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Wi' A Wannion	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2357 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Eight:

A Fourth of The Ship's Take

Year Twelve

"Now, ye have th' particulars o' it, Mister Beckett. Ye shall go free in exchange for provisional Letters, wi' yer seal an' signature. If ye disagree, I leave ye dead on this shore. If yer agreed, we'll take those provisional Letters an' then The Victorious can be dockin' at Singapore in a six-month for th' complete Letters of Marque. We'll be delighted to sail under th' auspices o' Th' East India Tradin' Company in exchange for free license."

Cutler Beckett had been given clean clothes and fresh water with which to wash. The man looked presentable again, albeit sans wig and clerical black. The frock-coat was a shade of russet that very nearly matched the man's curly hair.

Currently, Beckett was sitting in the captain's cabin with a glass of brandy before him. Barbossa sat in the chair opposite with all the aplomb of a king. Between the two men, at the polished table, there lay an inkstand, a cleanly sharpened quill, a candle, a stick of red sealing wax, and a handful of parchments ready for use. He had opted to stand behind his mate, near the mullioned windows. It made a good strategic point, but was not the whole reason for his choice. His arse hurt and it wouldn't do to have his enemy see him wincing when said parts complained about the rough treatment, before the opportune moment.

The scurvy git's mouth was curled up in a smirk as if there was nothing at all wrong with the world---as if he wasn't the prisoner of a pirate captain and his black-hearted crew. With a sip of his brandy, Beckett spoke, having needed only a few moments of silence to digest the idea of hiring The Victorious as a privateer. "Captain Barbossa, you've surprised me once again. May I ask, for my own curiosity, how you've come to consider this...plan?"

"Ye might say that Jack Sparrow has appealed to me sense o' honor, such as it is, an' suggested we come to an accord with ye." Barbossa drawled, matching the merchant master's smirk. "Or ye might say I've a mind to be generous with a man such as yerself. Both parties have much to gain from such an alliance. Have we an accord, Mister Beckett?"

"You've stated that the alternative is death." Beckett set the brandy down with a muffled thump, his sleeves nearly hidden beneath the wide cuffs of the frock-coat. "As I have no wish to be killed, I cannot see where I have much choice. May I ask you why you've felt it necessary to torture me in my time as a guest aboard your ship?"

Jack drew a deep breath and held it as his guts began to ache again; his belly was grumbling and there was a good chance that it would be audible to the other two men. It was going to be some time before his body adjusted to eating wholesome food and imbibing rum, again.

But, there was no need to fear; Hector gave a rumble of genuinely amused laughter. His lover sat forward, placing both hands on the polished table. The oval amethyst ring gleamed on Barbossa's finger, sending out a spangle of color. "Arrr, Mister Beckett, me thinks ye've misunderstood our intentions. If I'd wanted to mishandle ye as me guest, ye'd not have had th' luxury o' me brig for a full ten-day. Ye've not been tortured, I assure ye."

"Mister Sparrow." Beckett addressed him and he pulled his attention in, giving it to the merchant master who'd had him imprisoned and branded. "This leniency on the part of your captain and the idea which has been presented, here...was it your idea that The Victorious sail under company colors as a privateer?"

"Aye." He folded his hands behind his hips, standing a little straighter. With a thin smile, he tipped his head up just enough to allow him the privilege of gazing down along the length of his nose at Cutler Beckett. "I can accept that it was company regulations you were upholding, when you had my ship burned and me branded as a pirate. I can see the subsequent imprisonment as a bargaining tool you felt it necessary to employ. Water under the bridge, mate, and something I'm willing to overlook this once. Captain Barbossa wants a chance at sailing under a legitimate flag and I believe you have the ability and power necessary to see it through."

He wondered if Hector truly intended holding to the deal. He wondered if he could hold to the deal, after the bucket-full of poxy filth he'd just spouted.

"Let's declare terms, shall we?" Beckett smiled like a shark. "Under the provisional Letters, I shall receive a third of the ship's take in profit, payable to me upon your return to Singapore in six months. Once the true Letters have been remanded into your hands, Captain Barbossa, I will require a full half share in the ship's profits, payable once a year."

Jack bit back his retort. It wasn't his place to haggle. He was only first mate, now.

Besides which...Hector was a master at twisting a deal.

Barbossa took a long moment and then sighed; it was a heavy, put-upon sound. From the angle at which he stood, he couldn't see his lover's face for the flamboyant hat. Was that a peacock feather? But, he suspected that Hector would treat this bargain like any other gamble.

He wasn't disappointed.

"These are yer terms?" It was low, threatening; the sound of a dangerous man becoming irate. "To rob me while gainin' a ship an' its crew for yer employ? Th' ship's take pays out every manjack on-deck. To give ye a full half, Mister Beckett, would make for bad business on me part. No hand would sail with me for so little, when th' dangers they be facin' could triple under comp'ny colors in these waters. Nay, I think a quarter o' th' take be all we could lose to ye an' make it worth our while."

"I can certainly see where it would become a problem, hiring crew with so little money to offer." Cutler Beckett tapped his lower lip with a cleanly manicured finger. The short merchant master looked up at him demurely, ignoring Barbossa in his contemplations. He stared Beckett down, keeping his own smile. At last, the git spoke again, his brows knotted as if he was making a terrible concession. "Let's say I could accept a mere third. How can that be fair, Captain? I am taking a great risk, asking the Governor for those Letters of Marque. No mere merchant master has the authority to hire privateers. I'll need to ensure the Governor's good will...I'm sure you understand."

