Disclaimer:  I've been wishing upon all the stars I see, but I think all the magic I might ever have possessed in being siphoned into this writing . . .in other words, still not mine . . .

AN:  People are still reviewing—and still reviewing happily—which makes the author exceedingly happy—couple that with insomnia left over from the last two months of school when she was writing two research papers, doing two research boards, and studying for three excessively evil exams (the other three were pathetic), and people get more chapters quickly, she gets more reviews, and everyone is happy!  My muse is still having problems with the climax of this story—which should be in the next one or two chapters—so be forewarned.

AN2:  Despite what my father now fervently believes, I am not a bloody nutter of a teenager!

A Taste of Misery

Part 12

Norrington sat as straight and as still as he could, his back beginning to ache from the strain.  His neck was starting to cramp from watching the gesticulating Silverfirth storm back and forth across his office.

He no longer had any worries about how he was going to tell the rest of the garrison that Sparrow wouldn't hang and that an investigation was being held into his connection to the Port Jade massacre.

In fact, he was fairly certain that the entire port knew that Sparrow might be cleared of at least one of his crimes, given the volume with which Silverfirth had protested.

It had been at least a solid half-hour since he summoned the man and his servant to his office, and he was beginning to wonder if he was going to be the one prematurely deaf.  Surely the man's throat must hurt like the devil after all the screaming that he had just done—was continuing, by some minor miracle, to do.

"The man murdered my wife, for God's sake!  He hacked her head off!  He disemboweled my daughter and left her to die in agony!  He shot at me!  Do you want to see the scar?!  I should have died with them, but by his grace God left me free so that I could find the man and see to it that he never did this again to anyone else!  I saw him as clearly as I see you!  There's no mistaking that brand or the tattoo, or the bloody demon himself!  I brought him back to Port Royal because I knew that you had already tried to hang him twice, and would think on it as a favor!  Now, now, when justice is about to be served, when you have my word that he's the bloody bastard who did the deeds, who ordered the priest crucified and the children flayed alive and—"

Norrington considered breaking the stream of babbling, deciding that hearing the register of the crimes for a fourth time would be utterly pointless.  Obviously the man wasn't going to stop on his own anytime soon—in fact, he seemed prepared to keep repeating himself until Armageddon came, and to continue to restate the same arguments in whatever afterlife he found himself in.

The image of Satan having to listen to the man scream for all eternity about how he had been wronged almost brought a smile to Norrington's face, but the ache that had steadily been building between his ears made it quite easy to resist the urge.

If the man wouldn't stop on his own, then perhaps a little shock therapy was in order.

"Were you supposed to kill the girl in return for the name and description?"  Norrington broke in smoothly over the diatribe.

Silverfirth stopped dead, the color draining out of his face so rapidly that Norrington thought he would faint.

"What are you talking about?"

"No, he wouldn't ask that of you.  He needed you to have faith in him.  Maybe he planned on slipping away to finish the job, but he couldn't get away from you.  Or maybe he thought, rather incorrectly, that no one could possibly find her, and that if they found her, no one could possibly make sense of what she said, and that if they did make sense of it, they wouldn't believe her.  He was wrong on all accounts, if such was his thinking."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Norrington."  No color had returned to Silverfirth's face, and his voice, so strong and sanctimonious moments ago, was now a harsh whisper.

"Oh, but I think that you do.  I think you know who and what I'm talking about, and you're perfectly right.  You should have died that day defending your wife and daughter, but you weren't there."

Norrington flicked his eyes around the room, searching for Alsworn.  Goading the assassin might not be the most intelligent thing in the world to do, but Norrington doubted that the man would take the risk of killing the fort commander in his own fort.

He froze as he realized that he and Silverfirth were the only two people in the room.

As if of its own accord, his hand shot out and grabbed Silverfirth by the shirtfront.

"Where is he?"

Silverfirth stared mutely at the commander.

"Damn you, man, how long has he been gone?"

When Silverfirth merely continued to stare at him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Norrington had his answer.  He released Silverfirth and stepped back.

"May you rot in the lowest circle of hell, you bastard.  You'll have more innocent blood on your hands before the day is through."  Turning on his heel, he walked out the door with as much dignity as he could muster before breaking into a run, sweat streaming down his back.

No, he would not dare take down the commander in his own fort, but a pirate captain locked in a cell?

A half hour was close enough to eternity when dealing with a trained killer.