Power: Here it be. The final, for now, chapter. I may write a fourth. We'll see how it goes. Chapter 3: Breakdown
Weatherby Swann shot a look up at Cutler Beckett's office. The lights were reassuringly off. He had assumed that the carriage his own had passed was conveying Beckett to his manor. The first thing he had done when he had arrived at the harbour was to buy a bottle of Beckett's favourite wine. It could prove awkward to carry around, but he did not want to forget and then return to his manor empty handed. And if it came to it, it would make a handy weapon.
"I am not happy about your plan to just walk into his office and walk out again," Davy Jones had folded his arms.
Maccus had nodded in agreement. "From that it sounds like you plan to do it in broad daylight."
Swann had rubbed his chin. That was a good point. When did he plan to do it? He could get in easily enough, but it would be difficult to leave with the chest. "But if I were to do it at night, how would I get in? I don't doubt that Beckett would have guards posted at his office, with orders to prevent anyone from entering with the only exception of Beckett himself and possibly Mercer."
"Aye, my thoughts exactly. But you'd have the cover of darkness."
"I'd need a distraction, then. One of your crew perhaps?"
"If one my crew provides the distraction, it would make it less plausible that I was not involved in this. Are there not residents of Port Royal who bear some ill will against Becket or the East India Trading Company?"
"A good idea. And there probably are. But they would want the EITC gone. If I could promise them that you would assist in their removal from Port Royal, I'm sure there would be some willing to help."
Davy Jones had leaned forward to give him an evil smile. "That, I would do for free."
"How many guards, Mr. Brown?" Weatherby asked the man who was now approaching.
"He's got quite a lot, posted around at intervals."
Swann nodded. "As to be expected." He turned to a group of people approaching from the other direction. "Gentlemen?" He began, looking at the motley group assembled before him. "Are you ready to cause a disturbance?"
"Ready and willing," was the general consensus. Judging from their slightly unsteady stance and the slur in their voices, they had all consumed a certain amount of alcohol before arriving, to make what was about to happen next all the more believable. Mr. Brown, the blacksmith, simply grinned, pulled the cork out of his bottle of rum with his teeth and took one long swig. To the group he said, "Let's cause trouble."
Just as Swann had hoped, the guards declined to open fire on the unhappy and clearly drunk, residents and he waited, out of sight, as the guards manhandled them down to the jail.
Once the group had passed, he hustled up to Beckett's office. There were no more guards, or there did not seem to be. He hurried inside.
Fortunately Beckett had not seen fit to have the locks changed, but then the only other person to have the keys to the room, aside from Beckett and possibly Mercer, was himself.
His search for the chest that contained Jones' heart was surprisingly short. He pulled it out to have a better a look at it. It was a very unique-looking chest and must have been the one that Jones himself had kept it in. Swann saw no point in looking for the key, it was undoubtedly with Beckett himself. But the deal had been to get back the heart. Jones could worry about the key.
He tucked the chest under one arm and picked up the bottle of wine with his free hand. Now all he had to do was get past the guards - who were still to return to their posts - on his way down to the harbour.
Evading the guards had been easy. Weatherby glanced up at the moon, wondering how long Beckett had been waiting. Davy Jones had told him that all he had to do was stand on the jetty and wait until one of the crewmembers appeared to take the heart. Jones had assured him that every one of his crew, himself included, could see perfectly well in the dark.
He squinted. Was that a longboat being lowered? After a more few moments of squinting the unidentified object resolved itself into something that definitely looked like a longboat so he decided it was.
His heart pounding in his chest, terrified that at any moment he would be caught, he put the wine down and cast fearful glances around at the rest of the harbour.
The longboat pulled up beside the jetty and it took Swann a moment to register the fact that there were two people in the boat. Another to remember that Jones had specifically said he was sending one, and another to realise that the first was Koleniko, and the second figure was Mercer.
"Good evening, Governor Swann."
Swann cringed, painfully reminded of the night when he had tried to sneak Elizabeth out of Port Royal, which although successful ended up getting a good friend killed aswell. "Mr. Mercer," he replied a little shakily. "What are you doing here?"
"I was on the Dutchman. Then I heard a ruckus and came out to investigate. We saw you, Governor."
Shoot. "I see."
Mercer nodded at the chest. "What's that you're holding? Wouldn't be the chest that contains the heart of Davy Jones, would it?"
"Yes," he said simply.
Koleniko went for his sword.
Unfortunately, Mercer had expected this and struck the crewman in the throat with the side of his hand. Koleniko hunched over, gagging, only to be knocked out by the pommel of his own sword. (A/N 1)
Mercer hopped up onto the jetty, the crewman's sword in one hand and held out his free hand. "The chest please, Governor."
Reluctantly, he held out the chest, wondering how he was going to pacify Jones and Beckett. "What happens to me now?" He asked once the chest was safely tucked under the other man's arm.
"You needn't worry about that, Governor." Mercer smiled. He watched, dispassionately, as Swann, thunderstruck, reeled off Koleniko's sword and over the side of the jetty. A bottle glinting in the moonlight caught his attention as he started to walk off. He dropped the sword and picked the bottle up, checked the label and decided it would make a good peace offering.
Cutler Beckett was most surprised when Mercer turned up at Swann's manor. It was with some chagrin that he took the news of the late Swann's exploit.
"I would have preferred the man alive," he said as he paced the room, pouring himself a glass of the wine as he did.
"He went to a lot of trouble to get the heart. He was dangerous," Mercer replied simply.
Beckett sighed. "Is there anything to suggest that Jones was involved?"
"No. But I suspect he was."
"Suspecting isn't good enough. We can't discourage him from any further attempts with anything less than solid evidence that he was involved in this one."
"So we let this go for now?"
"It would seem that we have no choice."
Weatherby Swann opened his eyes slowly. The last thing he remembered clearly was being stabbed and falling into the water. What followed, he could not be certain had actually happened. But he had been vaguely aware of being hauled into something and then agreeing to do something for someone he could not remember.
"Welcome back, Mr. Swann."
He frowned and tried to focus on the speaker, but his vision was fuzzy. The voice was familiar though. "Governor," he mumbled.
"Not any more you're not," said the voice.
Swann rubbed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The voice. "Who do you think?"
At the same time he remembered his vision refocused. "Davy Jones."
"That's Captain to you."
Confused he looked around his surroundings. It was unmistakeably the interior of the Flying Dutchman. And there was another occupant. A sorry looking individual with a starfish on one side of his face was perched on what looked like an upturned bucket, directly beside him.
"Who are you?"
"Bootstrap Bill Turner."
He wanted to ask the man a whole bunch of questions but decided that the Captain would give him that moment later.
"You're in the brig, if you hadn't noticed. And you will stay here until I say otherwise. Is that understood?" That was Jones.
"But. . . But I don't know what's going on."
Jones gave him a not-entirely-unsympathetic smile. "I'll leave Mr. Turner to explain the details. You two have a lot to talk about."
And with that he thunked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Power: Not too happy with this chappie. But I'm still interested to see how this story turns out. Just need to watch AWE before I can do that.
A/N 1: If they sleep, I'm assuming they can be knocked out as well. I mean getting KO'd is like falling asleep. Only faster. . . Yeah. . .
And I think a fourth chapter is in order, for those wanting a meet between Swann and Bootstrap, like I do. :D