A/N: And the story spins on. Ah, ambition. Ambition and anger. Quite a mix, they are. I feel sorry for our dear commodore, even though, of course, what I do to him is inevitable to the story. As for Jack... he's in his own mix of troubles, as you may think
darklight03: Sparrow back for you :-D
Greetings
Spirit
Chapter 8:
The very long night of Commodore Norrington
Norrington had chased Sparrow over the open sea for the better part of a week. Usually, when it came to speed, the sturdy Dauntless was no match for the slighter-built Pearl. However, on the other hand, the Dauntless knew quite better how to take a blow than the Pearl did. Loosing half a mast and the hulk being pierced by several of the Dauntless' bullets considerably slowed her down, so that Norrington – commandeering a half-damaged ship as well – was able to follow her along the winds.
There were days, when none of the captains saw much of the other ship, but still, they always knew where the others were going, driven by the unbreakable laws of wind and sailing, of a good course and a dangerous crossing. Jack Sparrow was a master of these waters, knew the seas around him like the back of his hand, but so did Norrington, having chased pirates far and wide throughout their own realm.
Neither would have admitted that they had found her match.
Three times during these trying, strenuous days, the Dauntless came close enough to use the front cannons on its opponent, scourging more holes in the black hulk of the pirate ship. Sparrow tried, in daring manoeuvers, to trick Norrington into coming aside the Back Pearl – and within reach of her cannons, but the Commodore was not so easily fooled, and Sparrow sought salvation in flight again, chasing like the wind across caribbean seas. His crew was not idle either, patching up the woulds of their ship with tar, planks and good will, working with the frenzy that only people possessed, who worked against their own destruction.
And while determination and calm confidence reigned aboard the Dauntless, some of the crewmen of the Pearl, their captain not the least of them, found themselves enjoying the challenge of the race. Strange enough, but they were people of the seas, people, who loved adventure, and the challenge of escaping the fierce Commodore Norrington pushed them forward, and more than once, they found themselves dreaming of the tales they would tell, escaping the scourge of the pirates of the caribbean not only once, but twice. What a tale this would be.
There were of course those, who were more calm, who saw their chase for what it was – a most dangerous game that might well be threatening to be the destruction of them all. But those worked even harder, knowing what was at stake. And so, the Pearl managed to escape again and again...
„Jack. You have to do something."
Jack Sparrow turned around unsteadily to face Gibbs, who had come up to speak to him. He had the unsteady walk of a man being either overtired or drunk, and considering circumstances, Jack figured, he was both. He winced and lowered the spyglass, with which he had been surveying the path of the Dauntless, still at their tail, but still at distance, not undue to the fix Anamaria had recently done on the front hull, where a large gaping hole had limited their speed, lest they would have wanted for the hulk to fill with water. Still, there was too much water in that ship. They were heavy. And slow.
„Yes?" he asked, overly polite as he eyed his first mate.
„We are not making progress", Gibbs remarked, his tone between discomfort and mock. „I hate to say, they are still at our tail."
„So they are." Jack Sparrow had the whole demeanor of a man fully and thoroughly annoyed. „But they have not caught us, have they?"
„No", Gibbs agreed. „But they have been showering us in iron ever since. One man down, if you remember, lying on his sickbed and Halil is not sure he's going to make it. The rest of us in bruises, including yourself."
Jack, quite unconciously, lifted a hand to his forehead, where a nasty slash told of the falling mast five days ago.
„Oh, that", he dismissed, annoyedly.
„Tell me, Mister Gibbs", he mused, gingerly twisting the spyglass between his fingers. „What are we doing right now?"
„We are running away."
„Oh..." Jack did have a way of sounding disappointed. „Are we. Such a pity." He grinned. „What makes you think?"
„Easy", Gibbs replied, counting off his fingers. „We're being pursued, for once. Second, these many turns of directions you take. Third, the fact that we are bloody shot to pieces."
„I see", Sparrow replied, the spyglass slipping through his finger. He caught it again, just before it could hit the floor. „Meaning... you think, that I am clueless about the whole situation."
Gibbs shuffled a trifle uncomfortably. This was not the kind of question he liked to answer.
„Ah", made Jack, as if he had already had his answer. „Well, Mister Gibbs, do you have any idea where we are right now?"
„At sea", Gibbs replied, annoyed by the captain's aloof manner.
„Very good, very perceptive indeed. And... a bit more precise?"
Gibbs raised his eyebrows, and Jack sighed, is gaze drifting away as if bored.
