NINE: Poached Monkey
Jack the monkey swung himself up onto the rum-rack and sat himself down on a particularly large, protruding bottle, chittering. Beckett frowned at the furry little beast, and then moved towards the shelf once again, yanking the bottle from the gap—almost immediately, the monkey leapt onto him with the strange fury only displayed by a loyal pet finding its owner's possessions being trifled with.
Flicking a wrist distastefully, Beckett managed to detach the monkey from his hand by throwing the bottle of the rum—along with the monkey clinging to it—across the hangar, and he flinched slightly as the bottle smashed to pieces against a metal girder with a crash and tinkle, the monkey giving a loud screech as it began leaping towards him.
Knowing full well that the fuzzy little monster could go and raise the alarm, Beckett made a wild snatch for the monkey; it slipped away easily, and then bounced off up through various rafters, until it slipped away through the criss-cross of struts that made up the top of the hold. Scowling, Beckett quickly returned to the shelf of rum, shoved his hand into the hole where the bottle he had just smashed used to be, and felt right to the back—and there, he gripped something.
Pulling it out with a flourish, he quickly leapt to his feet and clambered back up the wooden ladder, noticing with a small frown that his once-prized book had a set of bite marks along the spinal edge. Jack must have been fairly determined to get it.
It was in this book that he had first read about the legend of Davy Jones and his chest—that infernal sea monster and his heart, which had caused all of this nonsense in the first place! Chock-a-block with rhymes and riddles and strange writing, Beckett had been unable to make head nor tail of it at first, but eventually he managed to strangle some secrets from it—before having it stolen away, of course.
That book had been valuable. And it still was... he felt its weight in his hand as he made his way back onto the deck, heavy with knowledge, glancing around at the others and slipping it into an inside pocket. Elizabeth caught his eye, and raised an eyebrow. He noticed the monkey on Barbossa's shoulder. It began shrieking once it saw Beckett.
"I think we should make our leave," Elizabeth chipped in, nodding to her men. Beckett began following the crowd back towards the Red Kite, and Jack the monkey bounced off of Barbossa's shoulder, and jumped up onto Beckett's back, clambering up to his head. Beckett pulled a face underneath his woven hat, which Jack seemed quite intent to tear off. Barbossa looked at Jack, who simply shrugged, and then to Elizabeth who sighed.
How did I know that he would somehow mess this up? she thought, tiredly.
"I s'pose I'll not be takin' the Pearl away with me today, then," Jack sighed sadly, running a hand over a black-painted banister. Once I'm immortal, he thought, I'll be back for you, darlin'. It pained him an unbelievable amount to leave her.
"And what might be interestin' my Jack so much?" Barbossa walked quickly across the deck, and swiped the hat off of Beckett, who had little else to do but pray. And stare at Barbossa's beard. Beckett was waiting for it to say something, but as of yet, it was keeping schtum.
As Barbossa inspected his face, Beckett tried a light-hearted smile. It didn't work. He looked different—but, apparently, not different enough. Barbossa still recognized him from their little parley on the sand spit. The moment did not receive the huge hit of shock and clarity that it deserved. "Is this who I think it is?" Barbossa asked, quietly.
"Well, it was lovely seeing you Hector, but we must be off!" Jack said abruptly, ushering Beckett across the gangplank and onto the Kite. Jack the monkey was once more perched on Barbossa's shoulder, looking as disapproving as was possible for a small monkey in a waistcoat. Barbossa's eyes had narrowed considerably. Elizabeth turned towards the dishonestly appointed captain of the Black Pearl.
"Captain Barbossa," Elizabeth said, "We've become rather caught up. Just trust me when I say that there are a lot of terrible things happening right now, and..." She looked at the captain, biting her lip. He moved his face closer to hers.
"If that is the former Lord Beckett," Barbossa growled into her face, with the nice addition of rum-breath, his yellowed eyes peering into hers distrustingly, "He has quite a price on his head, from what I understand," he smirked at this point, "What is he doing with you?"
"There is a reason," Elizabeth back-stepped onto the gangplank between the Kite and the Pearl, "And trust me, all will be revealed. Just trust me," she took a deep breath, "And tell no-one. Understand?"
