prologue.
The deck rose and fell beneath his feet as the Dauntless crested the heaving waves, then came crashing down again. Rain slashed across his face and soaked through his uniform, chilling him to the bone. The wind howled through the riggings and ripped at the sails. It tore at him as if it would wrench him from his feet and plunge him overboard, leaving him to the judgment of the uncaring sea.
Commodore Norrington faced the wrath of the hurricane, and would not yield.
He heard his lieutenant shouting behind him, heard the yells of the crew as they fought with all their strength to keep the ship on course.
"Sir!" Gillette pleaded again, his voice barely audible above the crash of the waves, the inhuman scream of the wind. "We can't sail through this! We must turn back!"
Norrington slitted his eyes, feeling an all-too-familiar fury welling up within him. Once again, the Black Pearl had outsailed the Dauntless. Once again, Jack Sparrow had outwitted and outmaneuvered him, leaving him a failure...
"No," Norrington said, his voice low and dangerous.
Without turning around, he could sense Gillette's bewilderment. "Commodore..."
"NO!" He whirled around to face his lieutenant, rage etched across his rain-drenched face. "Not this time! This time we have them! Now carry out my orders!"
Norrington turned back to face the storm as the biggest lightning bolt he'd ever seen split the sky in two. His eyes narrowed, and he gave a dangerous smile. The power of the storm seemed to surge in his blood, filling him with its inhuman glory.
Just once, he would act on passion alone, discarding reason and judgment. Just once, he would give in to the darkness inside him, and let it lead him to victory.
Just this once...
--
The voice was the last thing he heard.
"The Admiral's dead..."
Then there was darkness, a confused jumble of speech, and a dull, distant pain that slowly ebbed away. Norrington was alone in a silent void, empty of thought and memory. He had a vague feeling he was waiting for something, although he couldn't tell what.
Gradually, sensation returned. He heard a soft sound of lapping water, and the faint call of a seagull. He felt something hard against his back, and could see a pale light through his closed eyelids.
Opening his eyes, Norrington found himself staring up at a featureless gray sky.
Looking to the left and right, he saw he was lying on his back in a small boat, barely large enough for him. A small lantern hung over the back of the craft, its yellow light wan and pale in the surrounding grayness.
He struggled to sit up, rocking the boat back and forth, water sloshing over the sides. He looked all around him in bewilderment, not knowing where he was or how he'd come to be there. The sea stretched from horizon to horizon in every direction. Except for the ripples his movement had caused, the water was as smooth as glass, unmarred by wind or wave. The sky above was dull and sullen, a flat roof of clouds hanging low overhead, obscuring any trace of the sun.
Breathing hard, Norrington struggled to remember what had happened. His last memory was of standing on board the Flying Dutchman. Memories came back to him in shards and fragments: the sound of steel on steel, Elizabeth screaming his name, the damp wood of the deck beneath his back, and a sudden, wrenching pain...
Gasping aloud at the memory, Norrington reached for his side. Then he received another shock as he got a good look at himself. His uniform was filthy and tattered, smelling of dirt and cheap rum. And it was his Commodore's uniform, not his Admiral's, even though that had been what he'd last worn. Running a hand over his face, his hand encountered what felt like weeks' worth of stubble. There was dirt on his hands, and his hair felt like it hadn't been washed or combed in ages.
"What happened?" he whispered to himself. "Where am I?"
A woman's voice, low and amused, answered his query. "You do not know?"
He whirled in place to face the sound, sloshing water into the boat again. His jaw dropped open in shock as he saw the woman who'd spoken. She was dark and elegant, her shoulders bare, dotted lines of makeup or tattoos accentuating her face. She stood gazing at him with her long, slightly tattered skirts gathered in one hand. Her dark eyes and black-toothed smile mingled amusement and contempt with a trace of disconcerting lust.
She was standing on the water.
Norrington closed his mouth and swallowed. Several possibilities passed through his mind--he'd gone mad, he was dreaming, he was feverish and hallucinating--and he found he didn't much care for any of them. He could hear gulls calling in the distance; a few of the white birds swooped into view, circling over the mysterious woman as if drawn by her presence.
Since he couldn't think of anything better, Norrington settled for asking the obvious question. "Who are you?"
She gave an idle shrug. "Men, them have many names for me," she replied, her accent musical and exotic. "Many call me Calypso." She put her head on one side, regarding him with a direct and superior stare, as if he were something she could crush under her heel. "It be as good a name as any."
"Calypso," he repeated quietly, lowering his gaze. He'd heard the name before, in tales and legends. He wondered why he should be seeing a vision of her now; if indeed a vision was what it was.
Since he'd already asked where he was and gotten no useful reply, he tried another tack. Gesturing down at his ragged, filthy garb, he asked, "Why do I look like this?"
Calypso appeared to find the question boring. "In the realm beyond the living world, your appearance be your soul's own choosing."
Norrington exhaled heavily. Now he could recall his last moments with greater clarity. He squeezed his eyes shut at the remembered pain of a steel blade ripping through his flesh, his own blood hot and wet against his skin.
