Disclaimer: Let's see, what I would do if I owned them . . .not get seriously indebted trying to pay for college, for starters . . .but since I don't, and only borrow them temporarily, returning them slightly the worse for wear, we'll not do anything nutty like suing me, eh?
AN: First time writing or posting, though I've been reading fan fic for about two and a half years now, so please be kind. Constructive criticism welcomed, suggestions welcomed (especially when concerning a better title), flames will be forwarded to Barbosa in that deepest circle of hell that Jack talked about unless they can be put to better use . . .
A Taste of Misery
Part 3
Brian Lanebridges stood ramrod straight, sweat running down his back as the Commodore led him into the office. He wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen, but he doubted it would be something that he liked.
Norrington settled behind his desk, leaning his elbows on the desk and fixing Brian with his stare while gesturing the young man to take a seat across the desk from him.
"You've been here how long?"
Brian sat as straight as he possibly could. "Approximately six months, sir."
"Yes, that's what I thought. During this time, I have seen that you are a fair judge of people, Brian."
The silence stretched as Brian realized that Norrington wanted a reply. "Uh . . .I . . .I suppose so, sir. As good as anyone."
"Yes, definitely, but I'd also say better than most." Norrington's eyes swept over the nervous lad.
"You weren't here the last two times Sparrow was imprisoned here."
Brian nodded.
"You had never heard of Jack Sparrow until rumors of the incident at Port Jade became common."
Again, Brian nodded.
"You never laid eyes on him before they brought him here two days ago."
Again, Brian nodded.
"I assume that the answers are the same for Silverfirth and his servant."
Brian nodded yet again, wondering where this was leading, his neck beginning to ache from the short, military nods.
"Good. Then tell me what you think of the situation."
"I . . .I . . .sir, I . . .uh . . ."
"Calm down, lad, I'm not going to take your head off. I just want an honest opinion from an outsider."
Brian hesitated a moment more, balancing truth and loyalty, eyeing the commodore warily before deciding that it did indeed seem likely that the man was seeking truth.
"Sir, I've seen pirates and thieves and murderers and rapists during my service, but I've never seen anyone like Sparrow." Brian paused, cocking his head. "From what I've seen of him, I would normally believe that he didn't have the heart to do . . .that."
"Yes, go on."
"Yet Silverfirth and his servant both swear that he's the man, him and his bloody cursed ship."
"The ship isn't cursed anymore, Brian, but please continue."
"I . . .sir, I don't like Silverfirth or the brown-haired man very well. There's something . . .dark about them, a kind of savage glee and cold hatred that I always used to associate with pirates, but that is, at the moment, missing from Jack Sparrow."
Norrington stared at the young man, still sitting ramrod straight in the chair, and then nodded slowly. "I thank you for your time and your input, Brian. You may return to duty."
The commodore rose as the boy rushed out as quickly as protocol would allow. He strode to the open window and stared out at the harbor, where ships of every size and description lay at anchor . . .every size and description save the one that he needed.
The boy had struggled to put into words what the Commodore himself had felt, despite his act in front of the Turners. He had wanted to see the pirate's reaction to them, and, just as importantly, their reaction to the pirate.
It had been a bitter lesson, learning that justice was not always done by the law, that the right thing to do could not always be the just thing to do. It was a lesson that cost him the hand of the woman who had steadily claimed his heart since the day that he met her, a precocious young girl enamored of adventure who had steadily bloomed into a vibrant young woman. Oh, how he envied Turner.
Oh, yes, a bitter lesson, but he had learned it well, if slowly, and there was something wrong with what was happening. He had heard tales of the Pearl over the years, and while he supposed that they should bring him guilt, none of them really had . . .in fact, most of them had been rather amusing . . .until Jade. Much as he disliked the pirate, Sparrow did seem to be better than most of his ilk. What happened at Jade didn't seem at all like something he would have done . . .in fact, it seemed like nothing that any pirate would have done, but what other options were there?
Everything that Jack Sparrow had done—or, rather, not done—during his stay as he awaited the gallows added to Norrington's feeling of unease. There was something not right with the man.
Then there were Silverfirth and his scarred servant. His feelings for Silverfirth were even more strongly divided. The man had been of importance at Port Jade, and Norrington had met him before, though not the man who traveled with him now, a man of medium build, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with three scars down one cheek, most likely from a lost duel. He should be able to trust Silverfirth, his intellect and experience told him, but his instincts cried out that not all was right with the man.
Where was that bloody pirate ship?
Norrington had expected to see the Pearl, or at least hear of her presence in the waters, almost immediately. The crew had already proven their loyalty to Sparrow by breaking the code and returning for him during the fiasco of an execution.
Why would they abandon Sparrow now?
Were they dead? Was that what had caused the change in the man?
Or had Sparrow snapped, ordered something so horrible that even bloody pirates couldn't live with themselves in the aftermath?
Was that why he was alone at Port Jackson, where Silverfirth captured him after searching for five months?
Norrington sighed, pounding his hand lightly on the windowsill before returning to his desk, unanswerable questions flitting through his mind, distracting him from what needed to be done to keep Port Royal running smoothly.
Finally giving up in frustration, he determined to call on the Turners in the morning, and see if they had sensed anything amiss.
In the meantime, he would just have to live with the queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach that told him all was not right the world.
