PRINCIPLES OF COMPROMISE
- Dis/Claimer-
. Chapter Five .
The moonlight’s stretch across Jack’s cell was beginning to recede. He watched it carelessly; his mind was adrift at sea while his body was contained behind isolated bars.
Not so isolated, he thought. His head turned slightly towards Elizabeth, a passing smile crossing his face.
He felt a surge of longing suddenly at the sight of her there, however. She was damned hard to forget, and he was quite fed up with her being such a distraction in his busy life of pillaging, plundering, raiding, drinking, sailing, and sleeping. He had been good recently of keeping her at bay, but now she was here, draining his self-control by her mere presence. A few thoughts briefed through his mind, and he lifted his brow in surprise at a few of them before looking back over at her.
Bloody hell. She was a grieving woman! He tried his hardest to make his deliriously tired mind understand and respect that. Will would have you on the spot just for thinking it.
Nevertheless, his eyes traced all over her moonlit figure with a mixture of sympathy and lust. Lust was winning for the most part until he felt her gently squeeze his hand in her sleep, a look of discomfort sweeping over her porcelain face. He perked up and looked at their hands, hers still in his, now relaxing back to what it had been. She stirred no more, and Jack fell back into the wall. His eyes returned to their hands, but they stuck on his pirate brand.
The white raised skin in the shape of a ‘P’ contrasted with his tan in the moonlight, and he frowned slightly. Lord, he hated that pompous git of an authority figure.
As the glowing iron was raised before him, Jack could honestly say he was doing a poor job of covering up his vulnerability. Beckett merely smirked and came towards him, holding the brand with a firm, steady hand. One of the other guards in the room came forward, grabbed Jack’s arm, and put two strong hands on either side of his forearm. Jack winced at the man’s grip, but he began to feel whimpers rising out of the back of his throat as Beckett raised the iron.
Jack, to this day, had not screamed in agony as loudly as he did when the brand met his skin. He smelled the sizzling flesh and felt sick as the flaming pain destroyed his nerves and made him writhe in the grasp of three guards. When his hand was released from the guard’s grip, he crumpled to the ground, clutching at his melted skin.
“Captain Jack Sparrow,” Beckett announced, placing the brand back into his fireplace, “I hereby strip you of your title, rank, and employment with the East India Trading Company. You will now be considered an enemy in all encounters with the East India Trading Company, hence the necessary branding of your arm.”
Jack barely listened as he covered his bleeding forearm with his sleeve, applying the utmost painful pressure, desperate for it to stop. The black pearl in his vest rolled out in front of his face, and Jack quickly took it back into his hand before Lord Beckett could see it. Beckett paid him no heed as he had hoped in that moment.
“For your punishment, you will be hanged as a pirate,” he continued, “an enemy of the Crown. Oh! And I also have a little farewell gift for you.”
His glanced at the soldiers who brought Jack to his feet and roughly carried him over to the window. A few gasps rushed out of him until they stopped, and Jack opened his eyes halfway in confusion. They opened a little more, however, when he saw his Wicked Wench out in the open water by her lonesome.
He just thought someone was off to Africa to get more slaves by now, but to complete dismay, he was wrong. His theory exploded into a bright fire with the ship, and his mouth fell agape. Beckett’s posture heightened, pleased with the reaction he had bestowed upon Jack. He walked over to his desk, leaving his traitorous ex-employee at the window.
“Punishment is punishment, Jack,” he said after him tauntingly. “No matter how noble your actions were to defy what you saw as wrongdoing, you still must suffer for not following orders given to you. A shame you turned out like your father.”
Jack lifted his head weakly, but Beckett’s smirk returned. “Take him away.”
A pressure enveloped his hand, and Jack sat up. He felt Elizabeth’s warm hand slide out of his as she awoke, wishing it would stay there. He looked up at her sadly as she became alarmed at he surroundings.
“I’m still here,” she said breathlessly, looking around quickly. “What time is it?”
“Late enough to be early, I’d imagine,” Jack said, glancing at the moon’s shrinking light on the stone floor. Elizabeth cursed under her breath. Jack was surprised as her hand reached through the iron grate door for him, resting right on his brand.
“I will be back,” she told him with a meaningful look. “I promise.”
“I don’t like promises,” Jack said evenly. Elizabeth frowned in offense, but she understood his reasoning. Her hand slid off his sleeve as she stood and left, soft clicks from her shoes again following her out.
Jack closed his eyes at the somewhat rhythmic sound. Click, click, click, click, click. Soon, the door creaked from far off and closed. By now, he was asleep.
As Elizabeth stepped out into the chilly air of the predawn darkness, she whirled around at the sound of footsteps coming up the road. Who was out at this hour? Nevertheless, she went to take an alternate route home, but she was halted in her first step. Confused, she looked back and saw her dressing gown caught on a nail in the door.
The footsteps of multiple people grew closer along with their torchlight, and she tugged desperately at her dressing gown before she was caught. Finally, it gave way, and she bolted out of sight as Lord Beckett and several men rounded the corner to enter the prison. The guards moved forward to open the door, but Beckett held out an arm.
“What is this?” he mused curiously, looking at a small object on the ground. A snake of silver gathered around a black orb, and he picked it up with slight awe. He knew what he had found.
His eyes searched the area quickly for any sign of how this find came to be, but he overlooked the small patch of floral material speared through a nail on the door as he entered. The door closed, and the cloth blew away in a sudden gust, lost to open eyes.