And he remembered his final act, a sword thrust through Davy Jones' chest. He hoped the blow had been a fatal one, though he wasn't optimistic about it. And then darkness had claimed him...
Opening his eyes, he fought to keep his voice steady. "So I'm dead, then."
She put her head to one side, staring at him as if that was the most blindingly obvious statement she'd ever heard. "Yes."
"I see." He looked around, then asked rather bluntly, "Is this hell?"
The woman's dark eyes glimmered as a broad grin spread across her face. "Mmm. Would you like it to be?"
Norrington choked slightly. "Ah, no. Thank you." He hesitated, then opened his mouth as if to ask another question. However, she raised a hand to forestall him, and began to speak again.
"I have a task for you." She paused, still smiling. "James," --she pronounced it 'Jemms'-- "Norrington." She rolled his name around in her mouth as if deciding whether she liked the taste of it.
Despite the strangeness of the situation, Norrington couldn't help but feel a flicker of suspicion. "Why me?"
Calypso shrugged. "Why not you?" She walked closer to the prow of the boat, the fringe of her long dress swirling through the water. The gulls followed her, wheeling and calling.
"You don't want?" Her eyes narrowed. "I find someone else." She turned her back dismissively and began to walk away, to leave him alone and adrift on the endless sea...
"Wait!" He leaned forward, reaching out a hand. She stopped, and peered back over her shoulder, eyes glinting in triumph. "Wait...tell me what it is you want."
As if nothing at all had happened, she sauntered back towards him, one hand holding the side of her skirts. "You will find someone for me." She paused, then pronounced very deliberately, "Captain. Jack. Sparrow."
Norrington almost groaned aloud. "Sparrow," he repeated, dragging his hands across his face as if trying to wipe himself clean. "Of course," he observed bitterly. "I was never free of him in life, why should I be in death?"
Calypso waved a hand dismissively, unmoved by his complaints. "Witty Jack come see me time to time, take t'ings when him think I don't notice." She walked all around the boat, as easily as taking a stroll through a park, water sloshing along in her wake.
"A ring here, a coin there...I do not get angry. I laugh." She stopped, and whirled back to face him, skirts swirling around her.
"But this last time," she went on, her voice a sibilant hiss, "Jack steal something him should not have."
Norrington asked the obvious question. "What did he steal?"
Instead of answering, she held out her hand palm-down. A small globe of water, about the size of an egg, lifted itself free from the ocean's surface and floated up to her. Turning her hand palm-up, the globe floated and swirled inches above her hand. As Norrington watched, the globe darkened as if filling with ink. The undulating surface grew solid and hard, gleaming even in the dull gray light. All along the globe, he could see jagged white streaks, like hairline cracks; whether they were on the surface of the stone or glowed from deep within it, he couldn't tell.
She raised her eyes to meet his, and her expression darkened. "Him steal this."
"Ah." He was nonplussed, and hesitated before speaking up again. "So...what exactly is..."
Calypso made a slashing, irritated gesture with her free hand. "The stone, it contain a small portion of my power. That be all you need to know," she snapped, as though she was angry at him, though he didn't know what he could've done to provoke it.
With that, she flung the illusionary globe away. As it left her hand, it turned back into clear water, then rejoined the ocean with a small splash. "I want it back. So you find it, and bring it to me."
"I see." Norrington shifted position uncomfortably. "So, I retrieve this stone in exchange for...what, exactly?" She only regarded him with a cool, flat stare.
He went on, with a self-mocking smirk, "I do realize I'm hardly in the best position to drive a bargain, madam. But still..."
She seemed not to be paying attention to him as one of the gulls circled nearer. She cupped her hands before her, and the bird flew in and settled in her grasp, flapping its long gray wings. Finally, she answered without looking at him, "I send you back to the world of the living for t'ree days, so you may search. Once you bring me the stone..."
She shrugged, and held the gull in one hand, stroking the pristine white feathers on its chest with one long finger. "Stay in that world, return here, it mean not'ing to me."
Norrington dropped his gaze to the waterlogged floor of the tiny boat. It seemed the height of insanity to refuse a second chance at life. But his instincts warned him to think carefully before entering into a bargain with this being...whoever and whatever she was. He raised his eyes to her again; she was still cooing over the gull.
Finally, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, he asked in a flat voice, "Do pardon me for being a bit skeptical. But since it seems I'm already dead, and not much more can in fact be done to me..." She flickered her lidded gaze to him as he concluded, "What happens if I fail?"
She smiled again, showing her dark-stained teeth, but her eyes were hard. Without warning, she stabbed her finger into the feathery chest of the gull. The bird squawked and flapped wildly, then began to twist and shift, wings shrinking in on itself as its body coiled and lengthened. As Norrington watched in horror, white feathers flattened into glistening green scales, and a spiny blue-green fin sprouted along the length of its back, running from the tip of its pointed tail to the crown of its serpentine head. The creature's jaws parted, showing needle-like fangs as it hissed at him, slit-pupilled eyes flashing green fire.
