Beckett's attention shifted at last, his eyes settling on Daniel with measured interest.
"And this gentleman?" he asked lightly, as if the question were an afterthought.
Governor Swann cleared his throat. "This is… my son-in-law."
That earned a pause.
Beckett looked at Daniel again—longer this time. The kind of look that peeled layers rather than glanced at them.
"Your son-in-law," he repeated. "Curious."
Daniel met his gaze without standing, without bowing. "Is it?"
Beckett's lips curved into something that resembled a smile, though there was no warmth in it. "Port Royal surprises me more often than I expect," he said. "But I do like to know what sort of men attach themselves to important families."
Daniel's smile was calm, almost lazy. "Then you're welcome to look."
The silence stretched.
Governor Swann felt a sudden, desperate urge to excuse himself—anything, any reason, just to not be standing between these two men.
But he didn't move.
If he left now, Beckett would speak freely. And if Beckett said the wrong thing—if he provoked Daniel—Port Royal wouldn't be dealing with paperwork or politics anymore. It would be dealing with consequences no royal warrant could fix.
The Crown's authority meant nothing in front of godly beings. Titles, warrants, and seals only mattered as long as the world followed ordinary rules.
Beckett's fingers tapped once against the arm of the chair.
"So, Governor Swann," he said calmly, "you claim to have no knowledge of why Jack Sparrow appeared in Port Royal."
"No," Swann replied, evenly. "I do not."
Beckett nodded, as if accepting the answer—then continued without pause.
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining where your daughter was at the same time," he said. "I'm told Miss Swann disappeared on the very day Sparrow escaped from Port Royal."
Swann's jaw tightened.
"And she returned only yesterday," Beckett added lightly, as though noting the weather. "An interesting coincidence."
"What are you implying?" Swann asked, his voice firm but strained.
Beckett smiled faintly. "Nothing at all," he said. "Merely thinking aloud."
Daniel watched him with a flat expression. The man wasn't asking questions—he was laying traps. Accusations wrapped in politeness, venom delivered with a smile. A snake, careful not to strike outright.
So Daniel struck first.
"She was with me," he said calmly. "We neglected to inform my father-in-law. Naturally, he assumed the worst and thought she'd been kidnapped."
The words cut cleanly through the tension.
Beckett's eyes sharpened a fraction as they shifted to Daniel. "With you," he repeated softly, testing the phrase.
"Yes," Daniel replied, unbothered. "Travel does that. Time slips by."
"Then it seems I was mistaken," Beckett said smoothly as he rose to his feet. "In that case, I'll take my leave."
He offered a shallow nod—more formality than respect—then turned without waiting for permission. Mercer followed him at once.
Governor Swann exhaled only after they were gone, the tension finally loosening from his shoulders.
"That," he said quietly, "was… unpleasant."
Daniel watched the path Beckett had taken for a moment longer, then spoke.
"You should be careful with that man," he said. "He's crafty. Ambitious. The kind who smiles while counting how to put a knife in your back."
Governor Swann nodded slowly, unease settling in his expression. "I gathered as much," he replied. "Men like him don't come to places like Port Royal without a reason."
Daniel smiled faintly. "Don't worry, father-in-law. I'll take care of him."
Governor Swann paused.
He very much wanted to ask what exactly Daniel meant by take care of. The tone alone suggested several possibilities, none of which sounded remotely legal, sensible, or survivable.
After a brief internal struggle, he decided against it.
Some knowledge, he reasoned, only invited headaches. And with a son-in-law like this, ignorance felt far safer.
So he simply cleared his throat, lifted his teacup, and pretended he hadn't heard a thing.
***
At the same time, on a remote and nameless island—
Gibbs dangled uncomfortably inside a cage made of lashed bones, suspended over a sheer cliff that dropped straight into crashing surf below.
The wind rattled the cage, setting it swaying just enough to make his stomach turn.
"This is bad," one sailor muttered, gripping the bars. "This is very bad."
Gibbs peered through the gaps in the bones and grimaced. "Aye," he agreed. "This is the sort of bad that comes right before being cooked."
Then a drumbeat began—slow, deliberate—echoing across the cliffs, heard by them all as it came from the clifftop.
"Oh no," Gibbs said quietly. "That's ceremonial."
One of the crew swallowed. "Ceremonial for what?"
Gibbs didn't answer right away. He just tightened his grip on the cage bars and sighed.
"…Dinner."
"Yeah," one sailor said hopefully, licking his lips. "I'm hungry too. Think they'll bring us something to eat?"
Gibbs turned his head slowly to look at him. Very slowly.
"We are the something," he said flatly.
"Huh?"
The realization hit a second later.
"Oh."
"Wait—their dinner?"
"Yes," Gibbs replied.
"Where's the captain?" one of the grimy sailors grumbled, rattling the bars of his cage. "Why's he being treated all nice while we're stuck up here like meat?"
Gibbs let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, Jack's in trouble all right. Different kind."
"What d'you mean?"
"These people," Gibbs said, lowering his voice, "think he's a god."
A few faces brightened. "See? Knew the captain had luck."
Gibbs shook his head slowly. "They're planning to liberate him."
"Well, that's better than this,"
Gibbs glanced toward the massive cooking pit below, where smoke curled up thick and steady. "Liberate his mortal shell," he added. "By cooking him alive and eating him."
The smiles vanished.
"…They're going to eat the captain?" one sailor whispered.
"Yes," Gibbs said. "He'll be served first. We're the second course."
A long silence followed.
"Well," one of them said weakly, "he always did like being the center of attention."
Gibbs snorted despite himself. "That he did."
*****
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