The silence was heavy and potentially deadly; the two men were staring at each other, musing over their brandy. Jack decided that it was time to play a card he hadn't considered necessary before now. It would damage what reputation he had, with Beckett, but would enhance Barbossa's reputation for being fearsome. He could afford to lose the outward reputation, for this deal. Beckett had always seemed to consider him something of a rogue, a dangerous element...but, he could swing that opinion, for Hector's reputation.

Slowly, as if he were crippled, Jack crossed the distance between the windows and the table. There, he reached for the decanter and poured out a glass for himself. It was his right, as first mate, to do so without asking for permission in situations where his presence was required. The brandy had already been offered to him, at the outset; he was simply choosing his moment for when he would imbibe. Then, glass in hand, he sat down on the hard wooden seat at Hector's side. Instantly, he stiffened and bit off his groan of pain, adjusting his position quickly to allow for the soreness.

Beckett's eyes flickered over him and he knew...he'd found the right angle. The wee merchant master's gaze seemed a bit wider, more curious. Was that a light flush on Cutler Beckett's cheeks? The wicked git had come to the right conclusions, the conclusions he wanted to present. To all appearances, he'd been beaten by Barbossa---and perhaps more. If he was so fierce a captain himself, someone to be wary of, then Barbossa must be something worse. He'd accepted the position of first mate under the pale-eyed pirate and taken, at the very least, a beating. He knew that Beckett believed the presentation. All of it.

And had started to draw his own conclusions from the evidence on hand.

Hector, for his part, didn't even glance in his direction. His lover's narrow-eyed stare was on Beckett. But, the words were for him. "D'ye need a cushion for yer arse, Jack?"

Jack shook his head, lifting the glass of brandy to his lips. "No, Captain."

Now, Barbossa lifted a brow at Beckett, the edge of his mouth turning up in another smirk. "Whelp went missin' without me permission, got hisself caught an' imprisoned by yer men. Rash an' stupid o' him, don't ye agree? I expect to be administerin' punishments for at least th' next six-month...ye understand how it be."

It was the lusty tone in Hector's voice that did the trick. After all, what ship�s captain needed to ask permission from his first mate to go missing?

Beckett swallowed visibly and blinked, directing the conversation back to the terms. "As we were discussing, Captain Barbossa, I can accept a fourth of your ship's take on both the provisional and true Letters of Marque, but in order to secure the Governor's good-will, I cannot, in good faith, go any lower."

Jack had to bite his lip and lift his glass again, to hide; Beckett had just agreed to a quarter without any further haggling. Perhaps the nasty little git had realized how very badly things could have gone for him, on ship, in the hands of a pirate like Barbossa.

"Agreed." Barbossa smiled and Jack knew...somehow, his lover and friend would manage to secure lower terms before the first year was finished. "Now, if ye d'not mind, Mister Beckett, I have duties to attend. Jack here will help ye with th' writing up o' terms an' th' provisional Letters which ye've promised. It has been a pleasure, sir."

With a squeak of the chair, the hard thump of bootsteps, and the swinging whisper of the door, Hector left him alone with Cutler Beckett without so much as a backward glance. He supposed it was the first mate business and how he was supposed to play a 'wee beaten cockerel' to Barbossa's 'vicious pirate captain'.

Once they were alone, he turned his attention to Beckett and gave another thin smile. To his credit, the merchant master was pale and appeared waxy, as if he'd felt the world dropping out from under his booted feet, but at least the man seemed unlikely to run screaming in mind-bleeding horror.

"Shall we get started, then, Mister Sparrow?" Beckett managed, sounding small and young.

With a nod, Jack pulled the clean parchment to him and carefully dipped his quill in the brass inkstand. He need not do anything further, to scare Beckett. He would, of course, be on guard; the true Letters were contingent on Beckett upholding his end of the deal, in a six-month. It would be a smart thing to prepare for possible betrayal from that quarter. He knew he didn't need to warn Barbossa.

No doubt, Hector was already concocting a plan.

***

With Beckett securely away on the beach with supplies and a compass, they weighed anchor and set sail for the Moluccas. The plan was to harry the Dutch brigantines that sailed between the islands, taking coin of the realm, spices, and all other likely goods. They would probably find help with the Bandanese, who were interested in doing a bit of independent trade with the British.

When he took his first turn at the wheel on the third night out, Jack began to finally learn the ship's unique haw and heave. She was different, The Victorious; her voice wasn't nearly as easy to hear as the voice of his own, lost ship, The Wicked Wench. But, he spent a night at her quarterdeck with his hands touching the wheel, finally falling asleep on the forecastle deck when eight bells came and he was relieved of duty by Bootstrap.

That morning, he'd woken to find Hector standing over him, long sun-bronzed face shaded by the ridiculous hat. Laying flat, with his arms spread, Jack didn't bother to speak when Barbossa nudged him with one booted foot.

"Did ye survive our lady's embrace, then, lad?"

Thinking on how smooth his watch had progressed, how easily The Victorious had cut through water, Jack's face broke in a slow, pleased smile. He murmured up at his lover. "Aye...a few more nights like that and I'll be spoiled to her, mate."

"That be good." Hector's answering smile was honest. "We'll be upon th' island by mid-day. We'll lay in th' shallows off Pulau Haruku. There's ships passin' in an' out o' th' southern bay all year long. We�ll get our chance."
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Wi' A Wannion