Chapter 32 Murderous Hearts

It was calling to her but she couldn't reach it, whispering to her, but she couldn't hear the words. She could walk the shores of its prison in the human form that had been her own, but she could not approach it now she was returned to herself.

More years than a man could imagine had passed since it had been a part of her, yet still she could hear it, feel the pull of it. But it would never be hers again. It was too dangerous now, beyond even her control, and the old ones, the ancients who had guarded it so well, were long since gone. Only the secrecy of this place had ensured its safety this long.

Nothing but the moon, and the strange flux of the earth, could influence it now, all else would wither at its touch. Jack was no exception to that, but there was nothing Calypso could do other than trust to the Lady to see them safely through. It had set its price long ago, before the world of men and their kin became all powerful, in the dream days when she and her kind had wandered the world without fear. Its power was not lost, nor was its price changed, and only the Lady might still have some dominion there.

Calypso hovered on the surf, watching Mr Gibbs as he sat in the shade, his brow creased with thoughts that appeared to give him no comfort. She did not approach him, though she could have assumed human form, for there was nothing she had to say to him now, or him to her. Jack might yet prove of importance, but beyond than that men and women who walked this world were of no significance any longer. Not even for revenge, while the horrors of her entrapment would never be forgotten those memories were dwarfed by the joys of being her true self again. The petty concerns of men had never mattered much, sand on the winds of time as they were, and now the power of older and larger forces had drained them of what little interest they had ever held for her.

Yet still her concern for Jack persisted, entwined now with a small new shoot of interest in the Lady's captain, and she wondered how close the two below them were to their goal. They were near, she was sure of that, and it would already be testing them. She would have given much to know how they would weather the storms below, yet she was sure that they would, which raised the question of why. Though the Lady guarded her own to go to such lengths as these spoke of larger plans. Calypso still remembered the days of that single form well enough to feel some curiosity as to what those plans might be.

***

"Well who said life would be fair," Elanor drawled, "because I'd certainly done nothing to harm the man who killed me."

For a moment there was silence, only the hiss of their angry breathing joining with that ever present wind like sigh. Then Jack released her wrist and stepped back quickly with something close to fear in his face,
"You're dead?" he whispered his eyes wide and dark and he stared at her.
Elanorgave a him a haughty look,
"Why should that matter to you Captain Sparrow? Since, amongst your many stories, you claimed to have been murdered and brought back by your murderer, though you have never been very clear on how. In the circumstances I can't see how my corporeal status can matter much to you."
"You're dead." Jack raised his arm and stared at his hand, "Am I then? Dead? Still dead?" he looked around him, "is this all a dream? Am I still in the locker?"
Elanor gave a long and theatrical sigh,
"Well if you are then so am I," she took a step towards him and glared, "and since I wasn't when I started I can only say thank you very much for dragging me here!"

Jack was ignoring her, staring at his own hand again and talking more to himself than anyone,
"Am I dead? The battle, Will, the Dutchman, did it happen? Did Elizabeth repent or did they leave me there? Is this all Jones doing?"
Elanor felt anger stir again and rolled her eyes in exasperation,
"Well how do I know? I don't even know if I'm dying slowly of head injuries! They have to be bad to stir up an illusion like you."

Jack dropped his arm and stared at her as if suddenly catching up with what she had been saying,
"Why would I drag you to the locker?" his voice was sharp with outrage, "What makes you think I'd want you there with me missy?"
Elanor pointed an angry finger at him,
"I've told you not to call me missy!"
Jack put his hands on his hips and returned her look with his head and shoulders thrown back,
"Will call you so if I wish to! Missy."
Elanor was close to grinding her teeth again,
"Don't make me do something we'll both regret Jack!"
He flapped a hand in her direction,
"Regret! Ha. Well that's a fine thing! I'm the one with cause for regret. You sailed over me. Why should I not regret being with you? I know plenty of women I'd rather be with."

