The Plot Thickens

But this privilege, is allayed by another; and that is, by the privilege of Absurdity; to which no living creature is subject, but man only.

THOMAS HOBBES

"Sergeant Murtogg, Sergeant Mullroy – I have some questions that I hope you can answer."

The two soldiers felt exceedingly uneasy about the situation on the whole. The Commodore always scared them rigid, even though as hard as they racked their brains, they couldn't think of anything they had done wrong lately. So they just tried to appear as servile as they could, in fact they looked like two donkeys in lightning.

James was aware of his intimidating effect on his men – it had taken lots of time and effort to achieve that facade, when he had been a lieutenant still but faced the responsibilities of a commander and nobody had taken him seriously. Now here he was, unable to just put it on or off as he pleased, and while trying his best to appear friendly and inviting, all he achieved was frightening the men even more. It was hopeless.

He exchanged a few helpless looks with Lieutenant Groves until this one addressed them, "Sirs, what we would like to know is – during the time on board of the Black Pearl – have you talked to Captain Sparrow or any other of his men?"

"No, sir!" both replied with arrow speed.

"Let us begin afresh," the Commodore sighed. "Firstly, let me assure you that you are not in any trouble. We merely wish to ask you some questions and please be assured that whatever you say will not be the foundation for any punishment or reprimand whatsoever. Have you understood that?"

It was always right to nod and say 'Aye, sir' when a superior officer was speaking like that, but as a matter of fact, he had spoken too quickly and too markedly, and if he had said the exact opposite, they would still have retorted, 'Aye, sir!'

"Very well. So in the entire ten days aboard the Black Pearl, you have not talked to any member of the crew...?"

"No, sir!"

They weren't getting anywhere like that, and it took all powers of persuasion which Commodore Norrington and Lieutenant Groves could muster until the sergeants finally confessed to have spoken 'a word or two' to the crew. These few words turned out to be enough to fill a couple of books, and once they had begun talking, it was hard to make them stop again.

"Mr. Murtogg," the Commodore sighed and rolled his eyes, "mermaids aren't exactly what I was looking for. But what I wish to hear is this – has Mr. Gibbs told you any story about a man styling himself as 'Commodore Nero'? Or any pirate unknown to him trying to pick up a crew?"

"Commodore Nero? Is he an English officer?"

"He's no officer at any rate, but apparently he is English. So did Mr. Gibbs mention him?"

"Let me think…"

They could see Sergeant Mullroy thinking; it was painful to behold. The Commodore counted inwardly to ten to stay calm, an encouraging smile frozen on his lips. Patience, he reminded himself, be patient. The Lieutenant was less tolerant and snapped, "Well, has he?"

"No," Mullroy drawled, with his eyes screwed up and clearly still thinking. "He did mention an English officer though."

"That's not the sort of tale we were looking for," James moaned, but the Lieutenant looked intrigued and made an encouraging gesture.

"Well, a guy who was thought to be an English officer, more like," Mullroy mused loudly, "who would go looking for a crew."

"Yeah," his colleague recalled, "tried it in Tortuga, but no one quite trusted him –"

James was at a total loss what these two morons could possibly be talking about, but Groves asked, "Pick up a crew? For what?"

"Well, what sort of people hang about in Tortuga, sir – for a pirate ship of course!"

"And why do you say he was an officer?"

"Please, Commodore, it's not me saying that! I know that no English officer would go to Tortuga and – it was Mr. Gibbs who said it."

James listened, pressing his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, and meditated on the great man's discourse on the privilege of absurdity.

"Wore no uniform either," Murtogg mumbled, "We asked him about that."

"So what made Mr. Gibbs think him to be an officer?"

"Because of the way he spoke and moved, said he. Did you know, Mr. Gibbs was in the Navy once, too?"

"Yes," the Commodore said wryly, "That would make another former English officer turning pirate then, I guess!"

"But Mr. Gibbs was no officer, was he? He doesn't sound like an officer."

"And how does an officer sound?"

"Like you, sir. You know, well-spoken, and pronounced. Not like us. Somebody who's been in a proper school," Murtogg said genially.

Groves and the Commodore exchanged a quick glance, and to the latter's surprise, the former cried, "That's quite the kind of story we were looking for, Mr. Murtogg. Go on!"

