Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Chapter 7

Havana

Ponce de Leon was alive.

In the silence of Maroto's cabin, those words sounded again and again in my mind, like the tolling of a bell. He was alive, though he should have died two centuries ago. He was alive, and his stolen journals were in my possession. And if Jack got to the Fountain, a living ghoul would be there to welcome him.

I wondered whether the famous conquistador still hunted for victims, and whether his crew was with him. How could Maroto hope to get hold of the log book? I hardly knew where to begin with my questions.

"Then - who is buried in Havana? What of the tombs in Spain and the other places?" I finally stammered.

Maroto shrugged. "I can only tell you who is not buried there."

"I'm sure you can tell me a deal more than that." Frustration edged my voice, and I studied his face for signs of madness or deceit-any reason to disbelieve him. But his steady gaze was honest and thoughtful.

Suddenly I despised Ponce de Leon. "Only a monster would use his family so ill! If he truly wanted the Fountain destroyed, he should have done it himself-and then fallen on his own sword."

Maroto gazed down at his hands for a moment. "We must try to show him mercy, as we hope to receive it ourselves. Perhaps his will was not strong enough. Perhaps he did what he could by writing the journal."

He was right. I knew little of Ponce de Leon, certainly not enough to condemn him. It was the dark power of the Fountain and Jack's fascination with it that terrified me. I hesitated.

"Supper awaits you, señora," said Maroto, and I heard Hector's footsteps as he walked past Maroto's cabin and on into the captain's quarters. "There will be time for us to speak of this in Havana."

At supper, I sat musing over my part in Maroto's design. Tomorrow evening, I would go ashore at the Pantano, leaving Jack and Hector to sail on to Havana. I would make my way on land, arriving on the other side of the city, and present a letter from Maroto to the abbess of a hermitage there.

The sisters would disguise me as one of their order and send me on to the University of Havana. Maroto would meet me there and arrange a visit to El Morro to bring spiritual comfort and medical care to the prisoners.

That would be my chance to find out where they were keeping the King's agent.

"What be on yer mind, lass?" Hector's voice startled me out of my reverie.

"Oh . . . pondering what to take with me," I replied, as if I had trunks full of gowns to consider.

"I may be addin' one or two trifles." His half-closed eyes gave him a secretive air and I frowned.

"Don't trouble yerself," he added, leaning back in his chair. "'Twill be dealt with tomorrow."

The cabin door creaked open. "Oh!" cried Elizabeth, as soon as she saw me. "I do beg your pardon!" She made haste to withdraw, but Hector stopped her.

"Wait!" Then he glanced at me. "'Tis a matter o' no concern to ye," he said, rising from the table. He followed Elizabeth out of the cabin, and his voice floated back to me. "Over here," I heard him say to her.

He didn't return, and at last I retired to sleep, though curiosity burned in my breast. I invented reasons for Hector wanting to speak with Elizabeth alone, but to no avail.

Eventually I fell asleep. Sometime later, I was half-awakened when Hector returned and lay down beside me. After that, I slept until morning.

That day, I busied myself packing all my belongings, save one. It would be safer to leave the journal's little map on the Medusa. Should I be robbed on the road to Havana, few could decipher the journal's medieval text, but I feared that anyone might read the map.

I looked about for a hiding place. Part of the ornate moulding over our berth had warped, creating a thin separation between it and the bulkhead. I wedged the map into this opening, pushing it in far enough to avoid discovery. Then I joined Rufus and Elizabeth on the main deck to get a bit of air.

"Well now," said Rufus cheerily. "An' how went yer venture in Pencarren, eh? I heared ye be wed now. Time t' start fillin' the ship wi' little prattlers." He saw my blushes and added, "Only meanin' congratulations. Ye recall I said the two of ye should understand each other. Appears t' me that ye do."

We talked for a while and passed a pleasant afternoon. It was only when the sun set that I thought to collect my duffel and make ready to go ashore. I hastened back to our quarters and picked up a brush and scent bottle I had forgot to pack.

