“Jack Sparrow is puttin’ together a large crew - any man he can get ‘is hands on. He’s lookin’ for somethin’, he is. Somethin’ big. You wasn’t the first to come lookin’ for ‘im. That fine young lad came lookin’ for ‘im, but he didn’t come back wit’ Jack,” Giselle explained. “Then I heard he had parted wit’ the lad ta settle ‘is debt wit’ Davy Jones, but now Jack is lookin’ for a way to git the lad back and thumb ‘is nose at Jones.”
“Hmmm, yes, that certainly sounds like Sparrow,” Cutler murmured to himself. The whore continued, “See, he owes Jones for ‘is ship. The Pearl was brought back up from the deep for Jack’s own soul. Now ‘tis time to pay up and Jack wants to worm ‘is way out. He’s goin’ to find a way to kill Jones; a dead man can’t collect.” Giselle held out her glass again. Becket ignored her and drummed his fingers on his desk.
Cutler Becket had burned that ship down to the bottom of the ocean and here Jack was thumbing his nose at him doing the impossible again. Selling his own soul to raise that ship and then backing out of the bargain once he had what he wanted. It infuriated Cutler and suddenly his bitterness was just as sharp as it had been in Africa, sharp as the smell of burning flesh and leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
“But that’s Jack for ye, can’t trust ‘im, he’d sell ‘is own mother jus’ like he sold me an’ Scarlett,” the whore mused. Beckett took a moment to reflect over why her words had suddenly jolted him. He looked at her more closely and asked, “What did you say?” Giselle frowned at him, “Ye can’t trust Jack.” “After that, when you said he ‘sold you’ - what do you mean?”
The whore thrust out her glass and Beckett frowned at her. Giselle pouted and jiggled he glass a bit. Cutler cocked a brow and warned, “You are trying my patience.” She harrumphed and the chains from her wrists jangled. “Jack owed the Gov’nor money, but didn’t ‘ave it to pay ‘im back. Told me he was goin’ to marry me, make me respectable and the like. Turns out ‘e said the same thin’ to Scarlett; bastard.”
“Governor Swann?” Cutler interjected. “Gov’nor of Tortuga,” Giselle explained, “the Gov’nor always gits ‘is cut, he’s not one to cross, aye? So, me and Scarlett dress in our Sunday clothes and we don’t know we’re both waitin’ for Jack. Turns out there’s no weddin’. Jack sold us both as Brides of Tortuga to pay the Gov’nor and we was to be auctioned off like niggers.”
“Interesting, interesting,” Cutler muttered as he stroked his bottom lip with his finger. It should not surprise him that Jack was a hypocrite. Sparrow had no qualms over slavery when it suited him. Beckett was going to enjoy that little tidbit of information when he threw it into Sparrow’s face. His mind drifted into another world, a world filled with rage and a million blood-soaked apologies.
Standing up, he went to the sideboard and picked up the decanter of brandy and removed the stopper. Giselle had sauntered up silently behind him once again and he when he turned around he took back the glass and handed her the decanter. The whore looked up at him a trifle shocked at his generosity. “Believe me, my dear, when I say you have earned it.” She grinned at him, blood staining her teeth, and guzzled the decanter dry.
Cutler Beckett gave Mr. Mercer a side long glance. The curled, green skin of the apple spiraled from the tip of his knife and he locked eyes with the other man as he bit into the glistening, white, skinless fruit. Beckett smiled dreamily. Mercer licked a bit of the juice that had squirted from the apple from the corner of his mouth. Turning the apple a bit, he took another crisp bite.
Giselle clinked the empty decanter on the sideboard and swayed like a flower in the wind as she held out her wrists. “Take ‘em off,” she said. Mr. Mercer nodded at Beckett and took another bite of the apple. Cutler moved back towards the desk and released the spring to a hidden drawer and drew out a key. It was a master key that could unlock anything the EITC held in its possession.
“Hmmm, yes, that certainly sounds like Sparrow,” Cutler murmured to himself. The whore continued, “See, he owes Jones for ‘is ship. The Pearl was brought back up from the deep for Jack’s own soul. Now ‘tis time to pay up and Jack wants to worm ‘is way out. He’s goin’ to find a way to kill Jones; a dead man can’t collect.” Giselle held out her glass again. Becket ignored her and drummed his fingers on his desk.
Cutler Becket had burned that ship down to the bottom of the ocean and here Jack was thumbing his nose at him doing the impossible again. Selling his own soul to raise that ship and then backing out of the bargain once he had what he wanted. It infuriated Cutler and suddenly his bitterness was just as sharp as it had been in Africa, sharp as the smell of burning flesh and leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
“But that’s Jack for ye, can’t trust ‘im, he’d sell ‘is own mother jus’ like he sold me an’ Scarlett,” the whore mused. Beckett took a moment to reflect over why her words had suddenly jolted him. He looked at her more closely and asked, “What did you say?” Giselle frowned at him, “Ye can’t trust Jack.” “After that, when you said he ‘sold you’ - what do you mean?”
The whore thrust out her glass and Beckett frowned at her. Giselle pouted and jiggled he glass a bit. Cutler cocked a brow and warned, “You are trying my patience.” She harrumphed and the chains from her wrists jangled. “Jack owed the Gov’nor money, but didn’t ‘ave it to pay ‘im back. Told me he was goin’ to marry me, make me respectable and the like. Turns out ‘e said the same thin’ to Scarlett; bastard.”
“Governor Swann?” Cutler interjected. “Gov’nor of Tortuga,” Giselle explained, “the Gov’nor always gits ‘is cut, he’s not one to cross, aye? So, me and Scarlett dress in our Sunday clothes and we don’t know we’re both waitin’ for Jack. Turns out there’s no weddin’. Jack sold us both as Brides of Tortuga to pay the Gov’nor and we was to be auctioned off like niggers.”
“Interesting, interesting,” Cutler muttered as he stroked his bottom lip with his finger. It should not surprise him that Jack was a hypocrite. Sparrow had no qualms over slavery when it suited him. Beckett was going to enjoy that little tidbit of information when he threw it into Sparrow’s face. His mind drifted into another world, a world filled with rage and a million blood-soaked apologies.
Standing up, he went to the sideboard and picked up the decanter of brandy and removed the stopper. Giselle had sauntered up silently behind him once again and he when he turned around he took back the glass and handed her the decanter. The whore looked up at him a trifle shocked at his generosity. “Believe me, my dear, when I say you have earned it.” She grinned at him, blood staining her teeth, and guzzled the decanter dry.
Cutler Beckett gave Mr. Mercer a side long glance. The curled, green skin of the apple spiraled from the tip of his knife and he locked eyes with the other man as he bit into the glistening, white, skinless fruit. Beckett smiled dreamily. Mercer licked a bit of the juice that had squirted from the apple from the corner of his mouth. Turning the apple a bit, he took another crisp bite.
Giselle clinked the empty decanter on the sideboard and swayed like a flower in the wind as she held out her wrists. “Take ‘em off,” she said. Mr. Mercer nodded at Beckett and took another bite of the apple. Cutler moved back towards the desk and released the spring to a hidden drawer and drew out a key. It was a master key that could unlock anything the EITC held in its possession.
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