When Norrington pushed his way back into Tom's house, he found the barrel of a musket inches from his face. Reacting instinctively, he pushed it aside and it went off, the sharp retort making him wince in pain and stumble. A loud ringing pierced the side of his head and he shot Tom an irritated look through his disorientation.

Guilt replaced the determined fear in the old man's face and then he huffed, his shot spent. He pulled the musket back to him.

"Don't bother. He's gone," Norrington said and he pushed his way off the wall where he'd leaned. Every sound that entered his left ear was muffled under the constant ringing. He was still holding the sword, its blade clean as if no battle had taken place. When Tom ignored him and continued to reload, he said again, "He's gone," adding a bit more force to his voice. Then he turned and locked his gaze on Martha. "You know what that creature is." Not a question, a statement.

Martha was not a woman who could be easily intimidated, but at Norrington's accusation, she seemed hesitant, glaring between him and her husband. Eventually, she sighed.

"I'm honestly shocked ye've survived if indeed ya did go after 'im." She led him to the small dining room that doubled as a sitting room and sat wearily in a seat, gesturing Norrington to do the same. Etiquette was sacrificed due to the seriousness of the situation. "He's come twice afore, slaughtering all who stand in his way. This isn't the only town he's attacked, though. There have been others." She was shaken, that much was obvious. Remembering Tom with his musket, Norrington wondered if she'd expected the house to be broken into and her husband and herself murdered.

Tom came in then, still carrying the musket and sat down, laying it across his lap. "It's quiet outside. As if they'd never come." He cast a suspicious look at Norrington. "I wonder what turned 'em around."

"I've seen their sort of affliction before," Norrington said, an attempt to steer the conversation into safer waters. He wasn't prepared to discuss his encounter with the captain to anyone just yet. "A pirate crew cursed with undeath after taking Aztec gold." Only three years ago, he would have found the idea ludicrous, an outrageous fantasy. Now it was as matter-of-fact as the weather.

"Oh, but it weren't gold that turned them into monsters," Tom said. "It were their captain who done it. Cursed 'em all with his powers so that they'd always serve 'im. The captain hisself is the nastiest pirate who ever sailed, living or dead. His name is Jolly Roger."

Norrington nodded. "And what caused his own curse?"

"Well that's the really interestin' part." And here, Tom leaned forward conspiratorially. "The way the story goes, Jolly Roger was a fearsome pirate and skilled navigator. Clever too. So much so that he was hopin' to become a pirate lord hisself and help in the runnin' of the Brethren Court. See, the Brethren Court is –"

"I know what it is," Norrington said, eager to hear the rest of the story.

"Hmm. Well anyway, he never got it 'cause the seat he wanted was passed on to some lad named Jack…er, Sparrow, yeah, that was it. Jack Sparrow."

Norrington was immediately alert. Jack Sparrow? That smelly, loathsome, too-clever-for-his-own-good, worst-pirate-he'd-ever-seen, that Jack Sparrow? Norrington balked. He hadn't learned very much of the Brethren Court before he'd been unceremoniously murdered, but he knew enough to recognize the honor and responsibility held by each pirate lord. He wondered who in their right mind would appoint Jack Sparrow to the Court and he voiced this exact incredulity.

"His own father, I think," Tom said in answer.

Norrington blinked. Well that explained it. But all the same, he couldn't imagine there being not one, but two Sparrows loose in the world. Good Lord.

"Anyway," Tom said, "As ya can imagine, ol' Jolly's not too keen to lose out to Jack Sparrow like that. So what he did was he challenged Jack to a game a' cards. 'Cause they both liked to gamble, see." Norrington did see, but he didn't quite see the point of it. "They played several rounds and Jolly won them all 'cause he was cheatin'. Devil that he is, he hired this bloke to deal the cards who knew a bit of the dark arts. Evil magic, you know, to make sure that Jolly won every hand. And before ya knew it, Jack was down with nothin' left to bet. Nothin' save his seat on the Court."

Norrington wondered how such an idiot could have made it so far and he absolutely refused to believe in luck.

