(no subject)
James found himself sitting at Cutler Beckett’s table aboard the Endeavor, being offered a cup of tea. He waited for Beckett to join him. He knew why he was still aboard the Endeavor, why he was sipping tea from a bone china cup, and why his skin was still attached to his back. Beckett wanted information from him, and the little man believed everyone had a price. And, James thought sadly, he had sold out before.
Beckett entered, having changed his clothes. He held a fan in one hand and was lazily fanning himself.
“Admiral Norrington, oh not Admiral anymore, I’m afraid you lost your commission with the East India Company when you freed all those murderous pirates. You’ve been an Admiral, a Commodore in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, a deckhand on a pirate ship, what exactly do I call you?” Beckett asked.
“James will suffice”, James answered.
“James”, Beckett said with a cruel smile, “Do you know why I have you here aboard the Endeavor and how difficult it was to deny Jones his fun?”
“Difficult I would imagine”, James said, taking a sip of his tea.
“I hate to send a gentleman to the fate that awaits you aboard the Dutchman. Give me the information I want and I’ll be happy to prevent you from meeting such a fate”, Beckett said.
“And what information do you seek from me?” James asked.
“Every detail of their battle plans, James. How many ships they have, how many men, where they plan to initiate the attack, who the Captains are - I want to know everything, James, everything.”
James knew exactly what the men would ask and he took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I can’t help you”, he said.
“I can give you back your life, your dignity, just like I did before. You’ll be a real man again, no longer a Tortuga drunk, no longer forced to lick the deck beneath Sparrow’s boots”, Beckett said, “You were always a proud man. I find it hard to believe you would refuse.”
James considered Cutler Beckett for a moment. He would kill the man. If for no other reason, because he took the life of one of the greatest and kindest men he knew, Governor Swann, a fate James knew he would undoubtedly meet himself if he spent enough time in Beckett’s company.
“I don’t know a thing”, James said. In the flash of a moment, Beckett changed from the delicate little gentleman he portrayed to the psycho he was inside.
He lifted up the tiny table and tossed it across the room. James raised an eyebrow and looked as if he were about to laugh at the display of temper, driving Beckett further into rage.
Beckett rang a bell and two men in red uniforms came in.
“Take James to the Dutchman and give him to Jones”, Beckett said. “What a waste your death will be.” He casually wiped his hands on a fine linen napkin
“I know what side I’m on now”, James said, as they dragged him away.
James was yanked out of the lifeboat and tossed into the waiting hands of Davy Jones’s Crew.
“Lock ‘im in the brig”, Jones said. Hands tied behind his back, he was tossed unceremoniously into a cell. Two men, who looked like spider crabs, locked the door.
James had always wondered why those at sea, including the Navy, locked people up. Anyone with any experience could tell you it wasn’t the bars that made the prison, it was the sea. If land was nowhere near by, there was no difference between sitting on the deck or sitting in a cell. You weren’t going anywhere.
Though lock-picking was not an official part of Naval training, any sailor worth his salt could pick a lock easily, another reason not to bother locking a prisoner up. James found the snapped off end of a knife on the floor, barely a quarter of an inch, but good enough. The old lock, which had spent far too much time under water, gave way with almost laughable ease.
James walked out of the cell and stopped at the stairs. He paused to listen. Nothing. He climbed the stairs as slowly and quietly as he could.
The heart was onboard. He knew Beckett to be a coward who would call off the battle if he lost his attack dog. Taking out the Dutchman required taking out her Captain.
He crept along the inner corridor of the ship. Two guards stood outside a cabin. The only thing valuable enough to merit taking two men, or whatever they were, off duty was the heart.
The guards waited quietly. They saw no need to draw attention to themselves, happy as they were to be off the deck and no longer under the direct glare of Davy Jones. They counted themselves lucky to have been given the relatively easy task of guarding the room where the heart lay, where no one with half a brain would try to gain access.
A small pebble rolled down the hallway. They both stared in the direction the tiny noise had come from and saw the tiny object that had made it. They looked at each other and looked at the pebble.
“Someone must be nearby”, the fish-man said with a wicked grin. He was well within his rights to punish any Crew member who came too close. Perhaps they would get a bit of fun after all.
He walked down the hall and picked up the pebble, looking at hit oddly. “There’s nobody here”, he said. A moment later he fell unconscious to the floor.
James shook his fist, thinking he might get sick. Punching the fish was unlike punching a man, and his hand had come away covered with wet, sticky scales.
The other guard called out his friend’s name and walked in the direction his companion had gone. “Who are you?” rang out, a little too loudly for James’s taste, right before he hit the ground as well.
James pushed the door open and walked into the room. He certainly had not been expecting more guards inside, but his split second of fear turned when he saw the two silliest men to ever have been granted permission to join His Majesty’s Royal Navy.
“Admiral”, Murtogg said, in utter surprise. James was pleased to note the two of them still stood up straighter in his presence.