„We are just north of the Maragui archipele, of course."
Gibbs frowned.
„And this means...?"
Jack grinned.
„That we are going there, Gibbs. Plain and simple."
„They are turning south!"
Norrington lifted his head from the map he had unfurled on the grand table in the mass to acknowledge Lieutenant Groves, who had just hurried in.
„South", he mused, turning his gaze back to the map before him. „Have the winds changed direction?"
„No, sir", Groves replied curtly and Norrington nodded. So the change of course did not have anything to do with a search for better speed. They had been sailing southeast during the day, the wind right in their back, and apparently, Sparrow was up to something.
„Follow them, of course", he replied, almost off-handedly and frowned at the map.
What does he plan?
Norrington watched the map, took up a ruler to estimate the course Sparrow was taking. He drew a soft line, south, way south from where they were located right now, and stopped, as his pen stumbled upon the small dots, that represented islands in the vast emptiness of the ocean.
„The Maragui archipele", he murmured softly, something annoyingly tugging at the back of his mind.
Archipele...
Archipele in the south...
Don't turn south to the archipele...
The pen dropped and he frowned. He remembered a pale, freckled face, decorated neatly with a plain head. Large eyes, an expression of terror.
Don't turn south to the archipele.
Commodore James Norrington was by no means a superstitious man. He had all but forgotten the strange incidents on the dock the day of his departure, his thoughts of Elizabeth and his desire to hunt down Sparrow clouding every other thought that might have invaded his mind. And yet, he could not help feeling a shiver running down his spine at the memory of her pleading, bewildered voice.
Norrington shook of the notion with an annoyed wave of his head. Guesswork on part of the lady – he could not fanthom how often he had turned south to whatever archipele in the past – and whatever her motives were, this was ridiculous.
Commodore Norrington straightened with a firm movement and abandoned his chart, coming back on deck to watch over their approach. He would not be prone to superstitious nonsense, and he was very determined to forget the strange words.
„They are coming closer, Jack."
Gibbs' voice had a hint of panic to it, and he continuously gazed back to the Dauntless, that had caught up with them quite a bit since they had changed course. Now, that they were not sailing with the wind in their back, the disadvantage of the missing mast top was even more evident.
„I know", Sparrow replied, annoyedly, „I know." He looked towards the horizon, the thin, white line, that was telling him that somewhere right there was the archipele, and the goal of their race. He could only hope that they would reach it in time.
„And what are we going to do, once we reach the islands?"
Jack grinned.
„Tell me, Mister Gibbs, what is our main advantage over the Dauntless?"
„Speed", Gibbs answered. „We are faster then her."
„Ah well, they took us that, didn't they. An' besides?"
„Agility."
It was not Gibbs who had answered, and Jack turned, facing the dark-skinned woman that was looking at him doubtingly. Anamaria raised an eyebrow and Jack grinned.
„Precisely. Agility."
„Have you ever sailed the Maragui archipele, Lieutenant?"
Norrington had placed both hands on the railing, posessively and proudly surveying their approach. The Black Pearl had lost part of her advance, and soon, they would have the possibility of readying the front guns again.
„No. I have heared rumors about quite a vicious tribe of natives living there, and thus nobody ever decided to station an outpost their. It is too far-off."
„So, a perfect hideout for pirates", Norrington concluded, gritting his teeth. What Groves had said agreed with what he had heared, and suddenly he regretted never to have been here. There must be some reason for Sparrow to head towards that archipele with such determination.
„Very well. We will see. Ready the guns, Lieutenant. Bring us starboard of the Pearl. If we must do this fight in shallow waters, we will."
The first salve crashed into the deck, throwing about almost half of the Crew. Jack cursed, first inwardly, then loudly, as he surveyed the damage. This better should work, otherwise Norrington would just tear his precious ship to pieces. He hurried towards the bow as, somewhere on the side of his conciousness, he heard Anamaria call that there was water in the back cabins.
But not far in front of him the sea was foaming. The water had taken on a lighter color and Jack Sparrow grinned. Slowly, determinedly, he took up his place at the helm.
He doubted that Norrington knew of the riffs that surrounded the islands of the Maragui archipele.
May the better captain win...
„Shallow water ahead", came the cry from the crow's nest, and Norrington hurried up to the bridge to take a closer look.
What he saw, made his stomach fall for an instance, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. The Black Pearl was sailing right into what appeared to be a field of riffs and rocks, the water foaming and bubbling nastily.
„One must be mad to sail inside this", Groves wondered, his face pale.
