3: The balance must be restored
"Do you really mean it, Mam?"
"Aye love, I do."
"But what about Arthur and Helen? Where will they live?"
"They've got a little bungalow lined up for them back down South. Wanted to be closer to their grandkids."
"So we'll get the whole Inn to ourselves?"
Mary chuckled softly at her daughter's enthusiasm. "In a manner of speaking. We'll still have guests to look after and all. It's still a business and me and your dad are going to do our best to not let Helen and Arthur's hard work go to waste."
"Oh… right." Charlie's young face scrunched up in thought. "But they won't be staying in the family wing, will they?" She asked innocently, begging internally for a favourable answer.
"Course not love. Beatrix, honey, you've been awfully quiet. What do you reckon?"
Beatrix chewed her lip as she mulled over her feelings. The Starr Inn, in all of its Grade II listed glory, was steeped in history. To take on running it would be a huge task for Mary and Mike but if anyone could do it, she was sure it would be the Fenn family. Besides, she loved it at the Inn and to live there permanently was like a dream come true. Thoughts of all the uninterrupted exploring she could do, not just of the rooms but of the gardens and the surrounding woods, preoccupied her mind.
Eventually she smiled earnestly at her adoptive mother. "I think it's great, Mary. I love it here."
"C'mere girls," Mary murmured softly as she drew the two eleven year olds into her arms. "I love you both so much."
"We love you too, Mam. No need to get all mushy on us," Charlie muttered as she sank deeper in her mother's embrace.
Pulling back, Mary produced an old bronzed key from her pocket and pressed it firmly into Beatrix's palm. "Go on then girls, go and explore whilst I help your dad."
Sporting massive grins, Beatrix led the charge as she and Charlie bounded through the heavy oak doors and set off exploring in their new home.
A faint cool breeze fluttered against the beaded curtain as Beatrix stirred groggily awake. As she lay blinking up at the splintered wood her thoughts lingered on her family. She wondered what they'd be doing at that moment. Discussing her disappearance with the police? Notifying the community? God, she wished she could be with them.
Screwing her eyes tightly shut, she tried to pretend she was back in the Starr Inn. She'd toned down her enthusiasm for the move the day that Mary had told them. The truth was, the Inn already felt like home to Beatrix. There was something innately comforting in the low ceilings and solid oak beams, like every time she stepped through those heavy doors the building itself welcomed her back.
It had always been that way, ever since her seventh birthday and Mary let her tag along to work with her. It became their special place. A time for them to bond as they worked through their grief whilst Charlie and Mike stayed home, tinkering with his motorbikes. Mary cooked breakfast for the guests while Bea helped to tidy up and then they'd play games whilst cleaning the rooms. Before long, Beatrix knew the Inn like the back of her hand and delighted in sharing her finds with her sister. Yet the allure of the off limits family wing remained. She was sure that it would have access to the loft, an unknown space full of mysteries poised to satisfy an inquisitive child's mind.
The moment Mary had given her the key, endless possibilities of what was hidden there erupted through her mind. Of course, she was soon disappointed to learn that the key did not, in fact, grant access to the mysterious loft but with a whole new floor to explore, her disappointment was soon forgotten as Charlie swept her up in her enthusiasm until all that could be heard was their infectious giggles.
A weary sigh tumbled from Beatrix's lips as the woollen sheets itched at her skin. Scrubbing furiously at her eyes she pushed down her thoughts of home and family. Dwelling on it wasn't going to help in her current predicament other than be conducive for a veritable waterfall of tears, the very last thing she wanted.
Suddenly, sending a shower of beads clattering in every direction, Tia Dalma burst into the room.
"Good, ye be awake." Striding across the room, she perched a large basin and jug precariously on a chest in the corner.
Beatrix, feeling rather startled, watched as Tia Dalma left the room with as much vigour as she'd entered, only to return moments later with a bundle of fabric in her arms.
"I thought you'd be wanting to freshen up after the fever sweats. And I've brought you a change of clothes." Placing the mound of fabric on the end of the bed, Tia Dalma stood, baring her teeth in a macabre smile, as if awaiting a thank you for her generosity. Beatrix forced out a grimace and reluctantly nodded her thanks.
"A pot is here for your needs," Tia Dalma said as she gestured to a plain clay pot with handles.
Beatrix blanched, immediately catching her meaning. "You have got to be joking. Where's the toilet?"
"Toilet?"
"Yes, the toilet. You know, for … well. Please tell me you have indoor plumbing here. Or at the very least an outhouse or something." Anything would be better than a chamber pot, she thought.