Opening my duffel, I was dumbfounded to see that ten or twelve green apples had been added to my bag. Then I understood. Hector intended to go ashore with me.

"Oh, no you don't." Muttering to myself, I picked out the apples and took them into the day room. Hector was leaning over his map table, and I began to put the apples back in the large bowl where they were always kept.

"Belay that!" He didn't look up at me.

I belayed nothing, but I could sense that he was fuming. I finished replacing the apples and addressed him. "I have no reason to ferry these apples from here to Havana."

He straightened up quickly and rounded on me. "Aye, but yer captain does."

I had felt rebuffed by his absence the previous night. Now the hard, challenging look in his eyes goaded my temper even further. "My captain will not be with me," I retorted. "I shall go ashore alone and keep to the plan!"

As I spoke, a brightly-coloured parrot fluttered past me and perched on the back of a chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Jack, Mr Cotton and Elizabeth hovering in the doorway, ready and waiting to see me to the longboat.

"I've changed the plan!" Hector declared in a loud voice. "We both go ashore, an' Mrs Turner here can take charge o' the Medusa in me absence."

I shot an accusing glance at Elizabeth, who had the grace to look embarrassed. So that was why he had wanted to speak with her alone! He had reckoned my skills so feeble that I could not succeed without the protection of an escort. Then he had compounded the insult by taking matters into his own hands.

My voice was defiant. "I'm not obliged to follow your plan! I am the Messenger – not you!"

"Yer also part of me crew, an' ye'll do as I bid ye! And ye'll answer me with 'Aye, Captain!'" Arms akimbo, he was shouting now, and trying to stare me down.

Anger heated my blood and made my eyes flash as Jack chimed in with the glee of a spectator. "I know that look, mate," he crowed to Hector. "You're for it now."

But before I could speak, Cotton's parrot began chuckling softly, mimicking Hector's voice. Everyone in the room froze.

"M' little bird, little bird, little bird," the parrot purred, bobbing its head. Then it emitted sounds that seemed like low groans and intimate murmurings, although the words were, mercifully, indistinct. I remembered, and caught my breath. Cotton and his parrot had delivered my bag on my first night back with Hector, after we had retired to bed.

Aghast, I heard my own voice, teasing. "That's hard work," the parrot cooed, giggling softly. "Mmmmmm."

My face began to flush. Everyone else was pretending to find the cabin's woodwork extraordinarily interesting. Jack began humming to himself, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk that his moustache didn't disguise.

I rounded on poor Cotton. "Remove that bird, Mr Cotton," I demanded. "Or I won't answer for his safety!" Cotton moved swiftly to capture his companion.

"Ohhh – Hector!" gasped the bird, flapping wildly as Cotton hurried him from the room.

"Right. I'm off now!" Red-faced, I snatched up my duffel and made for the door with as much dignity as I could muster. Hector strode after me with Jack the monkey on his shoulder.

We settled ourselves in the longboat side by side, both staring straight ahead. After several moments, Hector took a few apples from his coat pockets and dropped them into my bag. I gently pressed the side of his leg with mine and was comforted by the answering pressure of his knee. A silent truce had been declared.

Pintel and Ragetti, doubtless fearing another outburst from their hot-headed passengers, rowed us up the Pantano without a word, to that tiny dwelling where so much of our history had begun-Tia Dalma's shack. By the light of my small lantern, we stepped onto the little dock, and the pirates left us there.

When we entered the shack, the state of the rooms amazed me. There was no mildew, no smell of stale air or rot, not even a layer of dust. Everything looked just as it did when she had lived there. Even the breadfruit and ackee were fresh and ripe for cooking.

I poked my head up the stairs. "Tia Dalma?" But there was no answer. She was gone, yet the house remained exactly as it was the moment she left. Within its walls, time seemed to have been suspended.

When I returned to the parlour, Hector was laying his hat upon the table. He reached for my hand and brought me to him. "So, here be the two of us," he said, caressing my shoulders. "Where it all began."