Calypso stared at him over the serpent's head, her eyes flashing like the lightning of a summer storm. "Do not fail."
Norrington's throat had become very dry. He tried to swallow, then scrambled away as she threw the creature down beside his boat. It gave one thrash of its tail, then vanished into the depths with a splash. "Aha," he replied, his voice tight and choked in his throat. Wondering if he wasn't utterly mad for doing so, he finally said, "Very well, then. I...accept your offer."
She strode towards him. The sky grew dark at her approach as the gulls whirled madly around her, calling in their raucous voices. "Then we make an accord," she whispered, and her smile was that of a predator closing in on its helpless prey. She leaned over him, pointing her finger at the center of his own chest.
His face a grimace of fear, Norrington scrabbled backwards to get away, rocking the boat violently. But he had nowhere to go, and she stabbed her finger into his chest, burning the bare skin where his tattered shirt hung open. With a grunt of pain, he grabbed her arm with both hands, trying to force her away. But she was too strong; he might as well have tried to move a mountain.
She laughed out loud and seized his shoulder with her free hand, holding him in an iron grip. The sky grew black as the wind rose to a gale, lashing her hair around her face. She said, "But first..." The skin on his chest started to smolder, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. "...I give you somet'ing to remember me by."
With a yell, he jerked back from the searing pain where her finger bored into his skin. His violent movement was too much for the boat, and he fell backwards into the water, the waves closing over his head. The icy shock of cold seemed to freeze him solid, and he thrashed and struggled his way back to the surface, lungs burning for air.
Sputtering and gasping, Norrington broke the surface and looked frantically in every direction. The sky was now dark and cloudless, glimmering with stars. Neither the small boat nor the mysterious woman were anywhere to be seen.
"W-wait!" he shouted, shivering violently in the bone-chilling cold. "How will I find you?"
Although he saw nothing, a bodiless voice whispered in his ears, Come to the sea, and I will find you. Then there was nothing but the crash of the waves, and a sound of fading laughter blown away on the wind.
The center of his chest burned even through the cold, as if scalding water had been poured onto his skin. However, he had no chance to look down at himself, as his attention was diverted by something large and dark rising to the surface not far from him. A tremendous swell of water rose beneath him, picking him up and throwing him backwards as if he were no more than a rag doll. Fighting to keep afloat, he could only stare in horror as a ship burst from beneath the surface and crashed to a halt atop the waves, water streaming down its sides and dripping from its sails like a self-contained rainstorm.
An icy spike of terror stabbed into Norrington's heart. Jones! If the Flying Dutchman had found him, it was over, he was finished...
But even in his panicked state, something about the ship struck him as odd. It was much cleaner than he remembered it, for one thing, and the shouting and gesturing figures atop the deck actually appeared to be human. As the waves crashed over his head again, he could see the crew pointing in his direction, and hear them calling for their captain. Sure enough, Norrington saw a figure approach the railing, and lean forward to stare down at him.
"Ahoy there!" the young man called, in a voice that definitely did not belong to Davy Jones. "Do you need help?"
Norrington sputtered and gulped as salt water filled his mouth. Spitting it out, desperately treading water, he demanded incredulously, "Do I need...!" He went under again, surfaced, spat, and finally managed to shout, "Of c-course I need help, you stupid..."
He froze in mid-sentence, and his eyes widened as he finally realized who he was talking to. "You..."
He didn't know whether to scream in outrage or burst out laughing. Finally, he settled for bellowing at the top of his lungs as the other man stared down at him in utter bewilderment:
"Could you p-please...throw me a bloody rope...MISTER Turner!!"
--
Some time later, Norrington sat upon the deck of the Flying Dutchman, wrapped in a heavy blanket and grasping a cup of hot tea that had somehow or other been acquired for him. He drained the dregs of his cup, then wiped his drenched, clinging hair out of his face.
"So," he began, his voice steeped in skepticism. "Davy Jones is dead, and you, Mister Turner, are now the captain of this rather unique vessel."
Will Turner looked down at him. Although his appearance hadn't changed, he seemed taller than Norrington remembered him, and somehow older. "That's right," he replied, his voice neutral.
"And you transport souls between the worlds of the living and the dead."
Will nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, where a vivid red scar showed against the skin beneath his half-open shirt. "Yes."
"Of course." Norrington sighed and set the cup down, shifting position as he wrapped the blanket around himself. "Quite frankly, I don't believe anything at all could astonish me at this point."
Norrington tried to rise, and Will extended a hand to help him up. For a moment, he was spitefully tempted to refuse, but exhaustion overruled his pride. Grabbing the offered hand, he struggled to his feet and shrugged free of the blanket. Every inch of him ached, although he supposed he should be grateful to feel anything at all. But it was hard to be happy about being alive when he felt like he'd been beaten with hammers, then sunk to the bottom of the ocean in the bargain.