„Jack Sparrow is mad", Norrington replied curtly and clenched his hands against the railing of the bridge.
He was not sure, that they – sailing at full speed – were able to turn before the field of rocks before them. The Dauntless was heavy, sturdy, and the damage she had taken from the last days did not help matters. Besides, he was more than reluctant to let the pirate escape.
Reason and fury fought a battle inside him, and for the first time in his life, he was not altogether sure, reason would win. He saw the face of Elizabeth, standing between him and Jack Sparrow, once, then a second time, saw the ruin of the Interceptor, Sparrow's overconfident manner that did not even waver when he was standing right in front of the noose.
Not this time.
„Very well", he said coldly. „Apparently he does know a way through this field of riffs. And he is kind enough to show us."
He strode up to the helm, chasing away Hareham, who had been in charge for the time being.
„We follow him."
„Commodore", Groves protested, but when Norrington turned towards him to stare at him, he fell silent at once. He did not like the look in Norrington's eyes. And he was sure, that the Commodore's opinion would not be turned by mere words.
Thus it was, that Lieutenant Groves did the second best thing. Standing on the bridge he shouted orders to have the Crew man the post so that any order of the Commodore could be carried out with undue delay. And as he looked back at Norrington, his gaze determined and in full concentration, he had a notion, that maybe, they would come out of this victorious.
„He is following us!" Anamaria reported, and Jack, taking back only a small look grinned.
„He his courageous, I give him that."
But there was no time for further consideration. He had crossed this riff once, quite some time ago, and it had been a very tough race and earned the Pearl quite a lot of the scars that marked her hull today. But he had done it, and he was pretty sure that, even if Norrington could, the Dauntless could not.
Eyes focussed on the foam before him, he turned the wheel just a tiny bit to pass another of the rocks, that were hidden just below the surface.
„Lieutenant, another salve."
There was sweat on the Commodore's brow, and Groves was quite sure, that this was not due to the caribbean sun. The cannons cracked, and there was a scream to be heard on the other ship. Someone had been hit, and for a moment, the Black Pearl itself was tumbling a bit from side to side. However, the scourge of the seas was not so easily conquered. The pirates gained control of their ship agai, and Sparrow drove a sharp turn to the right, just so avoiding a rock that had previously been hidden by the ship itself.
Groves heared an incoherent sound from Norrington, and as he turned his head, he could see the Commodore giving the steering wheel a sharp twist.
It was not enough, though.
The jolt was hard enough to send almost everybody off his feet. There were cries, as two men who had been manning their posts between the sails lost their grip on their holds and fell down, one of them hitting the deck with an extremely nasty sound.
The other, more lucky or less lucky, as you like to view it, was tossed into the sea, his cry overshadowed by the call „Man overboard!" that somebody, who still had the presence of mind to oversee the situation, uttered as the ship rolled to starboard, then back. Another splash in the water told of another one falling down, and this time, there was no cry, because there was no one left standing to survey the situation. Groves scrambled back to his feet, saw the Commodore at the wheel doing the same, trying to bring the rolling ship back on course, but they drifted left, and another nasty sound spoke of another riff scratching the Dauntless' hull, this time on the other side.
A roll of thunder coming from downstairs was a telltale sign, that some of the cannons had gone loose, the screams accompaning the sound told of men buried under them.
The situation was going quickly out of hand.
Like through a thick blanket, he could hear orders shouted, saw Norrington, apparently recovered, but it took quite some time, before Lieutenant Groves himself was able to get up again to follow whatever the Commodore bid him to do.
For six hours, the Crew of the Dauntless fought for the survival of themselves and their ship. For six hours, they were up to careful maneuvering, to patching holes that did not seem to close, unable to avoid all the riffs around them and somehow trying to reach the white shores of any of the islands around. For six, long, dreary hours, Norrington stood on the bridge, never leaving the steering wheel as if it were his responsibility alone to bring them back to safe waters.
When, finally, the battered Dauntless reached white shores, he was barely able to stand.
Yet he took it upon himself to survey the damage.
Twelve men had died.
One had fallen from the mast, three had been washed of the deck. Two had been drowned by the water rushing into the hulk of the ship and six – oh god, six – had been rolled over by loose cannons.
Norrington did not spare himself. He went to every single one of them, looked at every single injury. He stepped to every one of the hurt, two of whom would not last the night either, talking to them or simply looking down on them, expression unfanthomable, but words kind.
And it did not take Groves, who knew him quite well, to see that during these hours, something within the Commodore died.
