Eek! So excited! Thanks to everyone that's read this far and enjoyed the story. People who have reviewed it ever so kindly will receive and imaginary cookie! Yay! *cough cough* Now back to business… Sorry if any ship parts mentioned here are wrong, as it's not my area of expertise at all. Oh yes, more apologies if Tia Dalma's accent isn't written very well.
Parley and Prisoner
The next day dawned dull and leaden grey, as well as unseasonably cold for such a tropical climate. Tendrils of fog wrapped around the creaking hulls of the dozen or so pirate ships that had gathered, the wood stained with a thousand droplets and their tattered sails sighing softly in the chilled breeze. An eerie silence settled upon the crews like a vengeful shadow, whilst fear gnawed at hearts and caressed tensed backs with clammy fingers.
Norrington was aboard the Black Pearl with Elizabeth, Barbossa, Sparrow and a collection of other pirates. Looking around him, he could see shifting eyes as bleak as the mist that engulfed the small flotilla, and Norrington wished he could take away the terror that burdened the men.
If he was Admiral, he would have tried to boost morale, inspire some sort of bravery or at least coax a little loyalty in the officers he commanded. He remembered how they would look up at him with respect, follow his every order without complaint and cheer with him when they succeeded, which they always did. Well, right until he attempted to capture a slippery Jack Sparrow whilst in the clutches of a hurricane. After that, Norrington reflected, maybe something had been taken from him. As Admiral under Beckett, he could still command a crew with efficiency and accuracy, pirate vessels dropping like flies when he gave the order. But each command was dead and lacked any warmth, his old nautical spirit crushed under Beckett's heel.
Perhaps, after or during this battle, his spirit would be rekindled. But for now, he was as numb as the pirates surrounding him.
Suddenly, like a ghost, a ship melted out of the gloom.
"The enemy is here!" shouted the little dwarf called Marty as he hung from the rigging. As great cheer swelled up from the ranks, but Norrington, as well as Barbossa, could tell from years of experience that this was the mere tip of the iceberg. Norrington's green eyes narrowed as at least twenty more ships peeled away from the mist, each so large, some of their own ships looked like rowboats in comparison. The cheer died and the men looked on with mouths hanging open is shock.
"Abandon ship! Abandon ship!" came a squawk, and Norrington turned to see the mute Mr Cotton's parrot take flight and flee, a colourful speck against the bleak sky.
Several heads slowly turned to face Sparrow, as if the answer lay with him. His nervous, kohl-rimmed eyes shifted from face to face. He gulped.
"Parley?"
Norrington groaned silently.
**
"Please let me come" asked Norrington, almost pleadingly.
"James" sighed Elizabeth, as she headed for the rowboat that would take her, Sparrow and Barbossa to a tiny scrap of sand that just about registered as "land".
"Give me a reason why not?" he demanded.
"I think it would be better if just three of us went," said Elizabeth, avoiding his gaze. "Beckett and Jones will meet us for the Parley, and perhaps Will…" she trailed off slightly. "That makes it even."
Norrington sighed in defeat, holding back the anger that coursed through his veins like liquid fire. He wanted to face Beckett, wanted to spit at his feet and curse his sorry guts. But the cool, composed, naval training took hold and the fury left him momentarily.
"Fine, go ahead without me. It's not as if I'd be any help anyway."
"Don't say that!" said Elizabeth softly.
"Oi, times a-passing Lizzie!" called Jack from the rowboat. "If we don't hurry up, maybe they'll have second thoughts about our little rendezvous, savvy?"
Elizabeth glanced at Norrington, gritted her teeth and joined a very anxious Jack and a thoughtful Barbossa in the boat. Norrington watched them go, and suddenly felt a little lonely. The only pirates he knew were slowly shrinking as they neared the strip of pure white sand, and now he was left on the Pearl with buccaneers that wouldn't hesitate to take a shot at an ex-naval officer, particularly one who was once loyal to Beckett.
He frowned, and casting a quick look at the crew, he decided not a lot would be happening until the others got back from the Parley. Not knowing exactly why, he headed below deck, away from the angry glares of certain pirates. It was if they blamed him for Beckett's armada.
Typical muttered Norrington.
It was a lot colder below deck, and Norrington could hear the ship groan and mumble, the ocean sighing and slapping against the hull. With a shiver, Norrington imagined the Pearl as a mighty leviathan, and he had entered its sloping ribs and the creak of its dark timbers was its beating heart. Norrington scanned the gun deck, but it was devoid of people and the canons rolled slightly on their wheels in time with the sway of the ship, shafts of light from above slicing the gloom.
Norrington headed further down, where the light barely touched the bilge water-dampened wood. Here was the supply deck, and Norrington smirked at the sight of dozens of barrels of rum piled in stacks in one corner. This was the most bountiful supply down here, but of course it would be with Sparrow as captain.
