At World's Beginning

The Game

"Beckett!"

James ceased struggling when he heard Ona's shout. He looked over his shoulder but couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. After the marines fully turned him around, he still couldn't interpret the scene:

Ona was standing behind Groves, one hand gripping his upper arm while the other held a long dirk held tight across his throat. Her eyes were narrowed and her features as cold as the rain that soaked James to the bone. But it was not the rain that caused him to shiver.

"Release Norrington," she ordered in a commanding tone. "Or I'll cut his throat."

"You are many things, Miss Sharp," Beckett said as he took two methodical steps forward, his hands behind his back, "but I believe a cold-blooded murderer is not one of them."

"Then you are a fool," she responded icily. "Was last night's demonstration not enough?"

Beckett merely smiled at whatever she was referring to. "Making threats is hardly the same as taking a man's life. Especially a man who has done you no ill and is innocent of any wrongdoing."

"Innocent?" she asked in a mocking, cruel tone James had never heard before. "He is your right hand man. That makes him complicit with your misdeeds, at the very least."

Beckett took another step forward. Ona released Groves arm and gripped the bottom of his jaw instead, pulling his head back to further expose his throat to the blade. The lieutenant made a sharp, fearful noise, but her dread expression never changed.

Beckett stopped walking. James couldn't see his face, but he could see the line of tension in the slope of his shoulders.

"I will not ask again," she said, low and threatening. "Release Norrington or your man dies."

"I don't believe you," Beckett responded coolly. Groves' eyes widened.

"S-sir, I don't think—"

Groves' words were cut short as Ona braced the dirk against his throat, and he made another fearful sound as a thin line of red appeared on his neck, quickly turning to pink as rainwater mixed with blood.

But James couldn't take his eyes off of Ona, unable to think or feel anything other than growing disbelief at what she was doing. At first, he had thought this was a foolish, desperate gambit. But he could see now she wasn't bluffing.

"I'm sure you remember the tale of a ship called the Intrepid that made port in Nassau over three decades ago. You do, don't you, Lord Beckett?" she asked stonily, her blue eyes now as dark and dangerous as the storm.

"I do," Beckett responded evenly. "What has that to do with—"

"As the story goes, the ship was sacked by an especially vicious band of pirates," she continued, her voice strong above the wind. "Most of the crew, including the captain, was slaughtered on deck. They said it resembled the floor of a butchery. They couldn't get the blood out of the wood and ended up having to burn the ship. It was the worst attack on a merchant vessel the West Indies had ever seen."

Despite the chaotic wind and rain around them, the sound of cannonade in the distance, James was captured by her storytelling. He could see the other men were as well. Even Beckett had fallen silent, focused intently on her face.

"There were only three survivors. Franklin Sharp, a cabin boy..."

Ona paused, and for an instant her eyes flicked to James. There was something in them he didn't recognize, but before he could interpret the look, she turned her cold gaze back to Beckett, boring straight through him.