There was nothing more refreshing to James Norrington than the spray of water rushing up to meet him as the ship beneath his feet skimmed across the ocean like a hawk cutting through the air.
That said, being sloshed repeatedly by salty, choking seawater as his ship battled choppy waves, sheets of rain, and wind as vengeful as the meanest Tortugan whore was an entirely different matter.
But considering whose boat he was on, and who had given him that last analogy, James supposed he shouldn't be surprised by this turn of events.
Or anything else, really. Jack Sparrow's presence had a way of causing reality to bend and reshape itself into absolutely impossible knots for anyone within a thirty-mile radius. On an uneventful day. Quite remarkable for a man who was captain of only one ship, and only just recently reinstated.
As to why he was on this boat at all, he would faithfully recite, "It is merely a matter of expediency that I go on this surveying trip on behalf of the British Crown. There will be future, more official trips in retrieving Port Royal's share of the treasure as compensation for our aid in the recent skirmish with the late Captain Barbossa, and I wish to make them as painless as possible." That was his reason ostensibly, anyway: he had to admit to a personal interest in agreeing to let Jack take him to the infamous Isla de Muerta. It was his latest hobby: Sparrow-watching.
"Blast you, Sparrow!" He had to howl over the wind to make sure the madman at the helm, steering haphazardly but confidently with one hand, could hear him. James' hat had been blown off and into the clutches of Marty, who had absconded below decks with it; his wig had been lost to the depths of the roiling ocean shortly thereafter. He watched as Sparrow determinedly anchored his hat onto his head periodically with a free hand: the Commodore scowled, although whether he was displeased with the pirate's mulish tenacity or with his own secret relief for the loss of his wig was unclear.
"What's that about glass shoes, Commodore?" Sparrow shouted back. James would have clutched his head in frustration if doing so would not have landed him in the ocean. He began moving from his position by the main mast, grabbing onto lines and railings and belligerent pirates as he made his way toward the captain.
"Where are you taking us one this fool's errand?"
James suddenly found himself face to face with a narrowed, intent gaze and teeth bared in a fierce grin. He fought the urge to step back as a bolt of lightning split the sky. "D'you know what happened to the last bloke who implied that I was a fool?" The naval man shook his head silently. Jack held his expression a moment longer before giving way to a merry chuckle. "Became my quartermaster." He jerked his head towards Mr. Gibbs, who was holding the lines down as best he could. Considering how often he dipped into his hip flask for fortification, the old sea dog obviously thought sailing through a storm sober, among a great many other things, was bad luck.
"A lesson he won't soon forget then," James said with a sarcastic heartiness.
"Right enough." Jack met his mockery with a firm nod and returned to his task.
"So? Where are we going? Do you have any idea?" Norrington swept more water out of his eyes.
"Course I do! I've got my map and my compass and my Pearl, and that's all we need! Everything is right as rain. No pun intended."
"Let me see if I understand you fully. We have not seen land in over 2 days, we are still following that infernal compass that doesn't point north, and..." James lost some momentum. "Well, there is nothing wrong with the Pearl as far as I can tell-"
"Damn right there isn't!" Jack said immediately without moving his eyes from their course.
"-but you cannot claim to have planned all of this out," James finished.
"When you pick up a book, d'you skip to the end to see what happens?"
"I hardly see the point when one spends most of his time reading books on military history. Or the Bible."
"That's all you read, mate?" The disbelief in Jack's voice was matched by that in his eyes, as he regarded James with infuriating superiority.
"No." The officer suddenly smiled and Jack looked taken aback at it. "That's just what I tell Father Thompson."
The pirate regarded him with new respect, and James snorted: trust him to admire such deception.
"The first ship I served on was under the command of a Captain Daniel Archer. A fine human being, on all counts, but a little lax on the navigation."
"What do you mean, Sparrow?"
"I mean he had the deplorable habit of running aground."
"Really."
"Yep. And 'e said the same thing every time." Jack sloshed more water out of his eyes and turned to James. "'Come now, me lads, you know as well as I that the chart ain't the sea,'" Jack said with a cheerful tone and an unrepentant grin that James assumed was his rendition of Archer's excuse.
"And he did not have a mutiny on his hands?"
"Well," Jack frowned defensively, "he was very charming about it. Must have gotten it from him." He rubbed the bristles on his chin in what he must have thought was a charming manner, lost in thought until a wave crashed over the side and nearly swamped him. He scowled at the smile threatening on James' face.
"That there's one o' the two things I learned from Captain Archer, mate. The chart ain't the sea, and there's no use in treatin' it like it is. Ye can use the map as a summary, but look to the sea for that wonderful twist at the end of the tale." Sparrow said this with a savage grin and punctuated his words with a particularly enthusiastic spin of the wheel that sent people and articles lurching across the deck.
"And the second lesson?"
"Ye can't touch your nose to your elbow."
Norrington was about to erupt into profanity-laden speech, but the next gale set the ship rocking furiously and sent the tall man careening bodily into a nearby pirate, and then he was too busy avoiding violent retribution to question the man currently leading them into harm's way any further.
No good could ever come from madmen and elbows.
~*~
James was sure he had not looked so bedraggled since the last time he had visited the household of Miss Donovan, a young noblewoman of marriageable age and owner of 5 healthy, exuberant, and plainly bloodthirsty mastiffs. He had just taken his leave of her and was stepping out of the front door when they had awoken. Apparently they had taken a fancy to the shiny gold buttons on his coat, and so they gave chase. The Commodore had nearly made it out of the gate when one of them managed to seize his coat flaps and dragged him backwards enough so that another one of the brutes could claim a mouthful of his breeches – closer to his feet than his navel, thankfully. At least I did not break any laws of common decency, James thought sarcastically whenever he recalled the incident.
He had scrabbled into the rowboat Jack directed him to and spent the trip to shore silently but ostentatiously ringing water out of everything. Jack offered no comment, but looked at his guest sporadically as he watched the rocky beach emerge from the perpetual fog that hung about the island.
Now the landing party stood inside the famed cave that had seen the end of Barbossa and that unholy curse.
"Well, Commodore, what say you?" Jack viewed the scene with a palpable air of triumph. James had to admit it was quite a spectacle: he was having trouble adjusting his still-rumpled clothing in a coolly detached manner when his eyes were continually drawn to the mounds of treasure covering most of the ground.
"It is certainly a most... formidable... collection of...ah..."
"Pirate's booty?" Jack supplied. Norrington nodded dumbly. "Aye, that it is." The pirate rubbed his hands together with relish and his eyes glowed with something more than just the reflection of gold and torchlight. The naval man must have been quiet for too long, watching the uncommon beauty of Jack's face – lit as it was with an ardent contentment that really should have been paradoxical – that he was startled back to himself by that very same intensity directed his way.
Sparrow cocked his head curiously, and James had to hide another smile: it seemed that his hobby was more aptly named than he had thought. "Just marveling at the fact that you brought us here, intact and as promised," he said aloud. "I was highly skeptical of our chances in the midst of that storm, since your navigational methods were...unconventional, but I see now that my doubt was misplaced. Forgive me."
Jack shrugged it off, that golden fire still in his eyes. "I may not sail a straight course, Commodore James, but I sail a true one." He closed his compass with a satisfied snap, and James had to agree. He thought of the play of emotions across those fine features and wondered, with an almost piratical greed, what other expressions, surprisingly elusive on a face as mobile as Jack's, he could claim as his on the way back.