Water.

Norrington looked up from where he sat against the corner of the shack's walls. The tall man was drinking from a canteen, and when he finished, he passed the drink over to his stocky companion. Norrington closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall again. At that moment, he would have traded his commission for a drop of water, and his own soul for a mouthful. The only thing he wouldn't trade was the one thing his captors wanted. Begging was beneath him, and he was determined not to give the two men any leverage. He had already spent four days making it clear he wasn't afraid of pain, or death, or empty threats, but he was afraid that if they promised him something to drink, he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. So the Commodore remained resolutely silent and wondered vaguely if this stalemate would ever end.

Norrington heard footsteps approaching him, and he didn't have to look up to know that they belonged to the tall man. A cold metal ring pressed against Norrington's temple, and he heard the click of a pistol being cocked. The same old routine again.

"You've had some time to think, Commodore," the man sneered. "Is there anything you'd like to share?"

Norrington lifted his head and forced his eyes to focus. The man's yellowish face was mostly hidden in shadows, but his dark eyes gleamed silver in the moonlight, staring with crazed hope into Norrington's own.

"Well?" he demanded, shoving the pistol against the Commodore's head. "Anything you wish to tell me?"

"Yes," Norrington said, his voice hoarse and weak. "You're standing on my foot."

"Wrong answer."

Norrington saw a flash of white as the butt of the pistol cracked against his head, and he grimaced, wondering why the man didn't just shoot him.

The man stood up and rejoined his companion at the far end of the small room. "I've had it with him," the tall man said. "I'm done playing games. Either he tells us tonight, or we burn the place and go after one of the others."

The stocky man muttered in reply and went out of the shack through the small front door, while the tall man began throwing the cabin's meager stash of food and supplies into a sack. The other returned shortly, carrying two bottles. He uncorked them both with his teeth, then began pouring the contents out onto the shack's wooden floor and walls. The smell of rum was overwhelming.

The tall man knelt in front of Norrington again, this time holding a burning lamp. The flickering light assaulted Norrington's eyes, and he looked away.

"This place is going to burn," the man said. "I suggest you give me an answer unless you'd like to burn with it."

Norrington glanced down at the metal shackle on his wrist which chained him to the floor of the shack. He doubted he'd have the strength to escape even if he could get free of it. Burning to death sounded like a particularly unpleasant way to go, but he had long since resigned himself to the possibility of a painful death. He looked up at the man's face, and knew he wasn't bluffing this time. Norrington chose his last words carefully.

"It is," he said, "a bit cold in here."

The man stood with a final shout of anger, landing a painful kick on the Commodore's ribs, then he and his companion made for the door, smashing the lamp against the wood floor on their way out.

The rum did its job, and soon the flames covered the front wall of the small cabin. They were making swift progress, promising to engulf the entire wooden structure. Norrington just closed his eyes and waited. The heat was intense, but his thoughts were so slow and so thick that he hardly even noticed. The loud crash of the door being thrown off its hinges sounded muted and faraway. Norrington was vaguely aware of voices, but he didn't bother listening to what they were saying or wondering who they belonged to.

A hand roughly gripped his shoulder and shook him. Norrington looked up, confused. The man's face was vaguely familiar. There was a dull clanging sound, and then Norrington felt a set of shoulders under each of his arms, lifting him and all but carrying him out of the burning shack into the dark, crowded streets that surrounded it. He saw only blurred darkness. The dull scratching of his own feet against the ground sounded like echoes from miles away. The darkness settled into his head.

"Stay with us, mate," a voice said. Norrington thought he'd heard that voice before.

"Just a little farther." This voice came from the opposite direction. It was familiar, too.

Then the sounds of the street were gone and the air was stiller and the darkness was warmer. Norrington felt something soft under his head. Several dark blurs floated above him, but they moved too quickly to be counted.

"You're safe now, James." It was a woman's voice. "You're going to be all right."

Norrington welcomed the oblivion as it overtook him.

This concept came out of nowhere and is still in development. I posted it before, but took it down because it wasn't going anywhere. I've got some of this written now, and a better idea of what's going on, so hopefully it's better now. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!