He had a thought, and his expression grew downcast. "And you and Elizabeth are..."
Will replied quickly, but a bit sadly, "Married, yes."
"Ah. Well, congratulations." He turned a mocking gaze to the other man, and wasn't entirely unsatisfied to see Will looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. "It certainly took you long enough."
Will cracked a smile at that. "Yes, I suppose it did." Changing the subject, he asked, "So what about you? You say Calypso ordered you to return to the world of the living?"
"Apparently so." Norrington looked around at the bustle that surrounded him, and felt a pang of regret for the time when he would have stood on the deck of his own ship, keeping everything around him in good order. Realizing the other was still watching him, Norrington went on dryly, "It seems I need to find a certain pirate of our mutual acquaintance."
Will's brow furrowed. "Jack?" he guessed. "Jack Sparrow?"
Norrington smirked. "Excellent deduction, Captain Turner." He made the title sound like he was extending Will a great courtesy by using it.
Will apparently decided to let that pass, but still looked quizzical. "What does Calypso want with Jack?"
"She..." Unintentionally, his hand moved to the center of his chest, and he grabbed his shirt front, pulling it closed. "She just...wants to ask him something. That's all."
To his chagrin, Norrington realized Will wasn't quite stupid enough to miss either the evasiveness or the gesture. "What happened there?" he asked, pointing to Norrington's chest.
"Nothing," he retorted, a bit too quickly, his hand tightening even more.
Will gave him an arch look. "Nothing," he repeated skeptically.
Norrington was spared the effort of thinking up a suitable lie (or insult) as a voice called, "Captain!" Will excused himself and headed for the helm, giving Norrington the opportunity to lean back wearily against the railing, out of sight of most of the crew. Darting his eyes back and forth to make certain no one was watching, he loosened his grip, allowing his shirt to fall open, and looked down at his chest.
Directly over his heart, the black shape of a winged, serpent-like dragon was seared into his skin. The mark was about the length of his finger, the creature coiling in a looped S-shape, fanged jaws parted in a snarl or a scream. It no longer hurt him, but Norrington shuddered all the same. Rubbing at it with his finger, he was unsurprised that it showed no signs of coming off. He muttered to himself, "Something to remember you by, indeed..."
"Doing all right, Admiral?"
Norrington jumped guiltily as a low, gravelly voice roused him from his thoughts. An older seaman was walking up to him. The man's deep-set eyes mingled amusement with concern as he pushed a few strands of long, stringy hair back under his cloth cap. Something about him seemed familiar, but Norrington couldn't recall where he'd seen him before. "You seem a little preoccupied, there," the man observed.
"I'm all right," Norrington replied, a bit defensively, hastily closing up his shirt. "And you would be...?"
The older man shrugged. "Call me Bootstrap. Most everyone does." He looked Norrington up and down. "So. Headed back to the world, are you?"
"Hmmph." Norrington gave a mocking half-smile. "I certainly hope so." Then he blinked as he caught up with the conversation. "Wait. Did you call me 'Admiral'?"
Bootstrap looked sorrowful, and strangely guilty. "Should I not?"
Norrington gave a heavy sigh. "I suppose not. In truth, I'm not entirely sure who--or what--I am any more." He tried to keep his voice from shaking, and didn't quite succeed.
The older pirate looked at him with sympathy for a moment, then gave him a hearty backslap. "Well. If you're going back, you'll need this."
He held out a sword and belt, and Norrington looked at them for a moment before cautiously accepting them. He drew the sword from its scabbard and looked it up and down with an appraising air.
"Not as fine as you're used to, I'm sure," Bootstrap observed. "But it should serve, should you have need of it."
Sheathing the sword, Norrington looked warily at Bootstrap while fastening the belt around his waist. "Please don't think me ungrateful, but why would you want to help me?"
"Ah. Well." His eyes grew downcast again. "All of us have our sins to atone for, Admiral."
And that seemed to be all the explanation Bootstrap planned to offer, as he looked away and gave a summoning whistle, waving his hand at a nearby sailor. "Maccus!" As the other man approached, Bootstrap ordered, "Tell the captain our guest is ready to set off."
"Aye-aye, Mister Turner." The scraggly, squint-eyed man flashed Norrington a smile that was disconcertingly like the toothy grin of a shark, then headed towards the helm. Norrington blinked, and gave Bootstrap a bewildered look.
"Mister Turner?" he repeated.
Bootstrap only smiled, and gave Norrington's shoulder a reassuring shake. "Take care of yourself." Then he nodded towards Will, turned, and walked away without another word.
As Will approached, he glanced at the sword belt Norrington wore. He raised an eyebrow at the sight, but made no comment. "So. I'd say your best bet for finding Jack is to get on board the Black Pearl."
"Ah. As simple as all that, is it?" Norrington turned a skeptical gaze towards Will. "Very well, then. How do we find the ship?"
Will put his head slightly to one side. With infuriating calmness, he replied, "We don't need to. I already know where the Pearl is."