Tia Dalma raised an eyebrow and stared down her nose. "The pot is there. Throw the contents out of the window when ye be done." With that said, the tall woman backed out of the room once more.
Heaving a sigh, Beatrix crossed the room and studiously ignored the chamber pot, choosing instead to size up the bundle of fabric. The pile was distressingly large and filled her with apprehension. But what choice did she have? It wasn't like she had a wardrobe full of clothes at her disposal. And her pyjamas were disgusting. Flipping through the fabric she found a large skirt, stays, a chemise, what looked to be a detachable pocket, stockings and ribbons – the sheer amount puzzled her.
Deciding to cross that bridge when she came to it, she turned to washing as best she could with the lavender scented water from the jug. Eventually feeling more clean, and clear headed, Beatrix tackled the clothes. Not one to back down from a challenge, she muddled her way through until she was dressed. Glaring at the chamber pot in disgust, she ignored her body's needs and made her way down the rickety stairs, mindful of the full skirt as she went. She wasn't quite prepared to give up her dignity, not when she was fully convinced that this Tia Dalma was hiding things from her. One of those things could very well be a fully functioning toilet.
"The fever may well be gone, but your body will be weak for a short while. Food and rest will help." Tia Dalma said without sparing a glance as Beatrix came down and sat mutely at the table, her hands being preoccupied with kneading a thick dough.
Beatrix remained silent, too focused on taking in her surrounds now that the weak daylight was filtering through the shack. The door stood tantalisingly at the other end of the room, beckoning her forwards. But Tia Dalma was right; Beatrix could feel a weakness in her limbs that shook her confidence. Perhaps gathering information about her situation would be more beneficial than showing her hand and escaping into a complete unknown. So far she hadn't actually been in that much danger, all things considered, and outside of that door laid a land full of questions.
Better the devil you know, she reasoned.
Steering her thoughts back to the previous day, Beatrix ruminated. Clearly Tia Dalma truly believed in what she was saying, that she was a trapped Goddess, however it brought to light all sorts of questions. Try as she might, Beatrix just couldn't make sense of it. But there was one thing she was burning to know.
"How long have I been here?" she finally asked.
"Four days."
"As long as that?"
"The journey is taxing on the mind and the body needs time to adjust. You have made a swifter recovery than I expected." Tia Dalma placed the dough into a bowl and covered it with a cloth.
"Talking from experience?" Beatrix attempted to keep a blank face but panic seized her chest. If she wasn't the first, then where were the others?
Tia Dalma hummed noncommittally in a manner that did nothing to put Beatrix at ease.
Sense that was all she was willing to offer, Beatrix sat back and observed the woman as she bustled around the room. Her skirt swept erratically around her legs, threatening to knock over delicately balanced piles of junk. Occasionally she bent down and rooted through various objects, throwing them this way and that as she scoured for something, muttering under her breath. Clearly whatever she found wasn't too her liking as she continued making her way to the far side of the room. The side of the room opposite the door.
Beatrix realised that nothing currently stood in her way. Surely it wouldn't hurt to just have a look at her surroundings? Her eyes flickered between the muttering woman and the door. It would be too easy.
Standing abruptly, Beatrix strode purposefully to the wooden door. Taking a deep breath she placed her palm on the handle, finger growing slick with sweat and turned. Tia Dalma stood watching her intently. Heart pounding, Beatrix opened the door with nary a creak and cautiously took one step over the threshold and onto the weathered porch.
A winding river stretched out below the shack. Large dark trees dominated over the river, strangling the banks with their roots. Sunlight was sparse, desperately seeking a way through the canopy of leaves. Unfamiliar birds cawed lowly, echoing along the water as something ominous crept below the surface and left ripples in its wake.
Insects swarmed around Beatrix as she tried to discern a path along the duck weeds and moss that coated the floor. Breath quickening, she minutely shook her head. Wetlands. She was surrounded by wetlands as far as she could see. The only way out was the river.
A small jetty jutted out below the shack, a place for boats to dock, yet no boat bobbed there. And the most pressing realisation of all hit her, there was no outhouse to be found. Beatrix struggled to make sense of everything. It was enough to make her head start to hurt.
Walking backwards, she returned to the relative safety of the shack and closed the door on the unsettling image before her. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the rough wood, trying to ground herself to reality.
Perhaps looking had been a mistake but she had to know what awaited her. Four days was a long time, yet nobody had found her. Of course they haven't found you, she thought viciously, you're in the middle of fucking nowhere! Clenching her fists, Beatrix breathed deep and squashed as much panic as she could.