"It was just what Jolly was waitin' fer. He'd get what he'd always wanted and leave Jack with nothin'. But the thing was, Jack knew Jolly was cheatin' so for the final round, he went and cheated too. Won the round. And Jolly was furious. Figurin' the dealer had double-crossed 'im, he shot the bugger and with his dying breath, the man cursed Jolly Roger and turned 'im into the undead monstrosity ya saw outside."

"That seems rather…unfortunate," Norrington ventured.

"Yup. People say he now wanders the Caribbean lookin' fer Jack to get revenge or some such."

"I see." Norrington couldn't get the feeling of Jolly Roger's powers out of his mind, the penetrating gaze of those hollow eye sockets, the coldness in his petrified limbs, unable to breathe.

"You're a cursed man, James Norrington."

Norrington found himself absentmindedly rubbing the back of his hand. He stopped. "And this curse bestowed upon Jolly's men. Can it be removed?"

"Dunno…Don't much care. Better to destroy 'em afore they can destroy ya. But if anyone knows, that Jack fella might."

Jack Sparrow. Of course. If Norrington believed in gods of fate, they'd surely be laughing at him now. Could he never escape the curse that was Jack Sparrow?

It was quite late, early in the morning in fact, and he realized that he was exhausted. He stood. "I again thank you for your hospitality. As soon as I can gain passage on a ship, I will take my leave." With that, he excused himself and retired to his room. But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was the green night and the wicked face of the skull that stared back at him.


The next morning, the H.M.S. Resilient came into port with the news of Beckett's defeat at the hands of the pirates off the coast of Shipwreck Cove. Norrington was not sure how to react to this information. The officer in him cringed at the thought of British defeat, and against pirates no less. But he would not mourn the loss of Lord Cutler Beckett, that was for certain. It was also possible that meant that Davy Jones too was dead.

That very day, Norrington was able to secure passage onboard a merchant in exchange for shipboard labor though he never let on that he was an officer. He still wondered if his circumstances counted as desertion.

So, bidding his hosts farewell and not keen on ever returning to this place, he boarded the ship which set sail the next morning, his destination: Tortuga.


The harbor was busy with vessels, from grand three-masted square-riggers to slender fore-and-aft rigs and swift sloops. The merchant, an aged Indiaman, docked in deeper waters and Norrington was dismayed to see that Tortuga looked much as he remembered, albeit without the haze of rum to cloud his perception. The storefronts that lined the boardwalk were rickety and taverns outnumbered those establishments which did not serve alcohol. It was not a place he wished to be but he felt he had no choice. His first lead in defeating Jolly roger and ridding himself of the curse was Jack Sparrow and his best chance of finding the disagreeable man was in Tortuga.

It was evening and the Faithful Bride lured sailors, navy and merchant alike, into its warm, bubbly interior from which raucous laughter and music spilled out onto the street. Several musicians were playing string instruments, their twangs cutting through the din of drunken conversation. Norrington forced himself not to look too closely at the bar or the frothing tankards the serving girls set onto tables. It hadn't been very long at all since his own sojourn in Tortugan taverns just like this. His memory of that time was clouded, the details hard to make out. It was probably for the best.

"What can I get you, sailor?" The bartender homed in on him and he realized that he'd wandered over the bar. His clothes, an old pair of slops he'd managed to procure from Aux Cayes marked him as a sailor.

"Nothing for now, thank you," Norrington said, already scanning the crowd, searching for that all-too-familiar face. He had to squint to see into the shadows, but there was nothing and no one that caught his eye.

He was about to turn and make his way to the other side of the tavern when a young woman ran into him. He took in her faded yellow skirts and bodice that showed entirely too much cleavage and he frowned in distaste.

"Oh," she said and large eyes looked up at him, seeming to have a hard time focusing. She broke into a smile, showing yellowed teeth. "My. A handsome sailor. You look like a right gentleman. What say you to stayin' the night at my place, eh?"

Norrington stood back a step. "Madam, I appreciate the offer but must decline." He didn't make a habit of consorting with women of such…reputation.