Norrington snorted. "Of course you do." He turned away, and ran his hand idly up and down the ship's mast. "And undoubtedly your newly acquired powers can take us there in the blink of an eye."
"Well..." Norrington looked back to see Will gazing thoughtfully at the mast. "Although I've never actually tried this with another person..." he said, almost to himself.
"Never actually tried what?"
Will looked back at Norrington, and seemed to reach some kind of decision. "Come with me."
Before he could protest, Will grabbed his arm and Norrington found himself dragged forward towards the mast...
...and then into the mast...
...and through the mast...
--
Gagging and retching, Norrington stumbled forward, falling to his knees. White spots swirled behind his eyes as he fought back the indescribable sensation that he'd just swallowed an entire tree. Rubbing his arms as if to make certain they were still attached, he turned a shaky glare back towards Will, who stood sharply outlined against the light of a full moon.Will looked down at Norrington, appearing quite pleased with himself. "I wasn't really sure that would work," he admitted.
"You..." Norrington's voice was scratchy as he gagged again, stumbling to his feet and rubbing at his throat. "Turner!" he snarled, lunging forward to grab Will by his shirt. "If you EVER do that again...!"
Unperturbed by his fury, Will merely nodded politely, offered, "Good luck," then stepped back into the mast and vanished from sight.
Norrington jerked his hand back, then exhaled deeply in frustration. "I hate that man."
Stepping back and taking a long look around, he saw he was indeed standing on the deck of the Black Pearl. The moon was bright against a streaky field of clouds, highlighting every rope and beam in stark, gleaming white. The ship creaked and rocked gently in the quiet of the night. No one seemed to be on deck, except an ancient, weathered pirate with a blue-and-yellow parrot on his shoulder.
The old man stood at the helm, looking back at Norrington with a quizzical air, as if disheveled individuals manifesting out of ship's masts was unusual enough to get his attention, but not enough to be alarmed about. The parrot fluttered its wings and squawked, "Awk! Strange doings afoot, matey!"
"You have no idea," Norrington muttered in reply. Since the old pirate seemed to be offering neither aid nor resistance, Norrington turned his attention to the captain's cabin. Soft golden light shone through the windows, indicating candles were lit within. Most likely Sparrow would be inside. Unless, he thought with a sardonic half-smirk, he's sleeping off a bout with the rum somewhere.
At that moment, he heard voices from below; they sounded like they were bickering about something. As a pair of figures climbed into view from below decks, he blinked in surprise. Something about the two portly, awkward-looking pirates seemed familiar...
"Murtogg?" he asked in astonishment, as he finally recognized them. "Mullroy? What are you doing here?"
At the sight of him, the pair fumbled with their weapons and rushed towards him. "Oi!" the darker and heavier of the two bellowed, aiming his pistol at Norrington. "You're not supposed to be on board here, mate!"
"Aye, avast!" the other added, trying to look fierce and piratical, and not entirely succeeding.
His companion turned to stare at him as Norrington sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "Of course," he said. "Of course you're here. Why wouldn't you be?" He closed his eyes and chuckled, a sound which caused the two erstwhile pirates to exchange nervous glances.
"After all," he continued, looking them both over, "no doubt one day every man, woman and child ever born will have done duty on board the Black Pearl." They only stared at him over their weapons, looking progressively more uneasy, as if at any moment he might sprout fur and fangs and lunge for their throats.
Norrington gave them a long, tired stare. "You don't know who I am, do you."
They shook their heads. "Ah well," Norrington went on. "Do stand aside, gentlemen. I believe I have an appointment with my once and future captain."
He made as if to walk past them, but they bustled around and blocked his way. "Er, sorry, can't let you do that, sir." Murtogg looked apologetic, but added, "We can't let just anyone walk in on the captain, you see."
"Ah." Norrington nodded gravely. "Well, in that case..."
Without warning, he seized the hapless sailor by his shirt, dragging him forward until their eyes were level. Murtogg winced and dropped his gaze in the face of his wrath.
"I am having a very bad night," Norrington growled through clenched jaw. "And if you don't clear off this instant, I will personally fry your guts up and eat them for breakfast. Understood?"
"Y-yessir!" They both nodded frantically. Norrington released his victim, and they both stood aside to let him pass. "Right you are, sir! Sorry, sir!"
Norrington took a deep breath, then smoothed down his rumpled clothing out of sheer habit, not that it did much good. "As you were, gentlemen." His tone was so commanding that they actually saluted as he walked between them, then lowered their hands with sheepish looks. As he crossed over and placed his hand on the door, he heard them begin to converse behind him in low, agitated voices.
"That couldn't be Commodore--I mean Admiral--Norrington, could it?"
"'Course not," the other whispered back. "Admiral was killed on board the Dutchman, poor soul. Remember?"
"Ah, right." There was a pause, and Norrington hesitated in the act of opening the doors, listening with morbid curiosity. "Looks a bit like him though, doesn't it?"
"Nah, not at all," the other replied decisively. "Besides, the Commodore was taller."