It wouldn't hurt, if, perhaps… Norrington edged closer to the barrels, compelled by some old force that had once taken hold of Norrington's darkened, depressed mind. His hand brushed the barrel, but then he withdrew it immediately. He needed a clear head for the battle ahead, and there would be time for rum later.
He could hardly believe what he was thinking! James Norrington, slowly becoming as obsessive over rum as Sparrow! Norrington thought his drinking days were long gone, and besides, he only drunk to drown his worries. He really was becoming a pirate, and that thought was both alarming and strangely reassuring.
Norrington shook his head, but then froze. What was that? He tensed and stretched out his senses.
A sound. Distorted and shrill. Sorrowful and surreal.
Norrington could not place what it was, but he knew the strange noise floated in from the brig. Was someone down here?
He crept forwards, boots squelching slightly on the sticky water –drenched planks, and as he edged closer to the mysterious sound, he became engulfed in the darkness that not even the sun could penetrate.
The only source of light was a rickety, rusty lantern that swayed and creaked as the ship rocked itself softly. The sound became more distinctive now, and Norrington realised with surprise that it was a music box's song. The tune was ethereal and held mourning and misery in each note, but underneath there was a much more beautiful song that once spoke of what was a seemingly unbreakable bond. Norrington blinked in curious fright as under the hazy orange glow of the lantern, a woman sat with her back turned to him.
She wore a ragged, brown and crimson dress that many years ago had probably once been splendid and sumptuous, but now decades of wear and tear had made it a sorry thing. She wore her hair in heavy, matted, black dreadlocks, threaded with beads and feathers. She had caramel –bronze skin that almost seemed to glow with a fiery luminescence in the lantern-light. She leaned against the bars of her prison, like a bird locked in a cage, and in her hands she clutched a silver pendant of crab claws that formed a heart, and inside the whirring gears of the music box.
"What brings ya 'ere, James Norrington?" she said, her voice making him jump. She had a rich Jamaican accent, with power, sadness, mystery and fury all entwined into each word, the force of her tone like a hurricane.
She turned to face him, and Norrington could hardly breathe at the sight of her. Her painted lips were pouted sadly, revealing a glimpse of her dark teeth. There were strange dots on her cheeks beneath her eyes, her soft eyebrows creasing her forehead in a slight frown. But Norrington, as much as he tried, could not tear his gaze away from her burning eyes. They were as and profound as the ocean's deepest chasm and as dark as the Kraken's ink, blazing with a fire akin to molten lava. If Norrington could compare this woman to anything, it would be the sea herself.
"I…uh…I just came here to…erm…. Get away from the crowd, if you know what I mean," was Norrington's stuttered reply. "I just needed some time to myself, some quiet."
"De calm before de storm," she whispered as she stood to her feet, closing the pendant and typing it around her neck. The silence that followed the song's demise was as heavy as the crushing oblivion of Davy Jones' Locker. "James Norrington. Naval officer, pirate, betrayer." She shook her head solemnly. "You were destined ter die."
"What?" said Norrington, outraged.
"When ya escaped wit Elizabeth and de Empress's crew," explained the woman. "Ya were destined to be claimed by Davy Jones, anoter soul for him Locker. All de signs pointed to dat fate. But you, ya evade de clutches of death." She came as close to him as the bars would allow, Norrington stepping back a little.
"De tables have been turned," she sighed, her eyes distant and foggy. "Destinies have been changed." Her head snapped up to stare at him. "Dere is more to ya dat meet de eye. Ya made a choice before, but de time have come to make anoter. Which one will ya chose, James?"
Her fingers grasped the damp metal, and she leaned in close, her gaze penetrating.
"Who are you?" Norrington whispered.
"Me? Dat will perhaps be revealed today." She smiled again, but this time it was vengeful and sinister. Norrington gulped.
"So, you're saying that by some mistake, I survived the escape from the Dutchman, which in turn has changed my 'destiny', one that I can choose?" The woman nodded.
Norrington couldn't believe he was listening to this mystic witch, a woman as crazy as all the pirates onboard put together. Norrington was extremely sceptical of her opinion, but he couldn't help but fear her words rung with a truth so firm, he felt he could not escape it. Norrington suddenly felt his freedom slip away, and he desperately tried to cling to it.
He gulped again, stepping back from the mysterious voodoo woman that stared at him with a menacing grin through the bars of her prison, like a feral creature that was as untameable as the waves.
No wonder she's caged up here thought Norrington.
He desperately yearned for sunshine on his face, wind in his hair. This cold, dark brig where everything seemed nightmarish and twisted.
"They're back!" came a cry from above, and Norrington was grateful for the excuse to get back up deck.
"Goodbye" he mumbled and without a second glance he swiftly ran from the brig and up on deck. However, he could not block the voodoo woman's last words to him.
"Don't forget ya destiny, James Norrington. Perhaps dat way, ya can save more dan one person, and redeem yaself. Dat is wat ya want, more dan anyting."
.com/watch?v=oXRqbBfsBWw&NR=1 Parley 0.29
.net/erins_