"But I insist." She grabbed his arm and held it firmly even when he would jerk it away. "I'll make it worth your while." Now something akin to fear entered her eyes and Norrington thought there was more going on here than he'd first thought.

Somewhere, someone yelled and there was shoving.

"Come on. We can go right now. I won't disappoint." The woman was tugging at Norrington's arm and this time he pulled himself out of her grip.

"Madam," he said warningly and then a man shoved his way through the crowd. He was very large, though not in the way of muscle. He spotted the woman and his thick eyebrows furrowed.

"Get back here, you filthy whore! I ain't payin' fer that unless I get all my coin's worth." He marched up to them and his breath smelled of hard liquor. The woman ducked behind Norrington.

"I believe the lady's tired of your company," Norrington said though he could hardly consider her a lady.

"Tired? Who are you? Useless wench ain't even worth the coin."

"Sir, I suggest you leave." Norrington was well aware of the cutlass at his side and though it wasn't his usual saber, it would certainly do.

"Not until I get what I paid fer or take those coin back." He reached out, intent on pawing Norrington aside but the experienced officer saw it coming and ducked. Then he lashed out and kicked at the man's shins and the man roared and lurched forward and this time, Norrington couldn't dodge as the man's bulk crashed into him and sent him sprawling on the ground.

The rest of the fight was a flurry of punches and kicks and struggling and the only real thing that irked Norrington about it was getting thrown into the street, damp from the bucket of mop water that had been dumped over them. As if they were a pair of squabbling cats.

Afterward, there was nothing for it but to dust himself off and continue his search. All the same, it was a very distasteful welcome back to the port that had once chewed him up and spat him back out.


Several days passed and Norrington was beginning to wonder if he'd been wrong or worse, if Sparrow was dead (he knew his situation was dire when the thought of Sparrow's death was considered a bad thing) when he heard a familiar voice in the back of the Faithful Bride (the proprietor had only kicked him out for the one night, but still kept a wary eye on him). Letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, Norrington spotted the pirate at a table with two beautiful women, a blond and a redhead, and they laughed at whatever he'd just said, paying him utmost attention. It was with a mixture of trepidation and shame that Norrington approached the table.

He laid a hand on the back of Jack's chair. "Sparrow, you and I need to have a little chat."

Jack froze, stopping mid-sentence at the sound of that familiar voice, and then lifted his head, turning slightly to better see the man behind him. Norrington stared smoothly back, letting him know that he meant business.

"You're supposed to be dead," Jack said.

Norrington allowed a humorless smile to grace his usually stoic features. "And yet here I am."

"I…er…see." Jack cleared his throat. "Why don't you two ladies run off for a bit." He stood, ignoring their pouting as they turned their backs to him, the blond swishing her skirts more dramatically then was necessary and for whose benefit Norrington wasn't sure, seeing as Jack was no longer paying them any attention. He was scrutinizing Norrington, taking in his attire, the dinged sword at his side, his hard expression. He pointed a finger accusingly. "You were stabbed."

"So I was," Norrington agreed. "What of it?"

"A stabbing's hard to come back from, mate. Everyone thinks you're dead."

Something clicked in Norrington's mind. "Someone's been telling the story then."

Seeing where he was going with this, Jack smirked. "Aye, she's alive, if that's what you're wondering. Got herself crowned pirate king. My doing, of course. Fought Davy Jones, survived, and we left her on a little island before sailing away. Oh and by the way, she's a Turner now." He said this last as if he couldn't believe it.

Norrington let out a breath of relief. That she'd married Turner didn't come as a surprise to him, but he was glad that she was alive.

"So. I don't expect you came all this way just to catch up with an old friend," Jack said. "Though if it's some sordid kind of revenge you're after, I'd suggest going after a certain blacksmith-turned pirate. Though I must warn you, he's immortal now."

This did come as a surprise. And Norrington found that he was suddenly very annoyed.

"It has nothing to do with any of that," Norrington snapped. "I recently encountered a pirate with whom I believe you're acquainted and who wishes to kill you."

"You'll have to narrow it down a bit, mate."

"His name is Jolly Roger."