When she regained some semblance of control, she made her way back to the table and threw herself onto the seat. Studiously avoiding looking at the woman on the other side of the room, Beatrix idly traced a pattern on the table.
Tia Dalma made her way back to Beatrix and sat across from her, placing a pestle and mortar on the table. "I take it that the landscape is not to ye's liking."
"No it is not." Beatrix bit back through gritted teeth.
Better the devil you know, my arse. Maybe she'd been better off not looking. But no, she eventually decided, she needed information, and this was valuable. Her situation was worse than she'd initially feared.
Huffing a deep breath through her nose, she tried to let everything go. She needed a level head. She still had more questions that needed answering.
Tia Dalma simply shrugged in response and waited patiently.
Beatrix finally looked up, watching the woman's face carefully for any sign of deception. "You are Tia Dalma?"
"I am."
"And you're the Goddess Calypso?"
"Yes."
"Right," Beatrix paused as she tried to form her words into something coherent. "And you know Jack Sparrow, the – the pirate?"
"I do," her eyes narrowed.
Beatrix gulped, not wanting to make the delusional woman angry especially now that she'd seen for herself just how far from civilisation she appeared to be, but ploughed on. "Okay. So, can you answer me this? I've seen the films, I'm not really a massive fan but I've watched them a couple of times and I remember Calypso, you, being freed. That's what you're after isn't it? What you wanted me to find out how to do?"
Seeing Tia Dalma nod, Beatrix continued, words coming thick and fast. "Well in the film, Calypso was, that is I mean you, you were tied up and a pirate whispered something to you – we never found out what – and next thing you know she's, you, were growing taller really fast until you exploded into a load of crabs that all fell into the ocean. So, you see, I can't help. I don't know these magic words, the film never elaborated on what they were."
Beatrix leaned forwards triumphantly as she built up to her final point. "Now I'm going out on a limb here and, say that you really are Calypso Goddess of the sea, presumably you have some form of magic that I'm guessing is conveniently beyond my understanding. So why can't you just, you know, use your magic to find out these words that will free you and be done with it? You know, free yourself. You don't need me."
Tia Dalma fixed a fiery stare on Beatrix. "What do ye be knowing of the Brethren Court?" She spat, slicing through Beatrix's triumph.
"Is that rhetorical or…?" Beatrix murmured as she sat back, crossing her legs.
"Not rhetorical. How much do you know of my past?"
"Like I said, not much. I'm not all that familiar with the story."
"The Brethren Court, when they imprisoned me in these bones, they blinded me to that knowledge. I cannot free myself, I am prevented from finding those words."
Beatrix reeled from the vehemence and desperate longing that coated Tia Dalma's words. "But surely you can-"
"You do not think I have tried? For years I have searched for a way and for years my efforts have been for naught. No, Beatrix Cormac, I cannot free myself. T'is why I be needing you. Now no more questions. You must eat and drink something."
Tia Dalma swept up and bustled around the shack, leaving a shocked Beatrix sitting at the table. Within minutes a bowl of food and mug of ginger tea was placed before her. Beatrix ate her fill without hesitation. Either Tia Dalma was a fanatic or there really was some truth behind her words. Surely nobody could fake pure sorrow. Something about Tia Dalma's entire manner had upturned what Beatrix thought she knew. A chill spread down her spine.
Another day passed and the two women fell into an unsteady and somewhat awkward routine. Neither one of them broached the topic of Beatrix's arrival or their wants, both too caught up in their own thoughts.
Beatrix was soon put to work grinding various herbs and spices, a task she could thankfully do whilst sitting down. Her limbs still ached and her mind felt muddy and tired. The previous day had been a lot to take in. Her emotions were still all over the place. She desperately missed her family, hoping that they'd find her soon but as the day progressed that hope dwindled into a feeble little thing, easily squashed.
No, she'd have to find a way back herself. But that in itself presented a challenge. She'd been stuck in a shack with her kidnapper for a few days – not counting when she'd been unconscious – and already she could feel a small bit of sympathy for the woman.
The truth was, she didn't know what to believe. Her dignity was long gone, the only link she had to her family was her pyjamas and memories, and she was essentially trapped in the shack at the whim of a woman who believed she was a magical Goddess. It really beggared belief and yet here she was.
Tia Dalma brushed past Beatrix, arms laden with glass jars. Beatrix watched as she pottered around, tying vines to the rims and suspending them from the ceiling. So far there hadn't been any obvious danger, but maybe that was Tia Dalma's M.O. Maybe she reeled you in slowly with false security until suddenly it's too late and you don't even see it coming. Beatrix hesitated to think what 'it' would even mean.