Norrington shook his head with a sardonic smile, pulled open the door, and stepped inside. As he started to pull the door shut, he heard the two sailors continuing their weighty philosophical debate:
"Supposing he had a brother? The Commodore, I mean? He never mentioned if he did."
"Oh, on close personal terms with the Commodore, were you?"
"How d' you mean?"
"Well, do you suppose Commodore Norrington would've just happened to stroll by one day and say something like, 'Nice day, gentlemen, have I ever told you that I happen to have a brother, only he doesn't look a bit like me'?"
"Umm...what?"
Any further scintillating observations were mercifully cut off as he closed the door firmly behind him.
--
Norrington stood inside the captain's cabin of the Black Pearl, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. A few golden candle flames glowed in warm contrast to the cool blue radiance of the moonlit windows. The center of the room was dominated by a large, round table, covered with books and charts and maps of all kinds, along with several instruments Norrington recognized, and some he didn't. And sprawled backwards in a chair, hat pushed low over his forehead and booted feet up on the table, with one dangling hand clutching a half-empty bottle, was Captain Jack Sparrow himself.
He was snoring.
Norrington stood for a moment, watching the other man in silence. It would be so easy to kill him, a black thought whispered in his mind. Walk up behind him, slit his throat in the darkness, be rid of him forever...
...but no. No matter how far I've fallen, he told himself firmly, I am not a murderer. Jack snorted and mumbled something, reaching up with his free hand to rub at his nose, then plunged back into sleep again.
Norrington looked around the cabin. What now? he asked himself. He could search the cabin and hope Calypso's stone was somewhere to hand. However, the odds of that seemed unlikely. And no matter how soundly Sparrow was sleeping, his presence probably wouldn't go unnoticed for very long.
Besides, Norrington reasoned, if Jack knew the value of the stone, he'd keep it hidden and protected. And if he didn't know, he might have already sold or bartered it somewhere, in which case a search would be futile anyway.
Well, he decided, there was nothing for it. He needed to know whether Jack even had the stone before he could proceed any further. However, he quietly unsheathed his sword...he didn't want things to come to violence, but he was no fool, either.
Sword in hand, he walked to the side of the table, and stood looking down at Jack. Norrington reached out with his free hand and prodded Jack in the shoulder, grimacing with distaste as if he'd had to touch some foul matter. The pirate continued to snore away, oblivious. Norrington cleared his throat loudly, but achieved no response.
"Captain Sparrow," he said aloud, more insistently.
"Hrrm?" Jack shifted position, yawned, muttered, "No, no more cabbages for me tonight, thank you, Dulcie," and promptly fell to snoring again.
Norrington stared at him a moment longer. Then he drew himself up, took a deep breath:
"JACK SPARROW! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!!"
Jack burst from his chair like a scalded cat, yelling and waving frantically and fumbling for his sword. By time he got it out and swung wildly at whatever assailants his imagination had conjured up, Norrington blocked it with a casual wave of his own weapon.
Jack stared wide-eyed at this intruder for a moment. Then he blinked once, then twice. Looking quizzical, he put his head on one side, then the other. Norrington raised his eyebrows at this examination, but offered no comment.
"Oh," Jack finally said. He narrowed his eyes. "Thought you were dead," he accused, as if Norrington was somehow letting him down by being otherwise.
"I was."
"Oh," Jack said again. Finally, he gave a heavy sigh. "Coming back from the dead must be the fashionable thing these days. Seems just about everyone's doing it."
The pirate flickered his eyes to their crossed swords. "Are we going to start fighting, then?" he asked, as if he found the prospect tedious.
Norrington's expression betrayed nothing. "Are we?"
Jack hesitated a moment, then lowered his blade. Norrington locked stares with him for a moment, then slowly lowered his own.
"Fine, fine," Jack said, sheathing his sword and sitting back down with a heavy thump. Glancing down, he picked up the fallen bottle and took a deep swig. Gesturing towards another chair, he sighed, "Go on and have a seat, then, Mister formerly-dead former-Commodore Norrington."
Jack indicated the bottle with his free hand. "I'd offer, but..." he began, then appeared to think things over. "No, actually, I wouldn't."
Norrington pulled up a chair and sat down as Jack took another long draught of whatever was in the bottle. Jack swallowed and wiped his mouth. "Dare I ask how you came to be aboard my fine vessel?"
Norrington gave a sardonic half-smirk. "I obtained the gracious assistance of the captain of the Flying Dutchman."
"Ah. Of course." Jack grimaced. "And how is dear William these days?"
Norrington paused. "Insufferable."
Jack nodded. "I thought so."
Any further conversation was forestalled as the door burst open and a tall pirate with a wide-brimmed hat came striding in. "What's all the noise?" he demanded. "I heard--"
The other pirate cut himself off and reached for his sword as Norrington turned in his seat to face him. Norrington was on the verge of drawing his own weapon when Jack waved a hand idly and said, "Ah, Hector. So good of you to join us."
