At World's Beginning

The Dutchman's Due

James stared at the plank in his hand as if he'd never seen it before. In fact, he hadn't. He had picked up the piece of wood and swung before he'd understood what he was doing.

He turned his gaze down to Ona, unconscious on the blood-stained deck of the Mariner's Lament, horror crawling up his spine at what he had done. And worse, not knowing why he had done it.

The monstrous crew just stared at him, seemingly as surprised as he was. Jones finally gave a baleful, deep laugh, apparently delighted by this turn of events.

"Well done, Master Norrington. Well done." He signaled two of his men nearby and said, "Grab the captain's daughter. She's comin' aboard."

James stared at Jones as he walked past, senseless and stunned, but then he got moving once he fully processed the words.

"You said you would spare her!" James shouted as he caught up to Jones. He came to an abrupt halt as the captain turned on him, his blue eyes pale with malice.

"And I did, from the death she would have met by my sword." Jones gave a small, vicious smile. "Ye said nothing of her freedom, Master Norrington. Next time you make a contract with the Devil, be sure to read the fine print!"

The crew laughed uproariously at their captain's wit as they went about their cleanup. James watched helplessly as they killed most of the survivors and took a few stragglers onboard the Dutchman. The cursed ship had collided with the Mariner's Lament at some point, its jagged bow now piercing the side to hold it in place, like a swordfish impaling its prey.

James couldn't move, couldn't react, even when one of the crewmen carried Ona past him and walked onto the deck of the ship that now, apparently, owned his soul.

He had failed to prevent this from happening. He had failed Captain Sharp. Failed to save Ona. Failed every soul above the Mariner's Lament. And not just because Jones had managed to track him down. Oh, no, his failings preceded this event by months, marked by the moment he had walked into Beckett's office (his office) and handed the greedy little man a beating burlap sack.

A crewman, the one with the head like a hammerhead shark (Maccus? Was that his name?) grabbed James by his coat lapel and dragged him onto the Dutchman. Not ten seconds later, several loud booms cracked the air and his vision was temporarily obscured by the smoke of cannonade.

When it cleared, he got a chilling view of the Mariner's Lament, listing to the side. She then gave a final, agonizing moan like the dying beast she was, and sank beneath the golden waters of the morning sea.

Maccus pulled at him again and James went without resistance, too stunned to fight, and he didn't struggle even when the sailor dragged him deeper into the ship. The close confines began to stir something in him, though—memories of the last time he was here.

A clandestine escape. A stolen kiss. A pike below the heart.

Maccus opened the door to the single cell of the brig and without fanfare threw him inside. James grabbed onto the middle column before he could fall, but he immediately regretted the action and flinched away with a hiss through his teeth. Sharp-lipped mollusks had cut into the palms, but when he looked down at his hands, he saw they were mostly protected by cloth bandages. Her bandages.

"Welcome back, Admiral," Maccus mocked with a smirk. He then slammed the cell door shut and turned away, laughing as he exited the brig. James paid him no mind—he had just spotted the prone figure on the ground and was on his knees in an instant.

He cupped her shoulder in his hand, suddenly fearful of what he might find. But she was warm, and alive, and James exhaled in relief as he saw strands of hair move with her breath.

"Ona?" he asked quietly, his voice tight with strong emotion. "Ona, can you hear me?"

He brushed her hair out of her face and curled it behind her ear, noting how pale she was. But she was breathing, and her heartbeat sounded steady when he lowered his head and pressed his ear to her chest.

James was worried he had struck her too hard. He was also worried why he had struck her at all. When Jones' sword had plunged into Franklin's chest, his first instinct had been to hold Ona and turn her away from the sight.

Instead, something had shifted inside him. For a moment, James hadn't felt like himself. He'd felt like someone else. Someone capable of striking a young woman into unconsciousness without hesitation and remorse.

James shivered and moved away, wondering if she was safe with him. He sat with his back to the wall, but then thought better when he realized the wall was alive with barnacles, clams, and other sea creatures. Instead, he placed himself between the door and Ona's unconscious body. He didn't know what, if any, protections he could afford her, but it was the very least he could do after the catastrophic events that had just occurred.

Captain Sharp, murdered. Most of the crew dead or taken. And Ona... her reaction to Sharp's death had caught him completely off-guard. He had seen grief and rage in many forms, but never with such intensity. Four crewmen had had her in their grasps, and still the woman had inched forward, fighting with the unstoppable force of a crashing wave to get to Jones.

And then James had... had what? Helped Jones? Acted on his behalf as a member of his crew? The thought made him shiver with disgust and loathing. Though for himself or the captain, he didn't know.

With nothing to occupy his mind, or silence his fear or guilt, James couldn't help but recall the strange tales the crew had told of the navigator. Had any of it been true, or was it all embellishments created in the minds of superstitious sailors faced with a terrifying death? Could Ona predict storms, sense dangerous waters, and avoid enemy ships due to some kind of unknown power? Was she some kind of witch who could bring men back from the dead? He had seen stranger things, as evident by his surroundings.

No, the question that weighed most heavily on his mind was one he couldn't begin to fathom. Now that Jones had them in his grasp, what would he do to them? What would he do to her?

James looked down at the woman in question, and he felt his expression darken into something bleak and hopeless.