Elanor made a sound that even she had to admit was a snort,
"Like Elizabeth Swann perhaps? Your murderer. Oh yes, I've heard all about her from Mr Gibbs, and about you and her I might add!" Her smile became a smirk, "A girl of that age, it's little better than cradle snatching, in fact where I come from we'd probably have an uglier name for it! Getting to the point where you need an easy target are you?"
Jack's dark brows drew together and his mouth thinned,
"Nothin' about me and Elizabeth to hear about. Other than the fact that she killed me, but only after she had near pestered the life out of me."
"Oh yes?"
"Oh yes, " he shot her a hard look, "missy. Another ungrateful female wretch she was. I saved her life and she told me I was despicable, and then, despicable or no, suddenly she comes over all romantic about pirates and expects me to save her beloved William for her. When I try to he complicates matters, which he was always going to do o'course, him being cock led by her and not overly bright as a result, and she then blames me!" He raised an emphatic finger, "Quite happy to deceive the Commodore though, and to lie to her newly betrothed about Barbossa, never mindin' how many poor fools might get killed for her wants."

Elanor stared back in wide eyed mockery,
"And you weren't I suppose?"
Jack pulled a face that might, or might not, have been regret, but it faded quickly and a grim annoyance replaced it,
"If your bloody ancestor had done as I told him there would have been no problem."
He paused for a moment and shifted his head to stare at the ground, "Well wouldn't have been if they had gone for the boats as I expected they would. " He shrugged, "Don't see how I could have known they didn't need breath at all, or that they would chose to walk to the Dauntless. Walking, even on the seabed, not being the pirates way."
Elanor was having problems in remembering which version of the undead pirates story she had last heard, but she caught the meaning of this one easily enough,
"So the legendary Jack Sparrow got it wrong!"
That brought his eyes up to hers again, but there was no anger in his face anymore, just a reflective sadness,
"Aye, I did. Have you never done so? I'm sorry for it but nothing I can do to change it. Seemed the best I could do at the time, given the overall circumstances and other .. things."
He raised that emphatic finger again,
"I did warn him about Barbossa and his crew though, least I tried to, but Norrington was a man of the here and now and he didn't believe me."
"I wonder why?" even as she said it some part of her mind knew that the taunt was unjustified.

That brought a momentary frown, but other thoughts seemed to take hold of his attention and he tossed his hair and glared at her, finger jabbing at the air,
"But there was no Elizabeth Swann and me!"
His hand dropped and he gave a smirk and a quick nod that sent the objects in his hair rattling,
"Indulged meself a little I'll admit, might even have been tempted for I'd been a sea a while as you once kindly pointed out, but that's as far as it went. Wouldn't do that to William's boy," he frowned again, "though it would have served her father right if I had, given that he was eager to shoot or hang me, even as I was standing on the dock drippin' from saving her."
He seemed to brood on the iniquity of that for a moment then he pointed at her again,
"But that's as maybe, you've still not explained why I would wish you in me locker!"

Elanor felt an almost overwhelming desire to hit him, but she bit down on it, knowing that it would lose her points in this verbal sparring match given the propensity other women seemed to have for slapping him,
"I don't know," she growled, "you are the one who asked if this was still the locker. But if it is then I have to be there too. Thanks to you." It was her turn to frown, "maybe you wanted to get at my ancestor as you call him, and got me instead."
"How?" he sounded genuinely confused.
"I...don't...know. It's your locker and you are the one press ganging people into it."
He bared his teeth at her but it wasn't anywhere close to a smile, and he spoke through clenched jaws,
"I's done nothing of the sort. If I was goin' to pressgang a woman into it, and I'm not sayin' that I would, it wouldn't be one like you. Would be someone far less marble like and much more accommodating." He gave her an appraising look, "you're a beauty there is no denying it, face of an angel and the body of a succubus, a heady combination 'tis true, but I'd prefer me female companions to be a trifle more warm and human."

He had been taunting her, afterwards he knew that he had and was sorry for it, but he hadn't expected the pain and rage that flooded her face. Nor had he expected her hands around his throat. But she seemed to spring like a cat and he had no time to back away.

She was a formidable opponent, and while some part of him had known she was strong the feeling of it was a different matter; as it got harder to breathe he knew that he was lucky, for she had been hasty about it and if she just got a better grip she would either snap his neck or throttle him. It went against the grain to fight back, he had always liked to be on friendly terms with the gentler sex, but there was nothing gentle about her at the moment and if that was how she wanted to play it then she'd find that Jack Sparrow would not stand back and let a woman kill him, not again.

