Chapter One – The Beginning of the End
Drowning in his hateful thoughts, lost in the shadows of his mind, was where the Commodore Norrington could be found in his burgundy robe that blustery, rainy winter's night. The gale outside reflected his current mood; he was seething through gritted teeth as he read through several pieces of parchment. What he was reading seemed to trouble him greatly, and as he got further on down the page he became unsure of whether he should read on, or throw the parchment into the roaring fire to the right of the deep purple armchair where he presently roosted. His knuckles were white as he clenched the edges of the paper in his tight fists. Grunting with irritation, he slammed the papers down on the little coffee table and upset his teacup. With a change of mind, he set aright the cup, and smoothed out the crumpled parchment, and picked them up to resume his reading.
The clock on the mantle chimed one-thirty in the morning, yet there would be no sleep for Norrington. Not with the special company he was expecting any minute now.
Norrington was obviously undergoing some sort of mental battle, for he sat on the edge of his chair, his heels digging into the carpet, his whole posture reeking with anticipation, while he fumed about what he was about to go through with.
As more time passed, the Commodore became quite anxious, and sweat subtly highlighted his brow. His emotions were out of balance, his thoughts full of doubt. What if they didn't take heed of his message? Had they no care for his proposal? Perhaps they smelled something rotten in the message.
His thoughts were suddenly pierced by a low, smooth voice. "Such a lovely evening, don't you think Commodore?"
Norrington froze. He had heard no one enter. Even now he couldn't hear, nor see anyone approaching. That voice had sent a chill down his spine and left the hairs on his neck prickling. "Show yourself!" Commodore said with a nervous, trembling voice.
A low chuckle came from the other side of the room, and two figures appeared from the shadows. They floated across the carpet and over to the chairs next to Norrington. The one who spoke, was a very tall, thin man dressed in completely black, his clothes very refined and would have been suitable for a rich gentleman had they not the rebellious hint of a felon's dress. His black hair, sharply arched, dark eyebrows, and his little black beard that came to a point at his chin suggested no nonsense, a crisp manner. Yet the coal dust eyes had a malicious glint of steel that seemingly penetrated all. There would be no lying to this man. Commodore felt that this man could read his thoughts through his eyes.
Beside him stood a woman. She looked no less hard than the man did; her posture was not of a well-bred female, but of a girl brought up to be hard working. Yet in spite of her tough body frame, her face was full of youth, her hair was of silken bronze and her eyes where sea green. Commodore got a feeling by glancing at her that she would speak soothing words full of poison and lull him to sleep while she did what she pleased to him.
The two took seats and the man folded his hands in his lap slowly. He seemed to feed off the uncomfortable air surrounding the Commodore. "My dear Norrington," he sneered softly, his eyes were two smoldering embers, "what, pray, is of importance great enough for you to call upon two… pirates?"
Norrington cringed at the sound of his milky voice and the words they spoke. His face screwed up into a wince that made the others chuckle spitefully.
"Well now Norrington, you are just a Commodore, and that is not reason enough to waste my time, so if you have nothing further to say, I see it fit for me and me buxom beauty to leave," said the man, and the woman chortled.
Norrington cleared his throat, and tried to force back the pride that was trying to explode upon the buccaneers. "I have a proposal," he began, "and if it is carried out as planned it will end up with the infamous Jack Sparrow dead, using whatever means you wish."
The thin, sharp man cocked an eyebrow. His attention had been snared. "What shall be the benefit to us?"
Norrington smiled. "You shall become very rich landowners."
The man nodded thoughtfully. "Very interesting. Very interesting, indeed. But why would you want Jack Sparrow dead?"
Norrington swiped the crumpled parchment off the coffee table and handed them to the man. "These are piracy reports and ratings. They have gone way up ever since that horrible pirate Sparrow has sailed the high seas again. Pirates are ever encouraged and inspired by him."
The man's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what if we're inspired by him? Why have you asked us, pirates, to do the job?"
Norrington smiled maliciously. "Because his one enemy is dead, so now he won't expect any more. We have to find a way to get him at his weakest spot."
For the first time, the woman spoke. "I'm thinking about a descendant of Jack Sparrow." She grinned, and Norrington noticed a grunting bundle, which she held close to her bosom.
The Commodore shrugged. "I don't care how you do it, but I want the body as proof in the end."
The man thought for a moment and then nodded. "I think we could come to some sort of arrangement."
As the two pirates left the Commodore's estate, the man chuckled softly and turned to his companion. "I really don't like the sound of life as a landlubber."
The woman shook her head and grinned. "I'll stay at sea. But I wouldn't mind having that bloody Sparrow doing the dead man's float."
