DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl or any of the characters included in the package. I do like to play with them and often end up giving them back worse for the wear. (Especially Captain Jack Sparrow!) ;
CLAIMER: I do, however, own the plot of this story and all my OC therein. Some stay around, some don't. That's life, ne?
Part 3: And In Studying You Would Have Found That Man Is Mortal
He had thought his orders pertaining to the possible, highly probable, arrest of Jack Sparrow at any point in time were crystal clear: bring him in unharmed. From the look of the pirate on the ground, the orders obviously had gone unheeded.
They did what was necessary to catch him; the other part of your order was not to let him escape. The more lawful part of his mind argued quickly, dousing the spark of doubt growing in James Norrington's heart.
Looking down, he noted that the guards who brought Sparrow in had neglected to at least attempt to stem the bleeding from the deep gash on his right arm. Over the past three hours since Sparrow's capture, a pool of blood had been steadily growing on the ground beneath the wound.
Making a mental note to have a word with the guards, he took the loop of keys from the peg in the wall and unlocked Jack's cell. He removed a fresh kerchief from his coat pocket and kneeled beside the motionless pirate, unafraid for his well-being. With quick, efficient movements, he pulled the edges of the ripped shirt away from the wound and examined it closer. From what he could tell, although the wound was deep, the only lasting effects would be a scar.
However, he was not a doctor.
Norrington wrapped the cloth tightly around the wound in hopes of lessening the blood loss. His brows furrowed when, not moments after he hand tied the knot, the cloth turned crimson.
Decided, Norrington rose and strode out of the cell. He closed and locked the door, then headed for the nearest guard, key ring in hand.
- - - - -
The screech of wood on stone echoed through the otherwise quiet tavern, drawing glances from the few enjoying afternoon drinks to avoid a trip in the rowdy evening. The figure, shadowed by the sun at her back, strode pointedly in, slamming the door behind her. She scanned the room, dark eyes gleaming.
Finding her target, she tramped over and plopped herself in a chair near a gray-haired man with a pint in his hand.
"Gibbs,"
The man looked up with a start, but when he realized who had called him, he noticeably relaxed. "Aye lass?"
"They've got him, the bloody fool, they got him."
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, lass. They got who?"
"Jack."
Gibbs was out of his chair in a heartbeat, his drink forgotten on the table. "C'mon."
- - - - -
A knock sounded loud and clear through the small space of the rented room, startling the young girl. Her blonde hair flew about her as she jumped in her seat, concentration on the open pages before her broken. The large black dog at her feet raised his head and whined, still groggy from his nap.
"It's okay Kona," the girl soothed quietly, patting the dog's head lightly until he lowered it to the ground with a sigh.
"Chelsea, could you get that?"
"Yes uncle," Chelsea replied automatically, rising and moving towards the door. Kona stirred and reluctantly stood as well, preferring the company of his master over being left alone even though the door was in sight of his previous position. Undoing the bolt lock, Chelsea allowed the door open a crack, only to have it shoved past and a young guard come stumbling thorough the doorway, panting.
"May I help you?" Chelsea asked slowly, one eyebrow raised in silent distaste for the man's rash actions.
"Please…Dr. Sage…fort…need…"
"Stop. Breathe. I can't make heads or tails of what you're trying to say."
The young redcoat nodded, then breathed deeply until he had recovered his wind enough to speak coherently. He straightened, as was military procedure, and rephrased his message. "The Commodore has sent me to fetch Dr. Sage. A new prisoner at the fort has been wounded and needs medical attention right away."
"Why not just call the town's doctor? Dr. Sage is here on vaca-"
"Chelsea, he's been sent for me because the regular doctor in this port is visiting another island on important business. I agreed to take his place."
Chelsea looked to the other side of the room and saw her uncle, Mark Sage, red hair pulled back and medical bag in hand.
"Of course, we'll be at the fort shortly, go tell your superior."
The young redcoat nodded, though clearly not enjoying the thought of another jaunt across town, and set off down the street at a dead run.
"Hunter." The call was followed by a short series of low whistles, drawing a second mastiff into the room. This one didn't have the same friendly air as the other, but was obviously unassailably obedient to one master and one master only. "Care to accompany me, Chelsea?"
The girl sighed. "I may as well; with this distraction, my interest in this book has dissolved. C'mon Kona."
- - - - -
So much for orders.
Norrington stood just outside Jack's cell, keeping watch over the pirate for a reason unknown, even to him. Sparrow still hadn't waken, nor moved in any way, which worried James.
"Commodore,"
Norrington looked up at the unexpected call, his hand flying reflexively to the hilt of his sword. He relaxed when he saw Port Royal's temporary doctor descending the stairs, accompanied by a familiar young girl and two large dogs. His brow furrowed as his mind grouped blindly for the reason for the girl's memorable appearance. It was as if he'd met her before…
"This him?"
Norrington blinked out of his daze and looked first to the doctor at his side, then to the pirate on the ground before him. "Yes. Jack Sparrow."
Sage nodded, then hovered a hand before the commodore. Norrington looked down at the hand quizzically.
"Key." It was more of an inquiry than a statement
and it sent James to fumbling with the large ring of keys grasped firmly in his
left hand. He opened the cell quickly,
then stood aside to admit the small group.
"I trust you will have no
problems; Mr. Sparrow hasn't moved for the last four hours. I will be in my office should you need
me." He turned to leave, glancing once
more over his shoulder and leaving the keys in the door's lock.
