PRINCIPLES OF COMPROMISE
Huzzah for me! Second chapter in two days with the next halfway done! I am on a roll! There is still a good protion left to write, but I am dutifully trying to get in done in the short time I have left. There are still things like shopping for camp and last-minute family and friend activites I must see to before I go, too, but this is all my spare time right now! Thanks to those of you who read, and to those who also reviewed! Enjoy the next installment below! - Dis/Claimer – . Chapter Seventeen . Chest heaving as her father closed the door to her bedroom, Elizabeth began to tear her exquisite dress from her body, yanking the jewels from her neck and ears in the silent fury of an approaching typhoon. Her piled curls began to fall out of their pins to her shoulders as she tore around the dark room; she hurriedly threw on a different dress and ran over to her vanity, opening the top drawer and snatching out Jack’s key before slamming it shut again. She threw the blankets of her bed from the floor, reaching far under it until she had an armful of knotted sheets. At her balcony, she tied the first sheet tightly and tossed the heavy load over the railing, watching it unravel to the ground. Taking one last moment to quickly fill her pillowcase with towels and a pitcher, she secured it to her waist before jumping over the rail. x x x The prison seemed colder than she remembered, and the number of guards had increased. However, Jack was not in the same cell as before. She opened the empty cell quickly, stepping inside as her eyes darted about in the dim moonlight. “I thought you might come here.” Elizabeth jumped, spinning around to Norrington standing in the doorway of the cell. His attire had not changed unlike her own. He looked to be in conflict, yet his stern gaze was predominately intimidating her. Standing in the middle of Jack’s cell, Elizabeth was all but able to deny his claim. “Where did they take him?” Norrington’s lips thinned. “I asked you not to see him again. It’s not safe, Elizabeth.” Her nose flared as anger rushed out of it. “Tell me where he is, or I will find him myself.” Norrington turned at her filled only with concern and the desire to see her safe, yet her persistence was foreboding and thunderous, and she was prepared to trample him with it. After all they had come to be, he did not want to become her enemy. Stepping aside, he motioned down the hall. “This way.” Not being the situation she had intended Elizabeth lowered her head, walking out of her proud stance in the cell to Norrington’s side. She blinked at his weary face her wordless appreciation. She took the key from the lock, and with a passing grim smile, Norrington led her down a short stone staircase beneath the fort where it was vastly more open than above. Several men were chained to the wall left of the entryway, jeering and reaching for Elizabeth. Norrington pulled her to his other side and drew his sword for barrier. “Come on, share,” one of them leered weekly. Norrington lazily moved his sword to him. “You’ll keep your silence, good sir,” he said in measured tones as Elizabeth came back to him with a torch from the wall. She looked up at him expectantly, and he nodded towards the end of the room. “There.” Elizabeth looked quickly. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest when she saw him lying there a motionless corpse bloodied and bruised. Her throat constricted, and tears pushed to the brim of eyes. She broke off in a dead run so fast that Norrington had to look twice. He lowered his sword from the prisoner, hurrying after her. “Elizabeth!” She stumbled to her knees, crawling a few feet to reach him. The pillowcase was untied and upturned, the pitcher stuffed with cloths removed unceremoniously with several shakes of the pillowcase to the dirty stone floor. It clanged loudly as Norrington crouched beside her, pressing it to the floor to stop the sound as he hissed out a demand of silence from the inanimate object. Elizabeth touched Jack’s swollen face as gently as possible, fearing even the slightest touch would cause him pain. At her timid gesture in turning his face to them, Norrington told her, “He’s unconscious. He probably won’t come to for a while.” Elizabeth felt her chest fill with ice. Dried blood clung to his moustache, the crevices and pits of his face; the creases around his nose, the dip of skin above his lips, smattered on his bandana and beads. A cut he had somehow sustained under his chin left a trail down his neck, staining the neck of his thin, salty shirt. His branded wrist was chained to the wall by a thick iron shackle, and his hand was discolored from poor circulation due to his positioning. Overall, she thought he had gotten off rather unscathed, considering that of which Beckett was capable. “Why did-“ – Elizabeth looked over to Norrington only to find him absent; he was standing at a small well in the corner pumping water into the pitcher for her – “Why did they put him here? Instead of the cell?” “Just for the time being,” Norrington said as conversationally as possible. When he finished collecting the water, he knelt on the opposite side of Jack, carefully passing Elizabeth the pitcher over his body. “I suppose he will be moved into the hold come morning.” Elizabeth rung out one of the cloths over the pitcher shakily, tenderly touching it to his neck and wiping the red line from his skin. Not surprisingly, a lighter area of skin was exposed. Norrington made a face of disgust when he leaned forward and saw the dark swatch of dirt on the cloth. Elizabeth raised her brow, continuing in silence for a time. At length, Norrington took up a cloth himself, paying close attention to the busted skin under his chin. “He murdered Will.” Norrington paused his dabbing, eyes shifting up to Elizabeth in bewilderment as she cleaned around his left eye. He sat up. “Elizabeth.” Off