Chapter 10
Disclaimer: Okay, you've gotten it out of me. Brace yourself. A good half of these characters aren't mine. Shocking, isn't it? But Pearl is, so hands off!
Author's note: I love you all sooooo much. Such wonderful reviewers I have! I love you so much I'm going to wait until the end of the chapter to yammer at you.
Norrington sat at his desk, listening to the wind howling outside. The wind drove against his window with the sound of rocks rapping on glass. He silently hoped that the glass wouldn't break, then realized how trivial that really was. The glass could be easily replaced. If they had been in open water they would have all drowned over an hour ago.
A knock sounded on the door. "Come," he ordered. "What took so long?"
He found himself looking at Port, who more closely resembled a drowned rat at the moment. The heavily bearded man was dripping on the very expensive Persian rug. "Where's Pearl?" he demanded. He'd sent the man to find her nearly half an hour ago. "Did you go looking for her on deck?"
"Aye, and that's where I found her."
"What?!" Norrington cried, jumping out of his chair.
"Some of the riggin's come loose. I couldn't talk her inside. Figured you'd worry if I didna' appear soon."
"That blasted fool!" he cried, shrugging into his coat.
"You don't know the half of it," Port said. "She ain't commin' in 'till everything's tight."
"She will if I have to carry her kicking and screaming!" he replied, slamming the door behind him.
"Aye, that's what it'll take. Want me to come?"
"No. Go join the crew. Enjoy your night off," he ordered as he braced himself against the roaring wind.
"Aye sir. She's at the helm," he added before disappearing.
The storm was worse than he had figured on. No lightning, only wind and driving rain coming down as if a bucket poured over his head. He had to hold to the railing to keep from being blown overboard as he made his way slowly toward the helm. Sure enough there she was, rope coiled around one arm as she tugged at a piece of rigging.
"What are you doing?" he demanded as soon as he was close enough.
"Commodore," she greeted cheerfully. "Fancy meeting you here. Fine weather, isn't it?"
She looked like a drowned rat as well. Her coat was wrapped firmly around herself, her hat long gone. Her hair had completely escaped all attempts to tame it. It was now plastered over her fair face, dripping into her eyes. She didn't seem to notice or care.
"Are you insane?!" he screamed.
"For the last time, yes! I've almost got it. Here, hold this," she ordered, handing him a rope.
"You have to come insi-ah!" he cried as the rope nearly pulled his arm out of the socket.
She caught it quickly, tugging it back into place. He was impressed by the strength in such a light frame.
"Brace yourself," she ordered. "Got it?"
"I think so," he yelled over the howling wind.
She nodded, replacing it to grab another length and tie them together. "Let go," she ordered. The rope snapped firmly into place. "You should do real work with your men occasionally."
"And you should come inside," he called back.
To his immense surprise after giving a sigh she nodded. "All right. Lead the way."
Unsteadily he made his way below deck and into his cabin. She followed silently. Taking a moment to study her he realized she had to be exhausted after fighting the storm for half an hour or better. "I'll get you something to dry off with," he said, dropping his coat and moving to pull out a few heavy blankets. He turned back to her and stopped, mouth hanging open.
She had taken off her dripping coat and draped it over a chair, which made little enough difference as the white shirt underneath was equally wet, completely see-through, and plastered to he slim form. He looked away quickly, crossing the room to drape the blanket around her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said, sounding completely unaware as she snuggled into the warmth before crossing the room to dig through her bag and emerge with a white night gown. She caught his eye and chuckled. "What, you thought I slept in breeches?"
"I certainly didn't expect a skirt," he answered with a shrug.
"Yes, well, just be thankful I don't sleep nude, like certain pirate captains I could name."
"Ug. As if I need that picture in my head," Norrington remarked.
"Tell me about it. He's my father. Would you mind?" she asked, twirling her finger to indicate he should turn his back.
"Suddenly you're shy?" he asked with a chuckle as he complied.
"No, but I know you are. What did you want anyway?"
"What?" he asked.
"You sent Port after me. What did you want?"
"Oh, that. Just to thank you. You saved our lives. If I hadn't listened to you we'd be on the bottom of the ocean."
"Don't thank me too much. I had ulterior motives. I didn't want to visit old Davy just yet. Asides, it took a lot of guts for you to order it based solely on some pirate lass' word. That's the kind of call for a Captain to make. Or Commodore as the case may be."
"I knew you wouldn't lead us astray," he answered. "Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if it hadn't stormed?"
"Tried to talk my way out of it. In the end I would have done exactly what I promised. You would have picked up Jack and I would have waited until you were asleep, stolen the key, and gotten him out."
Norrington laughed. "I might have known."
"You have to be specific when negotiating terms with a pirate. Don't leave them any room to wiggle out. You can turn around now."