The tall pirate stared incredulously as Jack looked back at Norrington and asked, "I don't believe you know Captain Barbossa?" Jack said the word "captain" as if it was the foulest vulgarity that had ever crossed his tongue, which would have been an impressive achievement.
Norrington coolly looked Barbossa up and down. "Only by reputation." Looking Barbossa straight in the eye, he observed, "I've heard you're the only pirate in the world as vile and depraved as Jack Sparrow."
The tall pirate narrowed his eyes to slits and gave a cunning smile, not moving his hand from his sword hilt. "Far more vile and depraved than Jack Sparrow, I assure ye."
Jack gestured towards Norrington. "Allow me to introduce James Norrington," he went on, as if they'd met at a society party somewhere. "One-time Commodore of the British Royal Navy--" Barbossa tensed at the 'British Royal Navy' part, while Norrington tensed at the 'one-time' part-- "Subsequently dead, currently cluttering up my ship courtesy of the immortal William Turner." He managed to infuse the adjective with a world's worth of irony and disdain.
Barbossa shook his head in disgust. "Presumptuous whelp."
Finally seeming to decide that Norrington wasn't a threat--or at least not an immediate one--Barbossa took his hand from his sword and strode around to the opposite side of the table from Jack. Leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, he squinted at Norrington with a highly dubious air. "Dead, then, were ye?"
Norrington only nodded, not seeing any point in denying it. Lowering his eyes, his attention was drawn by a fine-looking piece of parchment amongst Jack's clutter, covered with graceful, curving runes in a script he didn't recognize. Barbossa went on, "So I take it we have young Master Turner to thank for restorin' you to the realm of the living?"
"No," Norrington replied, distracted, "that was apparently the doing of someone named Calypso..."
Even without raising his eyes, Norrington could tell the atmosphere in the room had suddenly become about twenty degrees colder. He looked up. Jack was staring at him with a mortified expression. Barbossa's face, however, had become studiously neutral, yet somehow still conveyed the impression that one wrong move on Norrington's part would be his last.
"Was it, now," Barbossa observed, slowly and deliberately. Shifting his weight as if to move into striking position, he went on, "And why would she do a thing like that, do you think?"
"I..." Norrington's mind was racing. Involuntarily, his hand began to rise to the mark on his chest, but he willed it back down again. "I...don't know." The silence that met this statement seemed to indicate something more was expected of him.
"Look," he began, exasperated. "I'm the last person you should be asking for answers." That at least is the truth, he told himself wryly. "All I know is after I...died...I found myself alone, adrift at sea, in a small boat with a lantern."
The expressions of both pirates instantly changed to ones of recognition. Norrington sensed that his description rang true to them, though how that could be he didn't quite fathom. He went on: "This woman came to me, surrounded by gulls, walking on the water."
"Go on," Barbossa said, his tone courteous, yet insistent.
"And..." Norrington hoped they couldn't see him sweating; lying under pressure wasn't one of his talents. "It's...all a bit confused after that. I wound up in the water, and then the Dutchman came crashing up from under the surface, right beside me..."
Jack's mouth quirked. "Young William has inherited Jones' flair for the dramatic entrance, it would seem."
Hardly daring to hope he'd convinced them, Norrington concluded, "I was brought on board, then Turner used some trick to pull me through the mast and bring me here." The memory made him shudder; he guessed he'd be having nightmares about it for the rest of his life. "So here I am. The end." He glared at them with a confidence he didn't feel, as if daring them to question his wild tale.
Jack sighed and shook his head. He took a swig from the bottle; then, apparently finding it empty, shook it with a disappointed frown and set it aside. "Well, Mister Norrington," he observed, deadpan, "I highly doubt you possess enough imagination to invent such a story. Ergo, I almost half-suspect you must be telling the truth."
Barbossa, however, didn't seem convinced. "Why did Turner bring you here to my ship?" he asked.
Jack sputtered with outrage, but before he could protest, Norrington hastily replied, "I asked him to. I...didn't know where else to go."
He sighed, and slumped in his chair in what he hoped was a convincing display of humility and defeat. "I know the world considers me dead. No one I knew in life would recognize me now, or take me in." He had to stop, as he was starting to depress himself.
He looked up, and concluded with a flicker of his old scornfulness, "This was the only ship I thought might be pathetic enough to hire me as a crewman. Again."
The two pirates exchanged glances. Finally, Barbossa shrugged, as if conceding the decision to Jack.
"Well," Jack began, "as deeply moving as your tale of woe is, at present I find myself with as many potentially mutinous crewmen as I could possibly require." Jack flickered a glare to Barbossa at that last part.
"But--!" Norrington started to protest, although some part of him was secretly relieved.
"Jack, ye wound me," Barbossa observed blithely, examining his nails. "Have I not proven me worth to you time and time again?"
"Yes, and you've also stolen my ship more than once," Jack retorted. "The latter tends to outweigh the former, as it were." Then Jack seemed to recall what he'd originally been talking about, and turned back to face the sullen-looking Norrington.
