"Calm down, lass," Bootstrap urged quietly, praying that no one would happen to walk down the street and spy the dark figure clinging to the side of the house. "No, Will's not with me, an' yes, he'd gone to Beckett, but not for th' reasons you think. Someone had t' ensure Beckett wouldn' be about when we rescued you, an' only Will's in a position to properly distract him. There'll be plenty talk of joinin' forces, no doubt, but nothin' sincere on William's part. I'm to let 'im know once I've got you out, an' then he'll find a way to meet us back at th' Dutchman."

Shifting his grip a bit yet again, he returned to the more eminent point of discussion. "An' I'd no intention of havin' you climb out this window, whether it opened or not. I suspect it'd be a bit difficult anyway, what with you bein'...in the family way....My congratulations, by the way," he added as an afterthought. "Are you...you're alright, aye? He's not harmed you in any way?"
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"Why indeed?" Beckett inquired dryly, pouring a glass of brandy for each of them, as was his custom whenever performing business. Replacing the bottle's stopper, he offered one of the glasses to Turner while taking a sip from his own. "I will admit, Mr. Turner, to being somewhat impressed. In all honesty, I had expected to endure some manner of ill-conceived heroics or imprudent threats by now. That neither has occured - yet - bodes most auspiciously for our imminent negotiations."

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"Quite all right, yes, I'm fine, I'm fine," said Elizabeth, still straining to keep her voice low. "What are you - we - going to do, then?"

She shifted to cast a glance over her shoulder, eyes spinning around the room. She'd paced it long enough, pried into every crevice available, to know that there would be no means of escape. Bootstrap would have to come inside, there was no other way...Elizabeth took a long breath of air, pressing down anxiety - for Will and the baby and everyone risking themselves in order to see her safe - until it only remained in a taut knot in the back of her mind.

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"You're goin' to wait here," Bootstrap replied shortly, then began to slowly climb his way back down the wall. Pausing briefly in the shadows to make sure no one was coming, he reflected that it would have been nice to have an answer to Elizabeth's question about now. However, as he'd long ago learned from Jack, sometimes improvisation was the best plan you could have.

He quickly made his way back around to the front of the house, then strode up the front walk as though he'd been coming from the street all along. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and, under the guise of straightening his coat, made sure his pistol was easily accessible.

The door was, predictably, answered by a butler, a man close to Bootstrap's own age. The man took one look at Bootstrap's tattered, outdated clothes and sniffed. "There is a church across town, if you are looking for handouts."

"Is Lord Beckett at home?" Bootstrap inquired evenly, pointedly ignoring the slight.

"Lord Beckett does not take visitors at home," the butler replied stiffly, "and he is still at his office at this time. If you have any legitimate business with him - however unlikely - then you may speak to his clerk about an appointment. Good evening, sir."

Bootstrap quickly stuck his foot in the door, preventing it from shutting fully. "Apologies," he said, letting himself in and promptly rendering the butler unconscious with the butt of his pistol. "S' nothin' personal."

A gasp followed by a loud crash alerted him to the presence of a middle-aged woman standing in the dining room. She hurriedly removed her hands from over her mouth and began fumbling for a knife from the table she'd just been setting, all the while muttering decidedly unladylike curses.

"'E'll be jus' fine," Bootstrap spoke up, putting away the pistol and taking a step toward her. "Jus' a knock on th' head to keep 'im from makin' a scene. I don' believe in hittin' a lady like that, though, so it'll be much easier if you cooperate. I don' want jewels or anythin' like that. I'm jus' here for th' girl."

"Th-the girl?" the maid stammered, taking a step back to match Bootstrap's.

"Th' one upstairs," Bootstrap said impatiently. "Turner....She's my daughter-in-law. I jus' want t' get 'er back to my son."

To his utter surprise, the woman flew across the room and embraced him, then went so far as to kiss him on the cheek. "Bless you!" she said breathlessly, suddenly becoming animated. "We've all been right worried 'bout tha' young lady up there, 'specially with 'er bein' expectin' like she is! Couldn't figure for th' life o' me what Lord Beckett wanted with 'er, though I s'pose that's usual 'ere. Oh, the girls'll be right pleased, they will! An' Geoffrey, too, th' poor soul, once 'e wakes up. Served 'im right, though, it did, for givin' you such a 'ard time. Oh, I can' wait t'see th' look on-"

"Thank you...miss," Bootstrap interrupted, awkwardly extracting himself from the maid's embrace. "But I don' have much time. If you'll show me the room...?"

"Oh! Naturally, naturally, sir. Goodness, it jus' excites me so! A real rescue, jus' like in them storybooks! Though I s'pose in a proper story it'd be 'er 'usband an' not 'er father-in-law, but e'en still..."

The maid chattered all of the way up the stairs and down one of the hallways to Elizabeth's chambers, finally stopping as she pulled out a key and unlocked the doors. "Righ' in 'ere, sir!" she said, dropping a curtsy before hurrying off.

Shaking his head, Bootstrap slowly pushed open the door to the bedroom. "We need to hurry," he said urgently, his eyes briefly drifting to Elizabeth's prominent midsection before resuming their cursory inspection of the room. "Yer sure you're alright?"
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Inwardly, Beckett sneered. The day Turner was an 'English Gentleman' was the day he, Beckett, shook Jack Sparrow's hand, declared a truce, and joined forces with the pirate.

Outwardly, however, he merely smiled indulgently. "Naturally, Mr. Turner," he replied, similarly draining his glass and placing it back on the table. "And what, as a gentleman, are your terms? I outlined several possibilities in my missive to you, each with rather different outcomes. Which are you prepared to accept?"

