DRAKE. He’s almost angry. SABRE is pushing back from the table, preparing to rise.
1. DRAKE: You could save lives with this.
2. SABRE: And what makes you think those lives are of the slightest of concern to me?
Angle, past SABRE, now on her feet and turning away from DRAKE.
DRAKE is now barely keeping his anger and frustration below the surface.
3. DRAKE: Nothing other than common decency.
4. DRAKE: Who gets the map, Captain? The Rose herself? The highest bidder?
On SABRE. She’s standing, now, looking at him over her shoulder. Her expression is cold. He’s pressing her buttons. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like that he’s gotten in her head.
5. SABRE: That is not your concern.
DRAKE moves forward, angry, taking hold of SABRE by the elbow.
6. DRAKE: It damn-well fully is!
DRAKE holds up his BANDAGED hand in front of SABRE, having turned her to face him; he’s still holding her by the elbow.
She’s looking up at him with ice in her expression.
1. DRAKE: I’ve fought, I’ve killed on your deck, in your name!
2. DRAKE: Now, I’ll have the reason for it, and I’ll have it all, or so help me, woman—
3. SABRE: This is the second time you’ve lain hand upon me uninvited.
4. SABRE: Remove your hand, sir…
Stet. They’re glaring at each other.
5. SABRE: …or lose your hand, sir.
DRAKE has stepped back, removing his hand. SABRE is still looking at him coldly.
6. SABRE: The map goes to my Monarch Constant.