"Therefore," Jack went on with a wave of his hand as if passing judgment, "I shall allow you to remain on board 'till we make port, seeing as I am not typically a walk-the-plank sort of captain." Jack aimed another glare at Barbossa which was met with a bland smile.
"However, once we arrive, I wish solely to see the back of you, and not for very long, at that." Jack's eyes narrowed. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Inescapably clear," Norrington muttered.
"Good!" Jack's tone indicated that the whole business had been concluded to his satisfaction. He stretched out lazily in his chair, plopping his feet on the table again. With an airy wave, he concluded, "Hector will show you out."
Norrington rose to his feet as Barbossa did likewise, but retorted, "I believe I can find it myself." With that, he turned and headed for the door, shoving it open perhaps a bit harder than was strictly necessary.
Back on board deck, he allowed himself several slow, deep breaths. That could have gone rather more smoothly, he told himself with a self-mocking smile. Still, if it was an accomplished liar Calypso wanted, she shouldn't have chosen me.
Norrington looked all around the deck of the Pearl, effortlessly keeping his balance as the ship rose and fell in the waves. Despite all that had happened, it felt good to be on a ship again; out on the water was the only place he'd ever truly felt at home.
He looked up. The sky seemed lighter than it had when he'd come on board, and the stars had faded to a few twinkling points. Dawn was on its way.
Not far from him, a pair of pirates he vaguely recognized were engrossed in a card game, seated on opposite sides of a rough wooden crate. One was portly and balding with a fringe of long, unkempt hair around his domed skull. The other was scrawny and angular, with possibly the worst wooden eye Norrington had ever seen. The two seemed unaware of his presence, as they were involved in a heated discussion regarding precisely how many aces a typical deck of cards was supposed to possess.
As he shook his head in disgust, Norrington heard the cabin door open behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he was unsurprised to see it was Barbossa who'd emerged.
"Captain," Norrington offered, his voice coolly neutral.
Barbossa nodded in acknowledgement. Norrington was briefly startled as, seemingly out of nowhere, a small monkey appeared and sprinted up Barbossa's outstretched arm, coming to rest comfortably on the pirate's shoulder. "A word with ye, if I may?" Barbossa inquired politely, but something in his tone implied refusal wasn't really an option.
Norrington shrugged as the other approached. Barbossa smiled, then flung an arm around his shoulders in an avuncular fashion, but with just enough of a grip to indicate that Norrington wasn't going anywhere soon. "Mister Norrington," Barbossa began nonchalantly, "I be but a simple pirate."
Norrington tried to pull free of the other's grip as casually as he could, without any success. "Oh?"
"Aye." Barbossa turned to look at him, nearly whacking him in the forehead with the brim of his hat. "And so it do perplex me that Calypso should return ye to life solely out of the goodness of her heart, as such."
"Well..." he began, but was cut off as the tall pirate leaned in so Norrington got an excellent view of his discolored teeth and bloodshot eyes.
Barbossa's voice became a dangerous whisper. "She sent you back for some purpose." His grip on Norrington's shoulder tightened as the monkey chattered its teeth at him. "Did she not?"
Norrington only gave him a long, cold stare. "Perhaps."
Barbossa's expression turned calculating. "Aye, and therein lies the very crux of me dilemma."
A simple pirate, indeed, Norrington thought with a sarcastic expression. Barbossa released his grip, and Norrington rubbed his now-aching shoulder as the other walked away a few paces, then turned to face him again.
Barbossa went on, reaching up to stroke the monkey's fur, "You see, any purpose of Calypso's can scarce bode well for mortal men. Especially those she has no reason to recall with great fondness."
Norrington raised an eyebrow. "Managed to get on her bad side, did you?"
Barbossa's smile held no amusement. "And yet," he went on as if Norrington hadn't spoken, "should I see fit to thwart said purpose by killin' you, I may well bring the wrath of the goddess 'pon meself and my ship."
Norrington folded his arms across his chest. "Your ship? I was under the impression it belonged to Captain Sparrow."
Barbossa strode back to him, and his smile grew cunning as his voice lowered. "Aye. Jack be under that impression as well."
"I see." Norrington paused. "So what happens now?"
"Well, the way I be seein' it, we have ourselves two options." He looked at Norrington with an appraising air, as if wondering what price he would fetch on the open market. "The first be that you tell me, right now and in full, what it is you're really doin' here."
Norrington looked away, and briefly considered taking the pirate into his confidence. He might know where Jack was keeping the stone, and almost certainly would be agreeable to any action taken against his rival captain. But no...from what he could tell of Barbossa, he wasn't one to let a potentially valuable object walk off in a stranger's hands, either.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," he finally said. "So what's the second option?"
"Ah, that one's far simpler." Barbossa snapped his fingers imperiously. "Pintel! Ragetti!"
The two pirates quickly terminated their card game and came bustling up. As his monkey squawked and chittered, Barbossa indicated Norrington with a jerk of his head and a broad sneer.
"Lock him in the brig."