had died, in a sense. Now that it was something he was never going to get, he wanted it even more. He didn't want to live a pointless life of meaningless efforts; he wanted to be in history books, being remembered by many.
Well, they would remember him all right. As 'That Nutter Who Killed His Mother'. Even though there was no proof, the press had beefed up the story in the way that the press does, and it was that that would be remembered; not the small voice at the back of the crowd saying, 'Uhm, excuse me, this doesn't make any sense...'
So. Going down in history.
Could the compass point to that? Could it really? As his hands were finally released from the rope, he first untied the rough cloth that had been used to keep his mouth closed and ripped it off, and then aimed a good, heated glare at both Elizabeth and Jack.
"I hate you," he said.
"Yup, I know that," Jack said with a bright smile, pushing the compass into Beckett's hand, and hoping that he wouldn't do something stupid like hurl it into the ocean. Beckett sighed, and opened it.
The needle spun for a moment, and then stopped dead, pointing to the horizon, in a direction that was roughly the way they were heading. Beckett frowned, and looked up and out across the ocean—but he could see nothing. He wondered what it was pointing to... going down in history? His ticket to going down in history was out there somewhere? He pursed his lips, and Jack and Elizabeth both stared out at the horizon.
"What is it pointing to?" Elizabeth finally asked.
"Something far, far away," Beckett said curtly, snapping the compass shut. He, of course, had no idea what it was pointing to; but that didn't mean Elizabeth and Jack had to know about his confusion. He threw the compass to Jack, and then folded his arms.
"Aww, still upset?" Elizabeth cooed, curious, but knowing that she would get no answers from him. Beckett shot her a poisonous look.
"I have every right to be upset," Beckett said, "You blew me up, you shot me, you held me prisoner on your island, you gave me away to the Company as a mass criminal, you cut my hair horribly, and even worse... you let that crazy witch-woman molest me while you sauntered off down the pub!" Jack, who had been vaguely looking in the direction the compass had pointed when Beckett had held it, turned to them, shooting a strange look at both Elizabeth and Beckett.
"She must've been crazy," Jack nodded.
"My sentiments exactly," Elizabeth smiled. Beckett blinked, and scowled at them.
"And now you are both ganging up on me," he muttered, "Well, what more could I expect? Two pirates, both picking on the only sane person there..." Elizabeth coughed loudly at this point.
"How much longer to Cuba?" she asked, looking towards Jack. Beckett was busily untying his feet, looking irritated, trying not to pout too much (but, sadly, failing).
"We prob'ly wont get there 'til night," Jack yawned and relaxed backwards, pulling the brim of his hat down to keep the sun off of his eyes, "This is goin' to be a long journey, methinks." It was. And that's why I'm going to skip over the rest of it. Sorry!
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"Thank... God we are here," Beckett said, stepping off of the ship. Elizabeth was no longer concerned about him escaping; he had no allies to run to, and he knew it. There'd be no sense in running off. "I think one of us would have suffered an untimely death, if we'd have to stay on that dinghy for much longer."
"I think I see a junk in port," Elizabeth said, pointing. No, she did not mean 'junk' as in scrap—the junk is derived from the Malay word for boat, 'jong', and was one of the most popular boat designs in the orient. Think Empress.
"So... are you just going to stroll on board, smile nicely at the pirates, and ask to be taken to Tai Huang?" Beckett asked, incredulously.
"Shut it, Beckett," Jack said; he'd wanted to say that to him for quite a while, "You don't know how things work... leave the talking to me and King Lizzie, and we'll be alright. So much as open your mouth, and you could blow the whole thing... see?"
Beckett simply shot him a scathing look.
"That's more like it!" Jack grinned, as Elizabeth sighed and shook her head, making sure William was comfortable in her arms. He looked around at the town nearby, and the boats in the harbour. There was, indeed, a junk bobbing gently in the water—the reason that they had decided to port in this harbour, as opposed to the closer one. Night had fallen, and their way was only lit by the fragments of light through curtains and windows, and a few lamps on the dock. The junk almost seemed to glow on the black water, it's bright, oriental colours making it stand out.
"Take everything out of the Mallard," Elizabeth said, nodding towards the dinghy, "Hopefully, they'll let us stay on board."
"Are you goin' to carry anything?" Jack asked, shoving a sack into Beckett's arms. He made to say something, and then simply exhaled and looked irritated. Jack piled the other sack onto the load already in Beckett's arms.
"I'm carrying William," Elizabeth said with a smile.
"Great," Jack said vaguely, and then began sauntering down the harbour. Beckett narrowed his eyes, and dropped one of the sacks to the harbour. Jack turned around, and looked down at the sack. Then he shrugged.
"It's you and bonny Lizzie's possessions in that sack... if you think they're invaluable enough to leave there, be my guest," he rolled his arm forwards imploringly, and then spun around again. Beckett looked sidelong to Elizabeth, who shot Beckett a look that said, pick that sack up, or you will find it shoved down your throat. In a gentlemanly sweep, he bent and picked the second sack, sighing greatly, as if it were tragic.
With that, they all began walking to the junk.
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Tracking a man was not an easy task.
It was fairly easy, in those days, for a criminal to simply vanish into the humdrum that was ordinary life. Obscurity was not so hard to accomplish, in a world where photography was yet to be invented, and DNA was something of the far, far future. People vanished all of the time.
However, that did not make it any more acceptable.
Lester Mann was a nasty piece of work. As well as being a nasty piece of work—which was more of a hobby then a profession—he did special jobs for special clients; if they could afford it. He was very good indeed at tracking people down. And he was very good at killing people, also. Think Mercer; Lester Mann wasn't so different to him; perhaps a little more upper class. And the man who hired him wasn't so different from the man who hired Mercer, either.
There were lots of people in his business. Assassins were needed much more then the peaceful facades imply; deaths were rarely accidents in the power-hungry world that was the upper class. Specifically, the Company. I'm sure that there were some lords and workers for the Company that got there by completely fair means.
Just not many of them.
It was a wide world. Where on earth could he start? Most would deem the task given to him as impossible. But 'impossible' wasn't a word in Lester Mann's dictionary... in fact, he did not own a dictionary, so every word wasn't a word in Lester Mann's dictionary. But that is beside the point.
The point is, Lord Leonard didn't intend on doing nothing. Remember that now.
...just so you know.
NB: Goodness, it's been a while since I've updated! I'm sorry, folks... I've been so busy, heh. Thanks for the reviews, they are all much appreciated! And I'm really sorry if I didn't get a chance to reply to one!
Extract from next chapter: "He is an accomplice of mine," Elizabeth waved an arm at Beckett, "Feel free to keep him in the brig. He can cause trouble, sometimes."