Beckett’s pace had increased. He walked swiftly to Jack’s cell where the rogue was in a deep slumber against the wall. A cool draft swirled through, and Beckett picked up an out-of-place scent. He looked around suspiciously.
“Shall I wake the prisoner?” one the guards asked.
“No,” Beckett said slowly, concluding that he had missed an intruder by the scent under his nose that soon died away. He looked down at Jack, a fist balling around the black pearl. “I’ve got more than what I came for.”
“Sir?”
“Send a messenger later in the morning. His hearing time has been changed in light of the fact that the King is arriving in port tomorrow night. He wishes to be present at the hearing, so it has been changed from three o’clock to eleven.”
“Why’s the King coming?” Mullroy asked.
“And why would he want to sit in on a pirate’s hearing?” Mercer added.
“His Majesty is making port here in light of the fact that I might be returning to England with him,” Beckett told them. “If I successfully rid the earth of Jack Sparrow in a few days’ time, I will have rid this entire ocean of pirates, ensuring myself a healthy gain in society.”
“A promotion?” It was more of a statement than a guess.
“One indeed,” Beckett said. “My lawfulness and exceedingly high rate of success in relinquishing these pirates has earned my name listed among hopefuls for position of Lord High Constable, which would require my extraction from Port Royal so I could fulfill my new duties in England.”
Mercer frowned, somewhat jealous. “That means no more sea,” he said. “The Lord High Admiral is the only man in the Great Offices of State that deals with the Navy. Your rank-“
“-will be of no use to me once Jack Sparrow is dead.” Beckett had a pleased aura about him. “The seas will belong wholly to England, and I will be back in England, overseeing the Court of Honor with Earl Dowlrey.”
“That’s it?” Mr. Mercer asked, stepping forward. “We came to inform Sparrow that the King will be there to see him tried?” Beckett smirked.
“I had to make sure he hadn’t escaped yet, either,” he justified. His tone became loathsome. “Besides, this prestidigitator is a master of disappearing from right under your eyes.” He lingered on a memory with hatred building within his body and suddenly began to stride away. The men followed eventually.
As they walked away, Jack opened an eye.
x x x
Dawn’s light was on the heels of the settlement as Beckett entered his office, his step deliberate. He saw glowing coals in the fireplace, glad to see that his evening’s previous fire was not completely gone yet. Around the room, his men lit the lamps but kept the light low.
“Fire, please, Mr. Mullroy.”
As activity picked up around him, Beckett pulled out a large flat bowl. In it, he poured a good amount of lamp oil and set it in the center of his desk. A fire was soon cracking across the room. Beckett rolled up piece of parchment and went over to the fire, catching a flame on its end. He carefully crossed the room back to his desk.
“A black pearl,” he suddenly said loudly, “is a rarity in itself. To find one is considered a great fortune, and it is increasingly great to come across one halfway around the world from its source of location. Curious to find such value in the streets, wouldn’t you say?”
Murtogg, Mullroy, and Mercer gathered at his desk as he set fire to the bowl of oil on the desk. A flame suddenly shot up, and the three men stepped back. They looked up again to see Beckett raise the black pearl above the bowl, the silver chain intertwined with his fingers.
“Why burn it,” Murtogg asked, “if it’s so… so valuable?”
Beckett smiled. “It’s value lies here,” he said, issuing to the flame before them. “Among the many legends surrounding this orb of infamy, there is one I have always been eager to experiment with.” He held the black pearl higher with a smug expression. The others listened, perched.
“Folklore tells us that if one is to burn a black pearl, you shall receive the answer to any question you ask of it,” Beckett told them. “But you must be certain that your question is of more value than the pearl itself; for it will burn away after your question has been answered.”
Murtogg and Mullroy’s faces lit up in wonder while Mercer simply lifted an eyebrow. “And how is it that this pearl answers you question?” Mercer asked. “A heavenly voice or oracle?”
“An image,” Beckett replied, looking at the wall beyond them. “A prophetic glance at what the future has in store.” The men parted on either side of the desk, flames coming dangerously close to the bottom of the black pearl dangling in Beckett’s grasp. He stood in silence a moment, the question filling his mind as he tightened his hold on the orb.
What defenses did Jack have against him in trial that could potentially endanger his climb in rank? Though the question seemed simple, it was vital – He had to make sure he eliminated this man once and for all.
He released the black pearl into the bowl of fire. They watched as it was consumed by the flames and suddenly split into two halves. A black liquid dispersed through the oil, and the flames turned white. Beckett himself stood back at the shocking heat as the fire rose higher. Within seconds, a wall of blazing white fire had him backed against the wall, shielding his eyes.
“Sir! Sir, we need-!”
“Stop!”
Beckett’s face contorted as two figures in the fire took shape. A man and a woman. He recognized them both.
“Sir!”
Elizabeth Swann.
And James Norrington.
His mind went blank. They were Jack’s defense? They were to prevent him, Beckett, from killing the one man who tainted the world’s oceans?
As he blinked slowly, taking in the image and allowing it to gather in his thoughts, he made the connection. At that moment, the fire simply vanished, and the bowl sat entirely empty on his desk. Murtogg and Mullroy panted heavily from the experience, but Mercer watched his employer carefully as he stood away from the way in realization.
“What is it?” Mercer asked. Beckett moved forward, picking up the surprisingly cool bowl with pursed lips.
“Jack Sparrow is not my only obstacle to pirate-free oceans.” He turned to Mercer. “The governor’s daughter and the Commodore, while they have been pardoned, still have a traitorous potential about them.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed. “And how do you intend to do away with them?”
Beckett’s smile resurfaced. “Very carefully.”
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