"No ship to look after," I murmured as I tugged at the buckles of his belt and baldric. "No one to interrupt us. Our journey doesn't begin until tomorrow."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, which gave his expressive face a most appealing aspect. "Almost a year wed," he growled, tracing my face with his fingers. "Be my company still to yer likin'?"

I kissed him and sighed. "When you look at me like that, I could die for you."

Amid many more kisses, he disengaged my fingers and removed his coat and weapons. He seemed to be watching me intently, expectantly. Taking me by my elbows, he gently turned me to face the door of his former room.

"Now, what d' ye remember o' that night?" he asked, standing behind me and drawing his hands lightly up and down my arms.

"You, lying in there, pale as death. I – I didn't feel the way I thought I would." I leaned back against him, remembering how I had thought to rejoice at his demise. Instead, I had been desperate for Tia Dalma to bring him back, though I denied that I felt anything for him.

"Anything else?" The low rasp of his voice teased my ear.

"You kept me at your bedside." His arms encircled me as I spoke. "You had my hairpin with you. And then . . . I recall leaving you there." I concentrated, but could recall nothing more of that evening.

Hector took my hand and led me into the room. We lay on our sides, facing each other on the narrow bed, and I wrapped my arms around his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed.

"'Tis true that ye left me," he said. "But later, ye returned."

Holding me close with one arm, he began loosening my pigtail with the other. I lifted my eyes to meet his ardent gaze, and we peered silently into each other's souls, surrendering to the intimacy of the moment. I was filled with the conviction that this was where I belonged, sheltered in his embrace, staring into his keen blue eyes forever.

A faint memory tugged at my mind, insisting that I had lain here with him before, in exactly this posture. He stroked my hair, running his fingers through my tresses. Again came that feeling of déjà vu, only stronger.

Then, I caught my breath as it all came back to me: the first time Hector held me in his arms. Yes, it had been here, in this room, on this narrow bed. My heart had turned to him that night in an overpowering rush of tenderness that had compelled me to return to him. How could I ever forget? And what else might have happened?

"I did return to you," I whispered. "I know it now."

He smiled and brushed his thumb across my cheek, but I caught his wrist. "Hector, did we . . ."

He looked surprised, his eyes widening as he chuckled. "Nay, m' sweet. Though I found yer presence pleasurable enough. But I were newly brought back – spellbound, and weak as a babe." Then he clasped me tight against him, and his hot breath tickled my ear. "But I did dream of it. By the powers, I wanted ye!" His voice was low and intense.

He grasped my hair, lifting it to expose my neck, and his whiskers brushed my skin each time he pressed his mouth firmly against me. "'Tis a hunger I still have," he growled, running his calloused hands over me, disordering my clothes with his long fingers. The sensation was exquisite, and his caresses became rougher and more urgent.

Once he had dispossessed me of my clothes, he devoured me with kisses, raking me lightly with his nails as he ran his hands across my skin. Each touch made the fire in my loins hotter, and I pulled at his clothes, almost ripping them, until, laughing, he cast them off. When he stood up to remove his breeches, I gave his rump a playful pat. He turned with a grin and pushed me over on my back.

He lost no time in arranging me to his liking and taking complete possession of me. As he thrust against me, grunting with the fierce, heated urgency of a lion, I was consumed with an ecstatic longing. The memories my darling had provoked, all that he meant to me, and the eerie feeling that we were somehow outside of time overwhelmed my reason.

At last our pleasures reach a pitch that Nature could not sustain. Hector groaned loudly as our passions resolved themselves into those exquisite moments of joy when I truly felt we were one. Yet even then I yearned for a still deeper union. There remained a nameless, consuming desire in me that I was powerless to do anything but feel.

Afterwards, a quiet tenderness enveloped us. In the dim candlelight, I lay on my back, feeling warm and feather-light, every muscle in my body utterly relaxed. The back of Hector's head almost touched my cheek as he rested on my breast, half-asleep. I would have lain there silently for hours, but Hector's drowsy, sated state was the best time to get his agreement on anything that might be contentious.