"I understand," Barbossa leered, speaking words that echoed Beckett's own not so long ago, "But that doesn't mean I'll do as you say."
"Good day, Captain Barbossa," Elizabeth said curtly.
"Good day... Mrs Turner," Barbossa replied.
"That's Captain," Elizabeth snapped in reply, "And ex-King too, if you please. I still have authority."
"Not any more," Barbossa smirked.
She realized that if she were still Pirate King, there was no way that this would be any trouble. But... well, it was different, now. Pressing her lips together, Elizabeth stepped onto the Kite, allowed her men to sweep away the gangplank, and then the two vessels parted; each with a whole new perspective on things.
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"I'll be back for you, I promise," Jack muttered to the wind, as he watched the Black Pearl sailing away from him once more—it pained him to see it go.
"Well, that certainly could have gone better," Beckett said warily, pulling the book from an inside pocket to the large overcoat he'd been made to wear. He inspected the spine. "Now, why does this precious and ancient artefact have a ring of bite marks on the spine?" he glared at Jack.
"Stealin' it was pretty hard," Jack grinned and nodded at him, as if in approval at the chess move played by a clever (yet not quite clever enough) advisory. "You hid it well, Cutler old chum."
"I'm not 'Cutler old chum'," Beckett said the last three words in slurry imitation of Jack, "This book cost thous-,"
"Quiet, you two," Elizabeth spun towards the two men, coming out of her reverie. She'd been watching the other vessel carefully. "Barbossa knows who you are, Beckett. You completely and utterly messed the plan up."
"How is it my fault?" Beckett asked drawing his eyebrows together disdainfully, "It was his little pet that ratted me out, which I think was quite unavoidable..."
"He's got a point," Jack said, nodding, "That monkey's a little fiend." He mimed strangling something enthusiastically, and both Beckett and Elizabeth looked at him blankly for a moment, before turning to each other.
"So what's the absolute worst Barbossa would do?" Beckett asked the fair-haired captain of their vessel.
"Spill to Leonard and his lot that you're on board a ship called the Red Kite with Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Turner, I suppose," Elizabeth said with a shrug, "I don't know if he'd do it, though. It's one thing to betray pirates to pirates—it's another to betray them to the Company."
"I'm not a pirate," Beckett said, in a voice that had forced itself to be calm via coming up his windpipe sideways, by the sound of things.
"I wouldn't give you the honour of bein' called one," Jack said quickly.
"The honour of being called a pirate? Well, that's an oxymoron if I ever heard one, you-!"
"Both of you, be quiet," Elizabeth growled, whipping the book out of Beckett's hands. Beckett resisted, holding tight for a moment—then he let her take the book from him, sighing. She turned it over, and inspected the untitled cover. "Forget Barbossa. We're getting out of here soon, anyway."
"To the Fountain of Youth," Jack grinned, "Great!" Saying this, he plucked the book from Elizabeth's fingers. She frowned at him, and made a grab for it—he held it out of her reach.
"I'm the captain here, Jack!" Elizabeth snapped in annoyance.
"Yes, Lizzie, but I'm quite certain that when it comes to riddles, I am the man you need," Jack held his arms out, "It's my book, after all."
"Wrong on both counts, Jack," Beckett said tersely, "The book is mine. And I never did have you pinned down as a man for solving riddles," he smirked slightly, holding out his hand, "I believe that I am the rightful owner of that book."
"Lizzie, dear Captain Lizzie," Jack put a hand onto her shoulder, "Did I not save us all from the Locker by working out the meaning of those cryptic charts?" Elizabeth sighed, "And did I not work out from said cryptic charts exactly where to go, and how to go about gettin' to the Fountain?" She nodded, though somewhat reluctantly. "Well, then. Let's be goin'."
Beckett lowered his hand, giving Jack the most withering look he could dredge up at the moment. Waving the book triumphantly, Jack wove towards his cabin.
NB: OK, so next time you'll find out just how NOT cut-out I am for writing sonnets.
NEXT TIME: "What we are goin' after here is a myth, Lizzie," Jack wagged a finger, "Accuracy would seem like cheating, bilking—nay, letting ourselves down!"