He obeyed, and gasped quietly at the vision before him. Backlit by the sole candle in the room she glowed in the simple white cotton shift, thin enough that he could clearly see her curves. Her hair was fiery, lit by the flickering orange light to an ungodly red that made her look aflame, her bronzed skin glowing in the light.
She yawned, not looking at him as she continued to rub at her damp hair. "Do you have a brush I could borrow? I forgot to bring one."
"Certainly," he agreed, shaking himself out of his open-mouthed stare to pull one out of a drawer.
She took a moment to study the gold-inlayed-red bird on the back. "Phoenix?" she asked.
"What?" he responded.
"Is this a Phoenix?" she repeated.
"Oh, yes. My family crest."
"I like it," Pearl remarked. "But then again I'm partial to birds. Thank you, by the way," she added, settling into the chair to tug at her matted hair. "Don't let me stop your getting out of those wet cloths. I promise not to peak, if that helps."
"Thank you," he said, moving to do just that. He pulled on his softest pair of breeches and favorite cotton shirt. Turning back he found her still tugging at her tangled hair. "You're just making it worse." Crossing the room he took the brush from her hand. "You have to start at the bottom and work up."
"Hmm. You're good at this," she remarked as he carefully untangled the beaded bits and began brushing in long, soothing strokes, gripping the hair close to the roots so it didn't tug at her scalp. "Have you done it before?"
"My sister. It used to lull her to sleep," he answered.
"I suppose she was horribly murdered by pirates as well," Pearl remarked in a sleepy voice.
"No. She's still in England. Happily married."
"Lucky her," she sighed, voice tinged by exhaustion.
Stopping Norrington pulled the tangled hair she had pulled out from the brush. "Well, I'm done. About sleeping arrangements-"
"We can quibble tomorrow," she said with a wave of her hand, rather half-hearted at that. The first half-hearted thing he had ever seen her do. "I'm too tired to sleep anywhere else tonight. I promise to keep my hands to myself. I'll be asleep in no time anyway," she said with a very convincing yawn.
"All right," he sighed, leaning over to pick her up.
She squealed, throwing an arm around his neck. "What are you doing?"
"Putting you in bed. You're exhausted." He paused to blow out the candle before carrying the woman to his bed.
She sighed contentedly, snuggling her head into his chest. "No argument here. You smell good."
He laughed at that. "You must be really tired."
"Actually, it's just been way too long since I had a man. Different type of tired, I guess you could say. Wanna help with that?" Her finger was suddenly tracing lazy circles on his chest through the fabric of his shirt.
"You promised to keep your hands to yourself," he scolded, too tired to get really angry himself. It was probably for the better, considering how well she had used his anger earlier.
"You can always revoke the promise."
He chuckled as he lay her down in the bed. "But I won't. Sleep," he ordered.
"You aren't my father," she informed him with a yawn as she snuggled into the bed and pulled the covers up.
"A fact I'm glad for every day," he returned. By the time he climbed into the other side her breathing was deep and regular.
The pounding of the rain coupled with the violent rocking of the ship held him awake. The tempting female form beside him certainly didn't help matters either. In the darkness she rolled toward him and he took the opportunity to study her. Her face gave the appearance of openness and innocence, all except for the crooked nose. The freckles, although mostly hidden under the hard tan and weathered cheeks, lent to the appearance of youth. It was a look she was adept at using to further her own ends.
He wondered silently why he didn't just give into the impulses she was so talented at voicing. There was the obvious: it wasn't a good idea for Commodores to sleep with young pirate girls. And she was a girl, whatever she might say about such things. On the other hand she was hardly sweet and innocent. Considerably less than him, most likely, and he was a long way from such things himself.
And beautiful. Simply gorgeous, and she knew how to use it. If they had been in Port Royale, if she really was Bethany Maltrey, he wouldn't hesitate in pursing her. Hadn't, in fact. But this wasn't a matter of marriage. It was merely a way to sate their passions. So why did he hesitate so much more over this than he would over a marriage proposal? Because that was what he needed, he knew. Too much of what she herself said was true. He needed a wife to stay at home and host parties and sew. Not to sail off into the sunset and never see again.
She scooted closer and he could feel her shivering. Of course she was cold, after standing in that wind and still being soaked to the bone. Probably getting pneumonia. Even in her sleep she was responding to his warmth.
Reaching out he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. There was nothing wrong in just keeping her warm, after all. She was asleep. What harm could she do?
She responded automatically to the offered warmth, even in her sleep. She cuddled close, rolling onto her side to fit herself against him. Unable to stop himself he buried his nose in her hair, smelling the unique scent of salt, night air, and her own slightly spicy scent. He thought perhaps he detected just a hint of rose as if left over from some long-lost bath, but convinced himself he had to be hallucinating that part. It had been too long since he'd had a warm woman in his bed and that was all there was to it.