"Not much else to say about it, is there?" He looked at his comrade, who shook his head, murmuring, "Just that. I would have forgotten already. Didn't believe it anyway – an English officer pick-"

"Did Mr. Gibbs say how the man looked?" Groves cut him short.

"How he looked? I'm sure I don't know!"

"Young he was," his colleague cut in.

"Not that young."

"Younger than Mr. Gibbs at any rate."

"My grandfather is younger than Mr. Gibbs."

"Rubbish, I know your grandfather!"

The first cause of absurd conclusions must be ascribed to the want of method; it is not easy to fall into absurdity, unless it be by the length of the account, wherein he may perhaps forget what went before... James rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Gentlemen, please!" Both men gave a start and goggled at him, and having regained their attention, Groves inquired, "Do you know when this happened?"

"Must have happened before Mr. Gibbs signed on the Black Pearl, sure –"

"Long before," Mullroy nodded, "Didn't he say it was before the great fire?"

"Right! Directly before the great fire, that's what he said!"

"And that, had he known what disaster was to come, he'd rather have signed on with the weird guy than stay!"

James tried to remember when a great inferno had destroyed half of Tortuga; this must have happened perhaps twenty months ago, but still, he couldn't see why Groves seemed to take so much interest in this story. He said lightly, "Well, perhaps it was a privateer? These are quite often gentlemen as well, speaking proper English."

"No, sir. They don't move like an officer." To the Commodore's great astonishment, it was neither Mr. Murtogg nor Mr. Mullroy, but Lieutenant Groves who said it. He looked very thoughtful, and catching his superior's curious glance, he went on, "There's a considerable difference in the bearing and movements. You can see whether a man is a Navy officer or not."

"Yeah," Murtogg cried, nodding wildly, "they're like trained to walk very straight, very stiff, shoulders back and all that."

The Commodore suppressed a smirk. His soldiers told him he walked stiffly, Elizabeth thought he was stiff. It looked as if he'd just have to accept his inbred stiffness once and for all.

Groves asked some more questions, but the sergeants couldn't answer any of them, and were dismissed. After they were gone, the Commodore looked quizzical at him. "Since when do you fancy pennydreadfuls, Robert?"

Groves seemed to wake up from his musing. "Oh – because of something Miss van Dyke said to me the other day…"

He waited for further explanations, but Groves seemed deeply lost in thought, so they parted. The Commodore was disappointed; he had hoped that this investigation would turn out something more, but then, what had he expected to come from two rather dull soldiers and a notorious drunkard like Mr. Gibbs?

He took out the naval reports and conscientiously started listing all ships that had left some Caribbean harbour in the past twelve month and failed to reach their destination. He continued with ships from the Spanish Main, compared it with a list of great storms, and when he was through, he compared his lists with a map. Then he recalled a conversation he'd had with Elizabeth and went down to see the soldier in charge of the carrier pigeons to send out dispatches to a dozen other garrisons in certain select areas.

The Lieutenant meanwhile could scarcely contain his excitement. He was on to something, he felt it for sure, but wondered in the same moment if this was only a pathetic excuse to visit Miss van Dyke once again. Whatever was the true reason, he went over to the van Dykes, and the lovely Miss smiled brightly when he was announced. "Lieutenant Groves! How pleasant to see you! I had been afraid that we shouldn't meet again so soon, after the Commodore left us! How are you?"

He sat down with her, a bit awkward, and hesitantly related the gist of the sergeants' story. "After your remarks the other day it somehow caught my attention," he finished lamely, afraid what she would say, or whether she would laugh at him.

But she did nothing of that sort. Instead she asked casually, "Do you happen to know when it was exactly, this great fire in Tortuga?"

Yes, he had looked it up before coming and could proudly give her the date; it was two years ago next January.

"Does it happen often that a high-ranking officer leaves service?"

"All the time. When they retire."

"But younger men? Didn't you say he was young?"

He thought about it for a moment and shrugged then, "Not a lot of the younger ones, no… Couldn't think of one right now. Sometimes, when badly injured, they drop out and go back home to England. But in such a case, they can't sail any longer for one reason or other, and are taken over by another ship then. Lieutenant Paige, for example – you might remember him? He was blinded in battle and taken back to his family to care for him."

"Can they be expelled?"

"Yes, well, they can, but that's very rare. To be punished for a minor mistake, an officer will be degraded; if the nature of the crime is severe, he will be imprisoned or executed straightaway."

