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Barbossa stiffened slightly at the use of his first name, shooting Will a death glare before turning to face the newcomer. "The Brethren Court: a gatherin' of the pirate lords," he replied shortly. "In layman's terms: none of your business." Looking around, he noted that Tia Dalma had now joined them on deck, along with James and essentially all of the cabin's former occupants.

"I understand the urgency of gathering the court," James spoke up, "but we also cannot simply ignore the fact that Mrs. Turner remains in the hands of our greatest foe. Surely that is a matter of some precedence as well?"

Elizabeth sank down on the bed, expression that of extreme frustration. She'd tried the door umpteen times, examined every window catch extensively and futilely, and even gone through every drawer in the room. All were empty but for ones that held clothes (along with those in the sturdy oaken wardrobe), which she adamantly refused to wear. Her dress was wrinkled, smudged with dirt, and caked solidly in mud in a two-inch strip around the hem, but it was quite good enough for the likes of Beckett. She didn't remember it being quite so dirty, though, and put it down to being unconscious.

Wearily she leaned back, head aching and lower back wanting very much for her to sit down and stop rushing about carrying all this extra weight. No. There must be a way out, there must. Elizabeth went to press the palms of her hands against the window, patterned in diamonds of wrought-iron. She leaned her pounding head against it, the cool glass against her forehead a welcome relief, and attempted to quell rising panic. Will must not come. There had to be away to get a message to him, only a message...

She whirled away, pulling open drawers for a second time. Paper and pen and ink, that was all she needed, paper and pen and ink...

Elizabeth found herself repeating those three words as in a fevered mantra and sat down again, disgusted with herself. She would not give in to Beckett, she would not.

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"Precedence: significance, priority, primacy, status established in order of importance or urgency," James intoned dryly, fixing his gaze steadily on Jack. "Need I further expound, or perhaps repeat it a bit slower for you? Or are we finished wasting time with meaningless repartee?"
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Elizabeth's explorations were suddenly interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Without waiting for a reply from within, a middle-aged maid entered, immediately dropping a curtsy. "My Lord Beckett wishes to inform you that supper shall be served in the dining room in a quarter of an hour, should you wish to partake of it, milady."

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Not unexpectedly, Elizabeth's first reaction was to feel a strong urge to throw something at the closing door. She forced herself to sit down and consider the offer. Likely if she didn't eat with him, she'd end up not eating at all, and though this would generally have not been an especial deterrent, Elizabeth was ravenously hungry and worried about the baby besides. And dinner would be downstairs, she was fairly sure. That had possibilities.

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth's sensible side had won an inner war and she was wearing a much cleaner dress. Regrettably there were no weaponlike implements available, a thought she was almost scandalized at herself for having - but not quite. Besides, unless Beckett was undead, table knives would do nicely.

Precisely fifteen minutes after being informed that dinner would be forthcoming Elizabeth was making her way down the stairs, bearing and expression practically regal and manner as cold and distant as she could make it.

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"I've a better idea," Barbossa said in response to Jack's proposal. "I take the Pearl an' sail to meet the Brethren Court. Meanwhile, Captains Sparrow an' Turner sail to wherever Beckett is aboard the Dutchman, as she's the faster ship in most conditions, an' then meet us at Shipwreck Cove. Mrs. Turner is rescued, the Court is able to meet, an' everyone is satisfied."

"Though I'm loath to turn down the opportunity to face Beckett yet again, I could stay with the Pearl as well," James suggested. So that there is someone left to keep an eye on Barbossa, he added silently, though he was certain everyone else had caught the full meaning of it.

"An' I as well," Tia agreed. "My business lies wit' de Bret'ren Court."

A disdainful grunt from Barbossa's direction indicated exactly what he thought of having someone present to monitor him, but he merely nodded. "Are in agreement, then?"
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Lord Beckett was already seated at the head of the table as Elizabeth descended down the stairs. The only immediate indication that he had even taken notice of her arrival was the slight arching of one of his eyebrows. "I see you found the wardrobe," he finally commented by way of greeting. Softly -but certainly not inaudibly- he added, "It's some improvement, I suppose." Motioning for one of the servants to come forward and pull out a chair for their guest, Beckett took a sip from the wine glass in front of him and looked up at Elizabeth. "Do be seated, Mrs. Turner."

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Elizabeth's lips tightened almost imperceptibly at his comment as to her attire, but she sat without further protest. There was a long pause in which Elizabeth determined that conversation would not further her cause in the least and was haughtily silent - though she did eat with perhaps a touch more vigor than she would have normally, thinking of the baby.

The dining room had two doors, she noticed, one for the servants that ostensibly led to the kitchen and another that Beckett had likely entered through. She thrust away the though that being pregnant did not facilitate quick movement and remained determinedly optimistic that she would find a way out.

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Barbossa watched Jack leave, then strode purposefully after Will. "There'll not be a 'tonight,' Captain Turner, if I've anythin' to say about it. By tonight, you ought to be well on your way to rescue Mrs. Turner, and I'd best be headin' to Shipwreck Cove, if we're to to arrive in any sort o' timely fashion. It certainly does not make for the best first impression when the captain responsible for summoning the Court is tardy in attendance. If you've somethin' to say to me, say it now an' be on your way. Captain Sparrow will not wait forever." A pause, and then, as an afterthought, he added a cursory, "Sir."
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No sooner had Jack Sparrow set foot back aboard the Dutchman than Tia Dalma appeared at his side. "I feel I must caution you, Jack Spar-row," she crooned, yet again pressing herself up again Jack's side. The back of her right hand was continuously tracing his jawline as she spoke. "I will know if you obey. De oat' you have taken is not sometin' to be tossed aside lightly. You will transport William to find Beckett as arranged. An' den, you will attend de Bret'ren Court, as arranged." Suddenly, her fingers shifted from Jack's face to his back, and along the line she traced with her fingertips, a fin began to emerge once more. Then, as quickly as it had formed, it was gone. Smiling wickedly, she whispered, "Or else you will find yourself pleadin' for a fate so merciful as Jones'."
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The meal proceeded in silence for some time as both Beckett and Elizabeth wordlessly focussed on eating their food. "So," Beckett finally said, taking another sip from his wine, "you have found the arrangements thus far to be adequate?"

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