For the second time, Jack froze. It lasted considerably longer this time and Norrington was about to say something when Jack pointed and shouted, "Look! A monkey!"

Too startled by this reaction to turn and look, Norrington was still staring at Jack when the pirate turned and ran away.

"W-what?!" Norrington stood in dumbfounded silence for a whole two seconds before taking off after him.

Jack bowled through people with no grace, earning startled protests, curses, and dirty looks from those he shoved aside. Norrington had a considerably easier time of it, slipping through the tunnel that Jack was creating as the crowd closed narrowly behind him. To think that all of Norrington's obsessing over the pursuit of this pirate would lead to this, a foot chase through a rowdy tavern. And he no longer even had any interest in capturing Jack Sparrow for the Crown. He wouldn't even be here – didn't want to be, in fact – if not for the idea that Jolly Roger may have actually cursed him with something horrible and ambiguous that had brought him back to life but sounded as if it had a very bad downside. And the only thing he knew about this Jolly Roger is that Jack Sparrow had once bested him in a card game. Yes, that was certainly reason enough to come all this way to this forsaken port in order to have a chat with his least favorite person.

Said least favorite person clearly hadn't thought out his plan to escape as Norrington was rapidly gaining on him and the crowd was steering him toward the bar.

"Sparrow!" Norrington shouted, irritated, and reached out to grab the man's arm when Jack turned and yelped and threw a pint of ale in his face.

"Oi!" the man whose drink Jack had thrown said, but his protest was ignored.

Blinking and wiping the stinging alcohol from his eyes, Norrington grabbed Jack by the arm in a vice-like grip and slammed him against the bar.

"I didn't come here to play games," Norrington hissed and because it had to be said, he sighed and added, "I need your help."

"Eh?" Jack stared at Norrington and the briefly confused expression he wore transformed into one of suspicion. He placed a hand over Norrington's sleeve and Norrington didn't resist as Jack removed his hand from his person.

"So you came crawling over here to request aid from an old friend, is that it?" Jack drawled. "Well that's just fine, mate. And I'm flattered. Truly. But frankly, I've had quite enough of you and your lot to last a lifetime ever since you tried to kill me and so I see no possible reason why you would go so far out of your way to ask for help from me. So why don't you run along and ask your little friends in the navy, eh? Or maybe those two funny blokes who can never agree on anything." He made as if to leave.

"Captain," Norrington tried again and Jack stopped.

"Ah, so you've finally remembered. Good for you."

"You know him." His voice was low. "You know Jolly Roger. You're afraid."

"Afraid is such a negative term. I prefer cautious."

"Whatever you wish to call it, you two have history. And not good history from what I've gathered.

"I still don't see what this has to do with you."

Norrington was loathe to admit it, but he had no choice. "I'm cursed."

"Welcome to the club, mate." Jack smirked.

Norrington answered with a scowl. "Surely you've seen the state of Jolly's men."

"Can't say that I have. Though if Jolly's condition is anything to go by, it must be atrocious. Wouldn't recommend it."

This exchange was really beginning to try Norrington's patience. "I came to you because you've had dealings with him in the past. And you're the only one I know who seems to deal with these sorts of things on a regular basis."

Jack was no longer trying to get away and was looking at Norrington in thought. "This Jolly Roger wants to kill me, you say?" That in and of itself was nothing new nor a surprise. "He doesn't happen to know where his quarry is, now does he?"

If Jolly Roger knew that Jack Sparrow was in Tortuga, they'd all know about it by now. Instead, Norrington said, "Yes, Sparrow, he knows exactly where you are and he's sailing this way even as we speak."

"You're lying."

"Am not." Norrington balked at the notion.

"You just want me to help you lift the curse. Well tough luck. You're stuck with it."

"What do you think will happen to you then? Jolly Roger is searching for you and he will find you. What then? Will you wait only until he's found you to figure out how to get away?"

"Yep."

Norrington's brow wrinkled in agitation. "Because we've all seen how well that works out. A frantic search all over the place to renege on your contract with Davy Jones when you had thirteen years to figure it out."

"I was busy."

"I'm sure. And now?"