I stroked his hair and spoke softly. "When I've carried out this errand, I'll stay with you – there's no need for me to return to London. I have only to free this prisoner and provide him assistance if I can."

There was an instant's pause, whilst Hector absorbed my words. Then he raised his head and looked deep into my eyes. "So 'tis more than just freein' him? An' what sort of assistance are ye t' give?"

"Perhaps none." I smoothed his hair. "He is to make his own request. But my paymaster told me there is a great treasure involved. I suppose that's what the agent was sent to discover in the first place." I traced patterns on his shoulder with my fingers.

"In any event," I murmured, "I want you by my side. Think of the gold we'll have! We won't lack for money. We can please ourselves for ever so long, until it runs out." Before he could object, I embraced him, nuzzling and kissing his ear. "Say you agree? Say we have an accord?"

"Aye," he sighed. "If that be what pleases ye – we have an accord, m' sweet."

I made a good supper for us, and afterwards brought him a bottle of rum, two apples, and his pipe. I had fretted that the gold in Havana would lessen the appeal of this other supposed treasure. But thankfully, Hector's piratical nature was never satisfied – he always wanted more.

When we retired to bed, Hector fell asleep quickly, but I was restless and uncertain. Something had been different for me this evening – I had felt a deeper longing than ever before as he made love to me, and I struggled to understand it. Rufus' words had popped into my mind unbidden: time to start fillin' the ship with little prattlers.

Was the little cypress shack itself influencing me, infused with some magic left by Tia Dalma? Perhaps, but surely Rufus' remark was what prompted the startling image that troubled me-a little red-haired child with the dark blue eyes so typical of the Bitters.

I resolved to turn my thoughts away. Hector would not stand for it, and even if he did, pirates made dreadful parents. Even my own father, whom I loved, had caused Jack great distress, and had left my upbringing to my uncle.

But you still loved your father, said a little voice inside me. And so did Jack. The Keeper of the Code looked after each of you in his own way, and you would do the same for him. Doesn't Hector deserve that, too?

I swallowed the lump in my throat and focused my mind on Havana. I thought of the richness and beauty of its buildings, and the warm hospitality with which it treated its guests. These things distracted me, and sleep welcomed me at last.

We left for Havana at dawn. The tropical winter is very dry, and we had no difficulty finding a muddy path through the mangroves. I led Hector to a sort of long bridge or walkway that was in ill-repair, but which would take us across the swamp to remote farms where we could get horses for our journey. The sky was hazy and the air light and cool as we walked, treading carefully on the rickety boards, with only a mildewed rope along one side to steady us.

I was reflecting on the unwanted notice that would be taken of a party of travellers that included a tall red-haired pirate and a monkey. But Jack the monkey made a sudden leap from Hector's shoulder and swung himself into a low tree. He jumped from tree to tree until he was out of our sight.

"He'll follow us," Hector assured me. "But he'll keep away so's not t' draw attention."

"Might've known you'd have matters in hand." I stole a quick look at the proud grin on his face.

Once out of the swampy Pantano, we bought two unremarkable horses at a small ranch, and made our three-day journey to Havana. We were careful to avoid other travellers as we rode along the flat and arid coast, and we took only a few hours' sleep each night, near the side of the road. Along the way, we spied a number of new forts being built by workmen in populous camps, which were all protected by Spanish regiments. I began to see how zealously this island was guarded.

It was almost dawn when we arrived at the village of Regla. The sisters were at Matins, and I presented my letter to the abbess as she left the church. After reading it, she kept her head down but raised her eyes for a moment to see Hector standing impatiently nearby. Then she gave me an oblique smile. "A sister may not travel with men," she said quietly in Spanish. "I will give you the habit, but dress you both as servants. Wear the habit after you reach the University."

Shortly after, we found ourselves at one of the city gates, waiting for the signal – a single gunshot – that announced its opening each morning. I had a new letter, written by the abbess, which I gave to the soldiers, and at last we were in Havana!

Maroto met us inside the gate and escorted us to the University, which was a fair distance away. He seemed a bit weary to me, which aged him somewhat, but I put this down to the strain of our venture.