Shaking the thought loose, Beatrix turned her attention back to the pestle and mortar. The poor ginger had been ground within an inch of it's life, sticking to the sides in a thick paste. The silence was too much.
Clearing her throat, Beatrix pushed the pestle and mortar away from her as Tia Dalma turned to face her, arms suspended in the air with a dirty green jar.
"You never confirmed it yesterday," Beatrix began hesitantly.
Tia Dalma raised an eyebrow and continued tying another vine around the jar, testing it's strength.
"You know, about taking a while to recover and there being others. You never confirmed it. But I've been thinking…" she trailed off and looked down to the table, fingers tracing a grain in the wood.
The chair across from her scraped against the floor, prompting Beatrix to look up. Tia Dalma sat down wordlessly.
"It wasn't a migraine, was it? I know I was sick but what you said got me thinking, it wasn't a normal kind of sickness. And I think I deserve to know what you did to me."
"T'was not an illness. Not in a conventional sense, no. D'fever, the weakness, they are the after effects of the magic. It was taxing to bring you here but it is more so on your body to be ripped through time." Tia Dalma said slowly.
"Excuse me, what? Ripped through time?"
"Yes."
"What – oh God, I can't even believe I'm saying this – what's the date? The year?"
"January, seventeen hundred and twenty-eight."
Beatrix blinked, heart seizing. "Come again?"
"I cannot be sure of the exact date, it matters not to me." Tia Dalma shrugged nonchalantly as though she hadn't just sent Beatrix careening headfirst into a mental crisis.
"Seventeen twenty-eight? Seventeen twenty-eight! That's just – that's just not possible!" Beatrix threaded her hands through her hair and tugged. Delusional. This woman was stark raving mad and Beatrix had no idea what to do.
"I do not know what else to say other than d'truth. T'is truly the year seventeen hundred and twenty-eight."
Beatrix clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head. She didn't want to hear it. It was just not possible. But it explained so much – the lack of plumbing and electricity, the clothes. No. It could all be a carefully crafted illusion, one designed to make her believe in the impossible.
Tia Dalma's voice buffeted its way throuofgh Beatrix's childish shield. "The type of magic I used, it is strong and risky however –"
"Stop! Please stop!" Beatrix snapped. "God. You need help. A lifetime of therapy probably won't even be enough!" Anger streaked through her veins. "None of what you've said to me is real. Tia Dalma is a character! Fictional! Made-up! The whole film franchise is a story for God's sake! Just – fucking hell, I can't do this, I can't stay here! I have no idea how to get away from you and your psycho delusions and I just want to go home. Please, please take me home." Tears dripped onto the table, staining the surface a darker brown.
"I cannot do that at this time."
"God, stop messing with my head! What does that even mean, 'at this time'? You won't let me leave?"
"Not until I am freed."
"Stop fucking lying! Do you even hear yourself? You are not a Goddess trapped in mortal bones. You are human, just like me!"
Tia Dalma folded her arms across her chest and sat back. Her face gave nothing away as she observed Beatrix's panic.
"For fuck's sake, say something!"
"Ye do not like what I be saying, even though it is the truth."
Throwing her hands in the air, Beatrix sat back and snarled. "Fine! Fine, I'll play along. You used fucking magic or whatever to bring me here and you won't let me leave until you're free, right? Did I miss anything out, Tia Dalma?"
"There is more to it than magic, Beatrix Cormac."
"Of course there fucking is." Beatrix scrubbed at her face furiously.
"In bringing you here, I help restore an equilibrium that has long been out of balance."
"Well that's just frustratingly vague. How the hell am I supposed to make sense of that?"
"T'is a simple fact of nature. Everything is perfectly balanced in the world. We experience day and night, predators feed on prey, flowers bloom and die in a cycle of life and death. Everything and everyone has a place unless someone or something intervenes. When that happens the harmony of peaceful living is thrown into turmoil and things…eventually devolve into chaos."
"And you bringing me here, according to your stupid truth, two centuries back in time or whatever, magically fixes this supposedly damaged equilibrium?"
Tia Dalma wrinkled her nose as she thought it over. "It will take time for your presence to affect the change needed."
The change needed or the change you desire.
Beatrix couldn't believe that a small traitorous part of her was considering that this woman sat before her was telling the truth. She eyed her critically. "So what you're saying is that I'm stuck here until this so-called magical balance is restored?"
"Ye be bound here, yes."
"Until you decide to return me to my family. I'm entirely at your mercy."
"Call it what you will," Tia Dalma shrugged.
"I call it an insane woman kidnapping an innocent person. But hey, you do you," Beatrix sneered to herself.