***

His last visit to the port, if you could call it that, of Tortuga had been a more relaxed affair Hathaway recalled, for he had not come ashore with Groves on the first Sparrow hunting foray.

Then he had been gathering intelligence on the Spanish privateers that had been menacing the new colonies and he had been alone, shabby and dirty, and indistinguishable from most of the other men who clustered about the wharves looking for a berth. He had come in on a merchantman but not left with her. Instead he had spent near two weeks prowling the taverns and doss houses drinking with anyone who had been sailing these waters in the previous months and that could be approached without raising suspicions, before taking berth on another merchant bound for Nassau. Amongst those he had sunk a drink or three with had been a man by the name of Gibbs, a fount of information about all manner of things, and a source of many stories about one Jack Sparrow. That had been nearly five years before, and more than a year before Sparrow had made off with the Dauntless and sailed her here to collect a crew; though it seemed unlikely that the story would have palled on the residents of this place just yet.

Then it had been winter, well as much as this place ever got one, and the rain had been frequent and the winds brisk; now it was the hottest part of the year and the alleys were like ovens and even the flags on the ships in dock hung limp for much of the time. The sun blazed down on their unprotected heads as the cart rattled its way from the bay where Intrepid was sheltering to the motley collection of driftwood and mud that made up the town. Without the usual wigs the tops of their heads felt as if they were scorching and the sweat ran in dusty rivulets down neck and shoulders to soak into their shirts. Hathaway had taken care to make sure they did not look out of place before they left the ship but even without his efforts the dust and heat would have made them almost indistinguishable from the more respectable occupants by the time they arrived on the outskirts of the sprawling scab that was the town. Hathaway was glad of the hat, for the glare of the sun was fierce and his fair skin was less accustomed to the sun than the bronzed Groves, even though it ensured that his fair hair was darkened with sweat before they had gone a mile.

It was a way from the bay to the town and it was well beyond midday when they arrived. Even so the place had a sluggish air about it, the market was already deserted and the alehouses were doing good business. The few people who were about more energetic business moved slowly, keeping to the shade as far as was possible. In the shadow of a doorway a couple of whores, not yet curled or painted, were fanning themselves with tawdry fans. Without the thick layer of paint they would wear later the pair looked tired and their faces were whiter than their grubby shifts in the poor light. They cast the two men a cursory glance as the cart rumbled by, but it was early morning for them and too hot for them to bestir themselves for such paltry pickings as Hathaway knew they must look to be.

As the cart headed towards the docks Hathaway touched Groves shoulder and the pair grabbed their coats and leapt down to the dusty street, one benefit of the heat was the lack of mud, though the stench was worse than Hathaway recalled it. He cast a quick nod to the carter who slapped the reins and urged the mule on; the man, one of the few who had joined in such games before, would return it to the farm from which they had borrowed it, and make sure that the owner's palm were suitable greased.

He would return in three days time but until then they were on their own.

***

Elanor felt the muscles of Jack's shoulders bunch and tense but she already had the softer tissues of his neck squarely in her hands and she knew it would take more than that to break her grip. His throat was strong, the tendon beneath the bronzed skin corded under her hand, but he had been too slow to react and she had him.

Every sense was heightened, her finger tips could feel the scrape of hair beneath her nails even as they shifted to find the most vulnerable place, and the heat of him, the racing thud of his pulse against her palms, merged with her own and fuelled the anger. She felt his fingers, strong as her own, clawing at her hands but knew he had been too slow, that it was too late for him. Eyes dark as night seemed to bore into hers, just as the blue grey eyes of her dead brother once had, but these eyes still held the bright spark of life and a rage that looked to be near equal to her own.
'So he wanted humanity did he,' she thought, 'well fine, he can have it and let it be the death of him as it had so nearly been the death of me.'

He let go of her hands and she felt his shoulder move as he broght his arm back for a punch to her belly, but she turned slightly, blocking him and the blow, swift and hard and certainly meant, was lost in her ribs. She barely felt the pain of it, every part of her mind being concentrated on keeping her grip on his throat. Now his hands were round her wrists, hauling on her arms, but still the rage kept her hands locked.