his look, she clarified as she looked him in the eye directly, “Lord Beckett. He is responsible for his death.” Norrington fell back on his heels slightly as she spoke against her billowing emotions, “Will was a pirate. Jack is a pirate. We are as well.” She dropped the cloth over the pitcher’s edge, a wry smile occupying her flush face. “What is to be our escape if there is one? There is no ship to board, there is no higher power to consult, no one to def- defend hi-“ She stopped speaking, though Norrington could see that she was very much trying to. “Elizabeth?” Small gasps began to come from her. She coughed weakly, waving her trembling hand as the other clutched her base of her neck. Alarmed as terror filled her eyes and she fell back onto her hand, Norrington fled to her side. “Elizabeth!” Her gasps sharpened, deepened, and instilled more fear in him than he had recently felt. Elizabeth felt her body fall back into James’s when her arm collapsed from under her as her chest swelled erratically. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” he demanded. He placed his hand on her stomach, unable to feel a hard, constricting corset beneath her dress. She looked up at him for the brief moment she could connect her eyes to something constant, but panic had wore itself through to the full of his face. “James. I can’t,” – another long gasp to which she arched her back – “breeee…” Swallowing hard, he twisted his face as he picked her writhing body from the floor. “It… hurts, I- Ah-“ He winced at the unbearable pain her suffering inflicted on him, racing from the fort faster than he had ever managed to run. As she gripped his coat in her fist, he prayed. x x x Mercer raised an eyebrow. A pillowcase, pitcher, and cloths lay strewn at Jack Sparrow’s side. Beckett would love to hear this one. He scowled darkly as he walked around the unconscious pirate to the wall where his newly stitched coat hung with his weapons. He removed it casually, looking at it with much disdain. He paused at the feet of Jack, slowly pulling out his dagger. “Rest well, Mr. Sparrow.” With no effort at all, Mercer cut one of the buttons from Jack’s coat with a smile. “Your future is in our hands.” As he walked away, a second button fell into his palm. And a third. Fourth. x x x The white oak door burst open, banging loudly off the wall. Norrington crossed his bedroom with Elizabeth gasping and groaning in his arms, but she was beginning to quiet, her thrashing diminished to random shudders and sharp jolts of her body as she fought for air. He laid her in his bed with the utmost care, pushing the hair from her inflamed face. His hand rested near her ear as he stared at her with dread sinking in his heart. He did not want her to die here, lying in his bed in torturous pain. “James-“ “Shh,” he cooed unevenly, leaning over her. “I’ve sent for the doctor and your father. They’re both on their way.” She gripped his hand tightly then, working through a terrifying span of time without proper air. Norrington began to breathe irregularly himself, a hardness forming in his throat. He covered their hands with his other and squeezed his eyes shut. They opened immediately though when her movements ceased; she lay exhausted, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow yet somewhat stable. He whispered her name. “Elizabeth?” She sighed, and the side of her face met the side of his pillow. “Jack. He- Don’t let Be…” Her mouth tried desperately to finish the words, but it would not. Her face relaxed suddenly, her hand heavy in the Commodore’s. Hell froze over. “Elizabeth.” Frantic, he pulled his hand free of hers and pressed his fingers into the side of her throat as the fast footfalls of several people entered his room. Norrington exhaled soundly as Governor Swann appeared on the other side of the bed consumed with worry. “What is it?” he asked, reaching for his daughter’s hand. “Commodore?” Norrington lifted his head and sniffed. “I thought she had left us.” x x x “Poisonous?” Governor Swann scoffed at the idea as the doctor and Norrington stood with him outside the bedroom doorway, all of them peering in on Elizabeth’s still from anxiously. “I highly doubt she’s come close to anything poisonous.” Norrington could see the doctor’s face working out the puzzle in his head. “Has she come in contact with anything she’s not accustomed to?” he suggested. “Perhaps it is a severe allergic reaction, but for me, it seems too severe to be a common toxin that did this to her.” Norrington exchanged a rigid look with the Governor. He stared into the room at Elizabeth, longing for her to stir even the slightest. Governor Swann gave a weighty sigh. “Now, truly, her diet has been quite normal. Please, just what can be done for her now?” “I gave her medicine for the pain and swelling. Hopefully within a few hours she will be able breathe better than she is now. There is also the option of phlebotomy, though I would not personally recommend it. I’m not one to practice it.” “No, no phlebotomy,” Governor Swann agreed, looking ill at the suggestion. “Will it help her at all?” “I cannot say, Governor. I am convinced she ingested something she is either allergic to or was toxic in nature. It should pass with rest and the medicine, but there is all chance that what she has is not curable.” Governor Swann looked to the floor wordlessly as the doctor made his way to the door. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I will consult my library further. If she does not improve at all in the next day or so, let me know and I shall return.” “Thank you, sir,” Norrington said quietly, blinking at his armchair mechanically. After a long moment of staring into limitless space, he looked up, Governor Swann taking a deep breath as he entered the bedroom. Norrington turned and stood in the doorway as the Governor sat next to the bed. “Do you suppose Sparrow had done anything to her last night?” Norrington shook his head. Sparrow wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. “I doubt it, sir. He’s seen more of Elizabeth than either of us would care to acknowledge, yet he has never brought harm to her.” Governor Swann scrunched his nose. He wanted to blame it on that pirate, blame it on someone deserving of the crime despite finding him mildly entertaining. Swallowing, the Governor looked at Norrington, only then realizing that his appearance was disheveled and that he was still in his attire from the previous night. “Commodore, you look a positive wreck. Take an hour or so to see to yourself.” Norrington looked himself over, feeling embarrassed at his highly less-than-presentable apparel. A light chuckle escaped the Governor. “Why, you’re shirt is stained with everything from wine to dirt. I’ll look after Elizabeth.” Something in James’s mind suddenly registered at Governor Swann’s words. Eyes narrowing, he distantly excused himself, closing the door behind him. He touched the wine stain on his abdomen slowly. A passing memory of running into Miss Black caused him to smile absentmindedly. She had been so understanding of it all, and- Another memory of watching Elizabeth gulp the same drink quickly chased his grin away. His eyes grew. “We were pirates.” x x x Margaret shut the door to her shop, laden with two basketfuls of more supplies for the crew of the Black Pearl. She had never seen so many holes in her life. With the recent recapturing of Jack Sparrow, Barbossa and Gibbs thought she might try to go back on their bargain, but really, she had little business elsewhere. If anything, she thought as she headed back to the ship at daybreak, she might be finished with this massive project by the end of the week at best. Not that they weren’t entertaining company, but she rather missed sewing from her own premises. And they had pretty much come to respect her around the ship. She had yet to determine for herself if the notion made her dignified or indecorous. “Excuse me, miss. You dropped something.” Margaret startled out of her revelry, turning as a passing gentleman pointed at a spool of thread rolling through the street. She chased it into his path and replaced it to her basket. “Thank you, sir,” she smiled, rising before him. “I apo-“ Margaret‘s breath hitched. “I a-apologize,” she barely breathed. Eye to eye with her, Lord Beckett’s demeaning, listless glare softened with a sudden bout of curiosity. She shook inwardly at his scrutiny of her. His speech was drawn out, distracted. “That’s alright, miss.” Winded, Margaret kept her head down as she dropped into a half-curtsy. With a “Good day”, she hastened up the street. Beckett looked over his shoulder, a peculiarity to his eye. “And to you.” x x x A sickening sensation of bile stewing in her stomach led Margaret into the alleyway beside her shop. She set down her baskets and breathed in the sooty, metallic scent of the space between her building and the one next to it. She sighed, running her hand over her face. “That was interesting,” she mused to herself. “Oh, Dr. Hawthorne! The man I was looking for.” Margaret cautiously glanced around the corner at Lord Beckett’s voice. Her neighboring businessman, the doctor Edward Hawthorne, was coming from the opposite direction in the street. Despite his tired aura, he was able to put on his careworn smile as he always did in greeting another. “Lord Beckett. You look well. Unless you are internally bleeding, of course,” he said with a smile. Beckett huffed with a forced smile to show his amusement in the joke. “No, I find myself in exceptional health, thank you. I was curious, however, about Miss Swann. I went to collect the Governor this morning, and I understand from word at the manor that she slipped out and suddenly fell ill at Commodore Norrington’s residence. It sounds quite serious.” Margaret saw Dr. Hawthorne’s face sadden as he nodded. “She has been unable to breathe, eat, or drink. Poor girl is suffering from something terrible, and for it to brought on so suddenly only leaves room for so many possibilities, a lot of them not of common medicinal temperament.” Beckett’s eyebrows rose. “Her condition was induced, you say?” “Accidental or intentional, it makes me distressed to see the Governor and Commodore in such a state.” Beckett’s voice came full of pity, “This is absolutely barbaric. You know, Jack Sparrow caused a riotous uproar last night at the engagement ceremony. He may have something to do with this, heartless beast that he is. The wine was very pungent last night come to think of it.” Margaret blinked, mouthing to herself, ‘The wine?’ As it dawned on her, she looked back at them fiercely. “If you know anything, sir,” Dr. Hawthorne said eagerly, “you make sure you tell me immediately so I can treat her.” “Oh, absolutely,” Beckett assured casually with the perfect touch of concern. “It will be one more thing to have him hang for.” “See to it that you do, Lord Beckett,” the doctor encouraged heartily. “This town is run amuck with these scoundrels, and I trust you to see them accounted for on Judgment Day.” Beckett smirked, more to himself than to Hawthorne. “Trust me, my good doctor, Judgment Day for Jack Sparrow is not but a gavel strike away. Good day to you.” “Good day.” Margaret crouched against the brick of Dr. Hawthorne’s building, watching Beckett stroll up the street in the direction of the Commodore’s residence. Slinking her back straight up the wall, she listened as the doctor entered his shop. He rummaged around for only a few minutes, collecting things she assumed were for house calls. After that time, he left, passing her hideaway in a brisk stride. Making sure he was far away enough, she turned to the alley window of the building, pried it open, and climbed inside. . Please Review .
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