A distant murmuring pierced through the silence, followed by heavy boots thudding against the wooden porch. Beatrix glanced up with wide eyes as a sharp rapping sounded on the door.
Oh God, she was saved! Someone had finally found her!
Before she knew it, she was rushing to the door, relief echoing along her frame.
"Ms Dalma?" A gruff voice said as the door swung open, letting a rush of light into the dim room.
Beatrix froze mid-stride. An older man stood in the doorway, nerves clear on his tanned weathered face. A messy beard hid his mouth and drew the eye down to his eighteenth century clothes, complete with a pistol and cutlass holstered at his waist. While his left hand gripped the door, his right hovered around the hilt of his cutlass. Whoever he was, it was clear that this man was not here for her.
"Pardon me, Miss. I were expecting Ms Dalma."
Unbidden, a soft "Oh," escaped Beatrix's throat as she deflated. He was in on Tia Dalma's schemes.
"Ah, Captain Harker. I knew I'd soon be seeing ye." Tia Dalma stood, opening her arms wide.
He gulped. "Yes, well, me crew are with me. We've brought ye the blackthorn berries ye requested." He stepped aside as two more men, younger though no less weathered and dishevelled than their captain, hauled a thick crate into the shack.
Beatrix stumbled back to her chair, feeling rather faint as she grappled with the new development. An overwhelming numbness threatened to engulf her.
The men placed the crate on the table and promptly stood aside as two more entered with another. Wares deposited, they all huddled together blocking the door, hands loitering around their many weapons. Unease rippled through them like a wave. They clearly didn't want to linger yet there they stayed, waiting.
"Come closer, George Harker and I will give ye your payment." Tia Dalma reached into her pocket and produced a handful of crab claws as he hesitantly took two steps forwards.
Clutching the claws in both hands, Tia Dalma closed her eyes and brought them to her lips. She whispered incoherently to them before casting them onto the limited space left of the table. Captain Harker jumped slightly as they clattered down.
Humming, Tia Dalma lent down and gazed at the claws, fluttering her hands above them. Eventually she stood and gazed at Captain Harker. "The wind blowing West will not yet bring fortune and the success ye seek. Ye must learn patience. Only then will reward come."
"Is that it?" He stammered in disbelief. "That's all I get?"
"T'is all they say."
He ran a hand over his beard, tugging at the bottom of it, contemplating. The men shuffled uncomfortably behind him. Finally he gave a sharp nod, letting his hand drop. "The Golden Serpent will arrive within the week should the winds hold. Is this the lass?"
Captain Harker gestured at Beatrix who started in surprise at being addressed. "Me?"
"T'is as I said-"
"- She don't look like no lady's maid I've ever seen."
"What the hell?" Beatrix whispered to herself. I've snapped. I've actually lost my mind. It was all too much to take.
"Appearances, George Harker. Ye had none of the makings of Captain in your youth, yet here ye stand."
Captain Harker's eyes crinkled in annoyance. "Right. Well, I've done me bit. Got the interview secured in the Governor's household. Fair lot of trouble it caused me, mind."
Tia Dalma smirked wide, flashing her decaying teeth. She reached into her pocket, not hiding her delight with Captain Harker tripped back a step. Producing a small jingling sack, she threw it at him. "For your services, Captain Harker. T'is a pleasure doing business with ye."
"Yes," he tugged again at his beard as he bounced the sack in his other hand, weighing the contents. "We'll return in a few months with your next shipment, Ms Dalma."
Captain Harker spun around and hastened out of the door, parting his men like a chasm. They shuffled eagerly after him, anxious to be aware from the soothsayer. The last man caught Beatrix's eye. She observed as he shakily made the sign of the cross over his front. Shivers shook his body as he turned and pulled the door shut, effectively locking her away from the outside world.
Reeling, Beatrix rubbed her aching forehead. "What just happened?"
"Captain Harker and I have a long standing business deal."
"Not the dodgy dealing, the part that clearly involved me!" Trepidation wormed its way in, tightening its grip on her lungs.
"Ye can hardly free me whilst confined to this shack, Beatrix Cormac. The Captain of the Golden Serpent owes me a favour. He will take you to Port Royal."
Beatrix shoved her chair out so violently it fell to the floor. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging deep crescents into her palms. "I – fuck! I really can't deal with this right now. Not after – just, it's too much. It's too much!"
Her vision swirled before her, tears pooling along her lash line. Choking back a sob, she fled up the stairs and out of sight.
A/N
Well, she's going through a lot!
Unedited, if you catch anything feel free to let me know
Cross posted on AO3 under same username
Until next time x