She could hear that his breath was more laboured now, that thud of his pulse was less regular, and she knew that it would take only a little more pressure to shut it off completely. Yet her muscles seemed unwilling to obey her, unwilling to tighten that small degree needed to finish it. He'd fail soon, pirate or not she was the measure of him, and why should she not be what they said she was, what he said she was. He'd made it clear enough that he found her inhuman and he was far from being the first. Why? Because she didn't indulge her weakness at every passing moment? Because she understood discipline and duty and honour? Was that so inhuman? If so then let him understand the full measure if it. Elanor drew a deeper breath and tried again to find the will to finish it.

***

The blow had barely registered, she'd seen it coming ofcourse and done what was necessary to deflect it, some part of him approved that while another part despaired. He grasped her wrist and tried to prise her fingers away, she winced but held on to him. Gritting his teeth he managed to get one hand past the guard of her forearms and closed his hand around the front of her throat feeling his fingers bite into muscle and sinew.
'Bloody woman' he thought, 'wrecks me boat, breaks me head, then expects me to treat her as if she's the greatest friend I ever had. Not enough that she has to look like every fantasy a man ever had, oh no she has to be a captain too! A real one, by her own right and with a ship that she can sail." The world was darkening and his head was pounding, ' Worse than that' the thoughts surged up from some dark place, 'she takes my side and says nothin' about it! She has to be so...reasonable, and clever, and.. and ....reasonable. Up to most things she is, her and her bloody ghost! Bugger! Why did she have to be so perfect, and so bloody reasonable! Damn her, why did she have to look at me as if I was just another captain, not a scallywag at all? Remindin' me of things better forgotten. " he thought bitterly, Her fingers were like the noose around his neck and he couldnt shake them off. 'And why is it that just when I thought I was getting used to her she has to go and try to kill me?'

***

She felt his hands take hold of her but knew that he was too late and that his strength was already fading. He was close against her now and she could feel the heaving of his rib cage as he fought for breath. He was stronger than she had expected and showed more tenacity than a man so flamboyant had any right to, but those seconds of surprise would win her the round. Not fair perhaps, but then nor was his treatment of her, given that she had offered him no harm. Why could he not accept her for what she was as she accepted him, why did have to try to taunt her when they both knew that things could not be different. He was aboard her ship, dammit, she was his captain whether he liked it or not! So why was he so wary about her all the time? As if he expected she was going to throw him overboard, or read his mind or......chain him to the mast!

Suddenly the anger cooled, memory damping the flames. He had reason though, didn't he? Unlike those others. If half of what Gibbs had told her was true then he had no reason to trust. Unlike them. Thought they felt they had reason too, and given what she knew could she truly say that she was sure that they were wrong. Fear taught long lasting lessons and not always the right ones, so could she really blame him, or them? What lessons was fear trying to teach her now, which ones was it trying to make her forget?

***

Jack tightened his hands, her skin was soft and warm, he could feel the hammer of her pulse and the sheer power of the life in her and he wished for a moment that he could take back the careless words that had fuelled this.... whatever it was. But there was still murder in her eyes so he held on. The pressure of those slim but powerful hands on his windpipe was telling and it was getting hard to breathe, he tried to tighten his own grip on her and to force her arms apart hoping to ease the pressure, but with little success. Even as he struggled for breath some part of his mind was wondering why his words had brought on such a rage. She still had a firm grip and dark spots were swirling in front of his eyes, even as other darks spots were forming under his hands, red welts starting to show on the white skin beneath his fingers. He looked back to her eyes, the fury was still there but he couldn't help but feel she was not looking at him, the realisation was like a shock of cold water and without thinking of the consequences he eased his grip.

As he did so the face before him changed, the planes of it reordering themselves until he was looking not her but Elizabeth, the expression the same one she had worn on the locker sands. He heard her voice again, 'we've come to rescue you'. Rescue! As if she was some white knight come charging in to carry him away from the dragon's den, she who was the dragon itself! The final insult that, her, the little governor's daughter, offering him, the bold pirate, the legendary Captain Sparrow no less, rescue. After that there was nothing more she could do to destroy him. He felt his fingers flex again, taking a tighter hold on the soft throat, 'I could make it different,' he told himself, 'I could forget everything but revenge and treat her as she deserved.'