"So what you basically say is that it's pretty unlikely for an English officer of rank to just drop out and find himself a new career, right?"

"Quite unlikely, yes."

"So – as long as they are in service – do they have some, well, leisure time? I mean, enough time to sail to Tortuga for example, pick up a crew and pilfer a bit until returning home?"

He couldn't suppress to laugh at the mere idea, and she returned it ingeniously, "Well, could they?"

"No, Miss, I honestly can't imagine that! Of course, as long as a ship is at sea, nobody at home can say for sure where they are exactly, or what they're doing, but sooner or later, they have to make berth to take on provisions and the like, and then come home again. Also they have to report about their absence. Such an officer as you describe– he might try to lie to his superior, but he's still got a whole crew of officers and sailors who can give him away. Picture the situation – nobody can just leave a ship for some days like that, so he would have to take them with him, and they would know what he's doing. No, no, it's impossible, I assure you!"

"Still there is a report of such a man," she lifted her forefinger and gesticulated with it. "And if we acknowledge it for a minute to be a true report, we must think of a possibility how he manages to come to Tortuga and look for a crew of pirates, and what he could do with them then."

"Maybe it was a kind of trick. You know, if he'd really been an officer, he could clap any pirate in iron who'd try to sign on such a mission."

"In a tavern in Tortuga, Lieutenant? He might just as well shoot himself right away, saves time. No... Remind me, what did Lieutenant Gillette tell the Admiral exactly? That the Commodore was in cahoots with pirates, right? With Captain Sparrow, to be precise, and that said Captain Sparrow could be this mysterious pirate in disguise?"

He gasped in genuine shock, "Miss van Dyke, you don't seriously – I assure you –"

"No, no! Heaven forbid!" She shook her head vigorously. "Don't get me wrong. I'm really just trying to recollect what Lieutenant Gillette said then. For whatever it was – in this night, the poor Lieutenant was so distressed that he ended up killing himself, so we must assume that his spirits were much shaken, don't you think?"

"So...?"

"Well, I don't actually know. I just find it exceedingly odd – Gillette accusing the Commodore to be in league with pirates, and from a very different quarter, we get a report of some nameless officer doing exactly that what Gillette tried to hang on the Commodore. I know he merely tried to discredit the Commodore, but as you may recall, I found it very curious that he should have come up with such a wild story. What if there was a grain of truth in it? What if Lieutenant Gillette told this story that is so hard to credit, because he knew it to have happened for real?"

Groves opened his mouth for another fiery defence, but she waved at him to spare his breath. "No, no, before you mistake me, I do not mean Commodore Norrington. Whatever I say, don't think I was trying to mouth off the Commodore. I know he is a very good man."

Groves was pained to hear this just praise – yes, the pretty Miss van Dyke admired the Commodore, and how could she not! They were made for each other! He was so distraught by this melancholic reflection that he could hardly follow her conclusions, so he simply nodded and sighed.

She hesitated for a moment, her finger tipping against her lips. "Forgive me for uttering such a thought now, Lieutenant Groves, but – could it be Lieutenant Gillette himself had done something like that? Could he have been visiting this tavern in Tortuga?"

He goggled at her, but gave it a good thought then. "No," he finally said. "For once, I should know if he had been around the area of Tortuga with the Interceptor. We haven't been there in ages, it's Spanish territory and even if it's a bloody pirate hotspot, they don't like us snooping around there. But more importantly – Mr. Gibbs, who told the story in the first place, was a sailor on the Dauntless himself some years ago. Mr. Gibbs knows Lieutenant Gillette and would certainly have recognised him, with or without uniform. And if he had recognised him, he would have told the Sergeants about it, don't you think?"

"True," she said slowly, "Well, I guess I'm seeing ghosts here and that's just all!"

"What a pity that we can no longer ask Lieutenant Gillette about it. I bet the Commodore would have loved to hear what he had got to say."

"He'd simply have denied knowing anything at all. He would have claimed that it had been only a wretched idea coming to him out of thin air."

"He'd surely have. But he wasn't very apt, and even if my Commodore is too good himself to suspect others of crimes that he thinks to be impossible – I guess I would have seen whether he had lied or not. I do pride myself to have some knowledge of human nature!"

"Now do you?" she smiled gently, and he blushed. That had been a very complacent thing to say!

The Commodore's cogitations on absurdity are inspired by Hobbes' Leviathan