“I’ve come to take the heart. We’ve got to end this now”, James said.
The pair of them looked at each other. They used to be real men, men of respect, not the highest ranking perhaps, but they followed a code of their own. Now they did nothing but the bidding of a man they had since come to understand was evil beyond measure. It was time to be free of him, consequences or no consequences.
“Get yourselves back to the Pearl the first chance you get”, James said. “The Navy will be restored to its former glory after Beckett is dead.”
They ran out the door.
James opened the chest slowly. He had heard the legend many times in the past year, but it was nothing compared to holding an actual, bloody, beating heart in his hands.
He supposed some part of him hadn’t actually believed it until now. He didn’t particularly fancy becoming one of the undead, sailing this ship for eternity. But he had known all along that given the choice between Elizabeth dying in battle and ending the battle before it began, he would choose the latter. No matter what it cost him. He looked around the room. The one thing he didn’t have was a sword.
Anything would do, a knife, a sharp object. A sharp piece of wood, broken from molding around the edge of the ceiling. Perfect.
James took a deep breath. In a moment, it would be over. Elizabeth would be lost to him forever, but she would be safe. He wondered vaguely what it would feel like to have his heart dug from his chest and go on living, in some form anyway.
He lifted his makeshift weapon.
With a bang, the door burst opened.
“Admiral”, Davy Jones said.
James froze.
“You shouldn’t touch things that belong to other people”, Davy Jones roared and two creatures wrestled James to the ground. The creatures pulled him to his feet.
Jones came forward until he was nose to nose with James. James could smell the ocean, ink, and hatred.
“Do you fear death?” Jones asked, his breath blowing foul. “Because you will no longer fear it when my men are done with you. You’ll pray for it, you’ll dream of it, and before it’s over, you’ll beg me for it, Admiral.”
They took him away.
James resigned himself to what would happen. They would kill him. Slowly. He had to get his hands on that heart, but it was out of his reach, and so was any chance of ever getting it.
He struggled. He had seen what was left of Navy men after they had been tied to the mast, and though he had offered himself up for this, his desire to live was still strong.
Ropes were tied around his arms and he found himself lashed to the mast.
“Bosun!” Jones cried, dragging his wooden leg behind him. “Do your worst. But don’t kill him. Not til I ask him the question, mates.” They erupted into laughter.
James felt the back of his shirt ripped open. The lash came down fast and harder than he could have imagined. This Bosun was talented. Again and again, it fell, the whip cutting long red slashes into his back, in the worst cases, cutting flesh open so it hung loose from the wound.
James had promised himself they wouldn’t have the pleasure of hearing him scream, but he lost the battle when the Bosum ripped a chunk of flesh from his shoulder blade.
James heard his own screams as the lash was brought down again and again. He was facing out to sea and his mind tried to register the ships amassing less than a mile away. The battle was about to begin.
He was glad he couldn’t see behind him because he knew his breeches, shoes, and the deck where his stood had to be swimming in his blood. But the pain had grown so intense, he was starting to black out, coming in and out of consciousness. He found himself praying for nature’s kindness to return, to be somewhere else when they finally killed him. He clung to Elizabeth’s face in his mind. She should have been a happy mother by now, his wife, sleeping in his bed, kissing their children good night in that big house on the hill.
James had always been in control of his emotions, except perhaps, where love was concerned. And though he certainly was no complainer about the harsh realities of life, James couldn’t help but feel that life had dealt him a hand that was less than fair. He was lost to the darkness again.
Jones watched the ships amass in the distance. “Cut ‘im down”, he barked, “Your fun will have to wait. The battle is at hand.”
Elizabeth wrung her hands. She stood at the wheel, the wind blowing through her long golden hair which she wore loose.
Her new First Mate, Jinx, was shouting orders. Will had joined her also, insisting on keeping an eye on her since both Barbossa and Jack would be aboard the Pearl. Her Crew was assembled and ready to fight. She gazed out at the other ships assembled, each one ready to go into battle, brave and determined in the face of almost certain death at the hands of the Dutchman. Each one filled some of the most blood thirsty pirates on the seven seas. Each Captain stood at the wheel of their ship. She could see Barbossa standing proud at the wheel of the Pearl, and Jack looking petulant beside him.
She had to focus. Her thoughts kept drifting back to James. God only knew what was happening to him aboard that haunted ship. He may be dead already. No, she couldn’t let herself believe it, he had to be alive.
An expanse of a mile at best stood between their ships, the Endeavor and the Dutchman.
“Ready, Captain?” Jinx asked, with a brilliant smile.
“I’ve never been more ready in my life”, she said.
The sails snapped open and the wind filled them. The day was overly windy, and Elizabeth cast an eye toward the sky as gray clouds gathered. As good a day to die as any.
The ships began to move swiftly in the errant breeze and Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. She knew what James must have felt all those times he was at the wheel - his quarry just beyond his reach. She could barely wait to taste battle.
She opened her eyes. “Call out the guns!”