Once the military man had left, Chelsea deemed it safe to speak.
"That was close."
"What was?"
"I know he recognizes me from our last meeting onboard the Black Pearl."
"So?"
"'So?' So, if he were to put me in league with Jack…"
"Chelsea, relax. The commodore is a good man, if not a bit stiff. He'd not harm a hair on your head. Or a hair on Kona's head, for that matter."
Chelsea couldn't help but smile slightly at her uncle's odd humor. The last time she had met Commodore Norrington, Jack had been deathly ill, poisoned, and the Pearl was making her way to Providence at Chelsea's direction. A navy ship under Norrington's immediate command had intercepted them and, after lending their surgeon, allowed the pirate vessel to continue en route to Providence.
"But enough of that. Looks like Captain Sparrow, or John as I was last introduced, has gotten himself into another scrape, though not as bad as last time."
Kona and Hunter slunk forward, sniffing curiously at the pirate. Flattening his ears, Hunter turned sullenly away and stalked outside the cell, where he laid down and closed his eyes. Kona remained in the cell, sitting faithfully beside Chelsea.
Mark opened his back leather bag and shuffled through some of the contents before finding what he was searching for. He handed Chelsea a spool of thick thread and an equally strong needle. He then withdrew a small flask of rum and a cloth from his bag before setting it aside. Opening the small flask, he tipped the contents onto the rag. Chelsea took the flask from him and corked it. Mark undid the blood-soaked kerchief wrapped tightly around the pirate's upper arm and forced the blood-adorned edges of the frayed shirt off the wound.
"Well, that explains all the blood; it's very deep. Nicked the muscle from the looks of it…"
Chelsea straightened, knowing full well that if the muscle was damaged, his arm could become worthless in a sword fight.
"…but I don't think there'll be any permanent damage." Mark finished his evaluation, gently probing the cut with his fingers. He took the rum-soaked cloth to the wound, wiping the blood and dirt from the gash. Once the wound was sufficiently cleaned, he looked to Chelsea. "Your turn."
Chelsea felt a smile tug lightly at the corner of her mouth. Her uncle had the oddest way of looking at things. He knew it, too, and used that to his advantage to lighten the spirits of all around him. She moved to take her uncle's spot at Jack's side, thread and needle in hand. Hesitantly, she began stitching the wound closed, but her caution made the stitches loose and flimsy.
"Chelsea, don't worry about hurting him; he's unconscious, he can't feel it."
Chelsea swallowed, taking Mark's words into consideration. She wasn't sure she believed that Jack couldn't feel a thing, but she tugged sharply on the needle, pulling the stitches tight. She then continued more boldly, finishing the job with a row of perfect stitches across the pirate's upper arm. She cut off the excess thread with a sigh and tucked the spool back into Mark's medical bag.
"See? Didn't feel a thing."
Chelsea nodded, silently taking the lesson into her growing bank of medical knowledge. She deftly wrapped fresh bandages around Jack's arm and was relieved that only the slightest bit of crimson made it past the stitches.
"And now we take our leave."
"Uncle, wait," Chelsea pleaded, her gaze never leaving the pirate. At Mark's quizzical gaze, she explained. "Norrington said he hasn't moved for the last four hours. Don't you find that a little odd? What if something's wrong?"
"You need to understand that it's to be expected. Between the knock on the head and the blood loss, he'll probably be out at least until dark if not longer."
"How do you figure he was hit on the head?"
Mark grinned knowingly and shoved some of the pirate's dark, unruly hair aside, revealing a large lump on the back of his head. "Now, come on."
"We've got to help him…somehow!"
"Chelsea, there's nothing more we can do here-"
"But he's Captain Jack Sparrow! According to his record, he shouldn't be taken out by something as miniscule as this!"
"Chelsea, understand this now or you may never. No matter what the legends, storybooks, or any other accounts say, Jack Sparrow is human, same as you or me. He's flesh and blood and can be killed."
"I know," Chelsea said in a low voice, almost hurt that the truth was so harsh. How could she force herself to accept that the greatest piratical legend was a mere mortal and would probably die from occupational hazards sooner than she would get married or have children?
"Let's take an inventory of the other options first, okay?"
[a/n: Some more review thanks.
jackfan2: I liked that little rambling idea of yours. If you get more, go ahead and toss 'em over! And yea, forced rest…; -jaw drops at thought of posting EVERY Wednesday- …oi… Well, thanks for the review!
bittersweet46: Yeeeeeaaaa…sorry about that little mix-up, mate. FF.Net kinda ate it…but it's better now! And thanks for taking the time to read!
pendragginink: ; Sorry for the…erm…suspense…ehe. Don't worry, questions will be answered…eventually. Thanks for the review!
Lykosdracos: Anticipation, yes, so I've been told. ; Well, who would want to leave our beloved captain alone is a good question…certainly not me. Don't worry, this story should be bloody-voice free, but no promises she won't make a return trip…-hides- Thanks for the review!
meowface: Watch it now mate…we've all got to SHARE our captain…even though he's ours in each of our own heads, correct? Heck, I'm the one who named her dog 'Savvy' because of Cap'n Jack.
Now, if everyone who reads could do me a BIG favor and review, Jack might get a break…oh, and prizes to those who review (virtual prizes, of course, lol). Seriously, reviewing is much appreciated.]