We were introduced to another Jesuit, Dr Dionisio Suarez, who was a person of some importance at the University. "Dr Suarez is completely in my confidence," Maroto told us. "You may trust him as you do me."

Hector looked sceptical at this, and was very displeased later on, when we were given separate sleeping quarters. "How can I admit we are married?" I asked him privately. "In a short time we shall be joined by the King's agent – exactly the sort of person who mustn't know the truth."

This served to mollify him somewhat, but the next day he protested anew when he saw me ready to accompany Maroto to the prison in my novice's habit, carrying several rosaries.

"Just a moment, if ye please," he said to Maroto; then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside. "We should both go. What d' ye know of this Padre?"

He doubted my competency and was treating me like a child. Perhaps he thought Elizabeth would have been better in my role. I swallowed the hurt and glanced over my shoulder at Maroto, who had politely withdrawn. Then I answered Hector in a furious whisper.

"The question is, what do you know of me? After everything we have endured, how can you think me so weak, so . . . stupid, that I must always be protected?"

He narrowed his eyes and set his mouth in a grim line. "Who says that be what I think o' ye?" Before I could answer, he added, "Suit yerself, then," and walked away.

El Morro stood on the opposite side of the narrow harbour entrance, and Maroto and I were rowed across to the rocky headlands on which it was built. As we walked up the steep road to the entry gate, it was clear that this was a most impressive fort, and not a mere prison. We were allowed through the gate only to find a narrow wooden bridge that passed over a moat, and another arched entrance on the opposite side. As I walked out of the sunlight and into a long stone tunnel, the temperature of the air suddenly chilled my skin, as if I had entered a cave.

Maroto conferred with a guard, and we were escorted through the portion of the fort where prisoners were kept. I had been given a handful of rosaries by the abbess, to be handed out to any who asked for one. This gave me a few moments to study each inmate, but none seemed to be English. I thought it likely they were all either suspected of treason or political intrigues against the colonial government.

I gave away the last of my rosaries, and Maroto and I exchanged anxious looks. Perhaps the agent had been moved, or my instructions were wrong. Then I spied a narrow corridor leading off of the main hallway. "Y es alguien ahí?" I asked the guard, pointing at the corridor.

"Sí, pero no es un católico," he answered.

"All the more reason to offer our prayers for his salvation, my son," said Maroto smoothly. "Please – may we look in on him?"

The guard waved us down the corridor, but remained in the main hallway. At the end of the corridor, we found the door to a single cell. This prisoner was being kept apart from all the others.

There was a small barred window like a half-moon in the door. I could just see through it by standing on my toes. Looking in, I saw a man lying on a pallet, evidently asleep. As I watched, he shifted position and a faint shaft of light illuminated his face. I froze for a moment, then fell back. Maroto stood waiting as I leaned against the stone wall and tried to compose myself.

My heartbeat felt like sharp hammer blows, and at first I could not speak. Finally I managed a hoarse response. "This one."

Maroto studied me. "Are you certain?"

I cleared my dry throat and swallowed. "Yes, Padre."

He glanced at my colourless face and trembling hands, and his voice was sympathetic. "Are you ill, señora? Please, look again – we cannot risk any mistake."

I wiped my palms on my apron and steadied myself for another look. The world felt dreamlike as I approached the door once again. I hardened my resolve and rose up on my toes.

Peering into the dim cell, I saw the prisoner open his eyes and sit up. He looked at me, startled for a moment. Then his face relaxed into the smile I had known so well years ago.

He gave a low whistle. "Well, damme if it ain't Nina Bitter," he said, with quiet amusement. "Allow me to guess, Miss Bitter: I'm the last person you expected to see."

I was powerless to reply. An old wound in my heart, long healed, had burst open afresh and I ached with grief for the sad fate of one who had never been mine to lose.

I was looking at the long-lost, beloved face of James Norrington.

Next: Chapter 8 – The Spanish Prisoner – In which we learn more of the King's agent, and meet a certain Spanish naval officer.