"Am now," said Elizabeth brusquely, shoving closed one of the hated wardrobe doors. She'd been hunting for a coat, and fortunately had found a dark-colored one that would cover her nicely in the dark. After a moment's hesitation she left the lamp in the room lit, to give the illusion of her still being there, and hurried after Bootstrap with as much haste as she could muster.

There was not a servant in sight in the somewhat dim hallway outside and the long stairs descending to the entryway. Elizabeth glanced around once, puzzled by it. "What did you - ?" she started in a whisper, breaking off upon reaching the top of the stairs and catching sight of the slumped manservant in the door. "That, to all of them?"

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"One o' them," Bootstrap corrected as they hurriedly went back down the stairs. "Th' others-"

"Aren't you goin' t' tie us up, then?"

Bootstrap looked up in surprise to see that the same maid as had helped before was, indeed, standing right in from of them, and holding a length of rope, no less. Off to the side stood several other ladies, who he assumed to be the rest of the maids. "I...hardly think that'll be necess-"

"Oh, but how're we t' explain 'ow you jus' marched in an' took 'er without a one o' us doin' nothin' to stop you? Jus' won' seem righ', sir, it won't, an' then-"

"Feel free t' tie yourself up however ye wish," Bootstrap brusquely cut her off, brushing past the maid without another word. He paused only briefly at the door, looking out to make sure no one was coming, then quickly moved out into the street with Elizabeth in tow and ducked into the first available alley.

"You know this town better'n I," he said quietly, still looking around to make sure no one was coming. "What's th' fastest way to get to th' shore without bein' seen?"
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"I thought you might," Beckett replied with a slight nod, his gaze never leaving the man before him. "The second proposition...I was quite generous concerning that one, as I recall. You'll understand, then, if I require some sort of evidence that you can, in fact, see this done?"

Elizabeth was covering her smile with one hand, but she was quickly quite serious again once the pair of them were out into the nighttime streets of Port Royal - a dubious location at best. Trying to recall the fastest way possible, she pulled the coat closer around herself and scanned the surrounding streets. It had been a long time since she'd walked them.

Finally, after a moment of biting her lip, Elizabeth slipped down the nearest alleyway with a gesture for Bootstrap to follow. There followed a succession of streets and shortcuts, most of which she navigated deftly, until the shoreline approached and she halted, panting a little for breath.

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Making sure they were safely in the shadows, Bootstrap paused as well to let Elizabeth rest for a moment. Mentally, he reached out to Jack and informed the captain that they were coming, subtly suggesting that the ship emerge once more, as Elizabeth was hardly suited to breathing underwater.

"Jack knows we're comin'," he said out loud, turning to face Elizabeth. "Now comes th' hard part. You've two options. Th' fastest way would be for me to travel as we usually do, emergin' from the side o' the ship. Problem bein' that I can make no promises about how comfortable it'll be, especially for one who's never done it before. Other option is for me to borrow a boat an' row us out there, which'll take a long time an' risk bein' spotted by th' Navy. S' your choice."
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Beckett's gaze hardened, appraising Turner narrowly. He knew the man to be a shrewd negotiator, possessed of both a sharp wit and a stubborn refusal to back down. Why, then, was he insisting upon playing the fool? "I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Turner," he replied, a growing edge developing in his voice. "A token, perhaps. God forbid, the heart of Jack Sparrow itself. Anything that might prove this to be more than a barely-concealed ruse." He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving the man in front of him. "A lesson you would do well to learn, Mr. Turner: when entering into a negotiation, legitimate or not, never allow your opponent to hold all of the cards. The more natural you seem, the less your opponent will suspect. Argue at least one point, regardless of how small, if solely for the purpose of maintaining appearances. And never, never let your guard down."

A sharp click alerted Will to the presence of a small pistol held at Beckett's side, currently trained on the blacksmith-turned-pirate. "It seems we have come to a crossroads in our negotiations, Mr. Turner."

"The faster way," said Elizabeth immediately, before she'd even considered the options. Any doubtful thoughts were stomped upon, crumpled into a ball, and lobbed into the furthest corners of her mind forthwith. She summoned a tight smile. "Discomfort's nothing I haven't experienced."

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"Aye, of course," Bootstrap replied. "I'd merely been thinkin' o'...that." He gestured vaguely at Elizabeth's midsection before carefully surveying the scene before them. The beach still seemed to be empty. So far, so good. If they could just make it to the docks...

"Oi! You! Stop right there!"

Bug.ger! Bootstrap looked up just in time to see a small squad of soldiers raise their guns and fire, spraying the sand all around them with bullets. "Run!"

Shielding Elizabeth as best he could, he half-pushed, half-followed the young woman straight into the shallow water along the shore. "You have t' trust me on this," he said insistently, still moving into deeper and deeper water, bracing himself and Elizabeth against the waves when needed. "On th' count o' three, we dive. Jus' hold your breath an' don't let go o' me, no matter what. One...two...three!" Clutching Elizabeth tightly around the shoulders, he dove underwater, closed his eyes, concentrated...

...and staggered onto the deck of the Dutchman with a dripping-wet Elizabeth in tow. "Found 'er," he said with a weary grin, immediately releasing her from his grip. Looking around the deck, he frowned. "Will's not back yet?"
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"Complete and utter control of the seas," Beckett deadpanned, neither his expression nor the intended target of the pistol changing. "And if you are not able to prove to me in the next thirty seconds exactly how you are going to aid me in this endeavour, then I am afraid that our business here has concluded."

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