But as the skin of her neck flushed redder the rage failed him. Suddenly he recalled the sight of Barbossa looking down at the red staining his shirt, remembered the feeling that had brought, not at all what he had expected. He released her, realising with a sudden relief that the hands were gone from about his own throat. Elizabeth's face was gone too and it was Elanor there again, staring down at her hands in horror.

***

As he gasped in air she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time in a while,
"Jack!" she whispered, though whether that was shock or the effect of his own attempts at strangulation he couldn't be sure.
He nodded,
"I know. What are we doing?" his voice was husky and uneven.
She gave a shaky laugh,
"Other than trying to kill each other you mean?"
Jack nodded and rubbed his throat, watching closely as her shoulders sagged and she ran a hand over her sweat soaked hair,
"Having a row I think," she croaked, rubbing her neck.
He nodded again, and gave a crooked smile,
"You could say that. Worse than any old married couple, if you will pardon me language. But why? Why are we arguing?"
She shrugged again,
"I don't know. I was just suddenly so angry."
"At me?"
"Yes, but not just you, at everything. You just happened to be there, and all I could think about was what an irritating, devious..manipulative bastard you can be."
He gave her another wry smile,
"Ta, you don't do badly on that score yourself."
"And you?" she prompted,
"Pretty much the same really."
Elanor nodded,
"It's this place, just like it was before," she looked at him sideways as she rubbed her own bruised throat, feeling a surge of shame as she saw the black bruises forming on his skin, "you saw your death back there, didn't you?"
He looked at her for a moment then inclined his head,
"Aye, as I'd guess did you."
"Yes."

For a moment they were quiet, each lost in the after shocks of the emotional quake of a moment ago. Around them the green of the trees seemed darker and the heavy scent of the air had changed taking on a lighter, more woody note. Elanor looked up and sighed,
"I think it's getting darker. Maybe there is night here."
Jack nodded,
"Maybe, best get on then. Don't want to be on the move in the dark."
He turned and looked at her, waiting for the objections he was sure would come, but she just nodded,
"Yes." She cast a grim smile in his direction as if reading his thoughts, "be damned if I'm letting this place and its tricks beat me."
"With you on that luv." He cast another look around then pulled the compass from his belt and checked the bearing, "that way then."
She shrugged,
"Good as any other," then she started to move.

Jack reached out and caught her at arm as she passed him, looking at her with anxious eyes,
"I have to know. Are you dead? Am I dead, or am I not?"
Elanor turned and stared at him for a moment
"It was true wasn't it?" she said quietly, "She really did kill you. You were in the locker. Gibbs told so many stories, on top of the ones I heard from you, and I wasn't really sure what to believe. But it was true, you were dead."
"Was? Are you dead or not?"
"I'm not dead, not now. At least not as far as I know. So I'd guess that nor are you."
He opened his mouth to ask more but she shook her head,
"Not now Jack. I will tell you, but not now. Let's just get this thing done and get out of here. I might not want it to beat me but I really don't want to be here longer than we have to be either."

She turned and moved off through the trees. With a sigh he admitted to himself that there really wasn't anything he could say against that and followed her.

***

In the trees above them a golden gowned figure sat and watched, she did not smile or frown just waited and watched until they found themselves again and moved on. This price she could not pay for them, and it remained to be seen if her choice was wise or not. But it would be decided soon.

As they moved away she spread her fan and inspected it. The pictures of the two ships were still there, and they seemed a closer and a little brighter than they had been. But now another picture was forming, though to human senses it would seem that its outline was blurred by a mist of silver. She inspected this with far seeing eyes that were in no way human, and decided that, for the moment, it was good.

***

Outside in the surf Calypso felt the change and smiled. 'Witty Jack could be relied upon to do the unexpected', she thought, and the lady captain seemed no sluggard either. It was not over yet, but the second instalment was successfully paid