Jack hesitated and Norrington knew he had him. "Dying is rather painful, isn't it?"

"Quite."

Jack spun on his heel and several long strides took him to the door which he swung open into the bright Caribbean air. "Mr. Gibbs!" he announced, "We are leaving."

Uncertain by this rapid turn of events and wanting to keep an eye on the untrustworthy pirate, Norrington joined him in time to see his first mate stand abruptly from the barrel he'd been sitting on.

"Cap'n?" He frowned at the look on Jack's face. "Weren't we to be havin' a bit of a break from all that considerin' all that's happened?"

"Said break, peaceful and hazy and filled with the pleasures that make life worth living as it was, is now over. Barbossa's been restocking the hold. I want the Pearl's bow pointed toward the horizon as soon as possible."

Gibbs looked uncertain as he replied, "Aye, Cap'n."

"Then step to it. And go get, er, everyone else. Anyone who's not on the ship when I'm ready to set sail gets left behind."

Jack didn't stay long enough to see if Gibbs carried out his orders, heading straight down to the docks and the Black Pearl which rested serenely in the harbor.

"I encountered Jolly Roger in Essequibo," Norrington said, following. "If we sail south around the coast of Hispaniola, we can probably meet him on the way. That is, if you've got a plan."

He wasn't sure if Jack Sparrow had heard or was electing to ignore him as he climbed the gangplank and cried out, "All hands! We will be leaving shortly so prepare to make sail. Quickly now!"

After a moment of confusion, the sailors leapt into action and scurried to their posts.

Norrington watched Jack warily as he ascended to the quarterdeck, shouting more orders. Then he surveyed the Tortugan harbor, took out his compass, examined it before putting it away again. After he'd run off at Isla Cruces, Norrington hadn't thought he would ever serve aboard the Pearl again. He only hoped this whole ordeal would be over with sooner rather than later.


Just out of sight of the southern coast of Hispaniola, the Harkaway cut through still waters. Even in the middle of a clear day, a darkness settled over wherever the Harkaway sailed, her sails tattered and torn yet somehow the vessel managed to sail without the aid of the wind, thus allowing her to sail at any angle to it, even against it.

On her rotted quarterdeck, Jolly Roger stood and surveyed the weather deck where silent crewmen went about unnecessary duties, swabbing a deck that never got any cleaner, adjusting the angle of sails that caught no wind. Mindlessly performing the habits they'd learned in life.

Jolly had been intrigued to come across the former naval officer in Essequibo. Before that night, he'd thought all of his kind had been either destroyed or converted. The method by which Norrington had become cursed was one he had utilized only once. He much preferred to curse men in person, with his own hands. It was far more reliable, his new followers easy to control. That time, that one time…that had been his rage.

Now, ever since Norrington had begun to awaken, he could sense the man's presence in much the way he could sense the presence of any of his crew. That feeling, vague, in his hollow chest, led northwest. No doubt, Norrington would seek out a way to undo his curse, a desperate attempt that would prove futile.

All the same, Jolly was eager to see what his wayward future-crewman would do.


"I'm tellin' ya, we got ten."

"Nah, it were nine."

"Uh-uh. Ten. That one we knocked overboard."

"Ya didn't knock 'im overboard, ya nitwit. He fell. So I say it were nine."

"But 'e still died, didn't 'e? That counts."

"Why you insufferable…!"

"Shut up, both of you. Idiots."

Pintel and Ragett shut up but continued to give each other dirty looks behind Barbossa's back. The three had returned to the docks and Barbossa seemed quite adamant about setting sail right away. However, whatever his plans had been were suddenly cut short as he stopped so suddenly that his two tag-alongs nearly ran into him.

At the end of the dock was a single dinghy.

"'s gone," Ragetti said.

"But how could it be gone?" Pintel said. "Ships don't just sail away."

"This one does," Ragetti said, pointing out to sea and sure enough, they could spot a black fleck making its way toward the horizon.

"Jack Sparrow," Barbossa growled, turning the name into a curse and he was visibly trembling with rage. "Get back here with my bloody ship!"