Eventually he fell asleep with her cuddled up warm and soft beside him.
"Commodore?" He rolled away from the sound that was pulling him away from his warm comfort of a very nice dream. "Commodore, the sun is well up. You had best get out of bed."
He opened his eyes to find Port standing beside the bed. Seeking arms found no sign of the woman that had been in his bed the night before. "Where's Pearl?"
"On deck. Has been for hours now. One of the sails pulled loose in the storm. It ain't too bad but the rope had to be replaced and she's been helpin' with that. She told us to let you sleep."
"You should have woken me," he said.
"She said you'd say that. Join us when you're ready." With that he strode off.
Norrington lay there for a few moments, reveling in the remembered feel of her body fit comfortably against his as her smell, still on the sheets, filled his nose.
Finally he forced himself out of bed. He pulled on his boots and still-damp jacket, wishing bitterly for his spares which now rested somewhere in the bottom of the ocean only slightly drier and cleaner than the one he now wore.
He strode quickly up onto deck, running his eyes over the crew. He could find no sign of Pearl, but before he could look more carefully Gillette approached. "Good morning Commodore. Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough, considering the storm," he answered. "Port said we had a sail come down."
"Yes, but it is being replaced as we speak," he said with a wave toward the crew crawling on the mast. "It's the rudder what worries me. Something is wrong with it."
"What?" Norrington asked.
"Can't say as I know, but Pearl seemed to. Wouldn't tell me a word, just trotted around looking superior."
"Sounds right. Where is she?"
Gillette looked at him as if he had lost his mind and motioned toward the mast. "Right there, of course."
He saw her immediately then. Her coat and hat were gone-he located them by the rail in a pile beside a coil of rope. Her hair was pulled back and the arms of her shirt were rolled up to her shoulders. She was sweating in the Caribbean heat as she worked alongside the men, pulling the thick, stubborn ropes taunt. She moved along the thin wood with a grace anyone would have envied. He noticed that she was barefoot, a habit most of the men favored when aloft.
Looking down she caught his eye and waved. Saying something to the men that made them laugh she turned and slid down to approach. As she came toward them he noticed the threaded slit of her shirt she had left open to catch the breeze revealing just a glimpse of bust. Quickly he looked up, gluing his eyes to hers.
"Good morning Commodore," she greeted politely. "Gillette."
"I see the sail is coming along well," Norrington said before Gillette could comment.
"Nearly done. It's the rudder that worries me. We've thrown the chain on the port side."
"You're kidding," Norrington moaned.
"Nope. Come see." She led them up to the helm.
Someone had tied off the wheel despite the fact that they still had the anchor down. Throwing the rope off she spun the wheel one-handed. It spun easily, the sail behind them shifting into place. When the sail reached the end of its swing the wheel stopped, bobbing lazily. Norrington groaned again. With the rudder chain firmly in place the wheel would never have turned that easily and would have come to a more solid stop.
"It'll take us three days to get to Port Royale in this condition," Gillette remarked. "Maybe four, but it's the closest port we're going to find."
Pearl cleared her throat, drawing both men's attention. "Actually, there is another port closer by. It would only take us one, maybe two days to get there."
"Where?" Norrington asked.
"Ah, therein lies the problem. I would have to ask for your word that you would never conduct a raid on this place yourself. At least, not unless someone else gave you the location. You too, Gillette, by whatever will hold you."
"Where on this bloody earth do you want to take us? The devil's keep?" Gillette demanded.
"Close," Pearl answered.
"Tortuga," Norrington put in. "I know it's out here somewhere."
"You have to be kidding me!" Gillette cried. "Take Port in the biggest pirate's nest in the world? And give our word never to come after it?"
"They won't touch your ship, or you, if that's what you're worried about."
"Why not?" Gillette demanded.
"Because I'll tell them not to."
"And why would they listen to you?"
"Because I'm Pearl Sparrow." She spread her arms wide, meandering lazily around them and gesturing as if telling some epic tail. "Daughter of Captain Jack Sparrow, and Diamond Staller. There isn't a man in Tortuga as won't do what I tell him, when I tell him. Savvy?"
"I doubt that," Gillette said.
"Well, it may not be strictly true, but it's close. What do you say, Commodore?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "It's better than floating along in this damn ocean. All right. There's just one problem. Your father made off with all the gold. We don't have any way to pay for repairs."
"They'll do it on my word," she assured him. "They can either send a massager to Port Royale to pick up the gold or you can hand it off to me to take to Tortuga."
"You trust me?" he asked in something close to astonishment.
"Despite the fact that it's against my better nature, yes, I do. And if you stick me I'll just use some of the spare slag Jack has lying around."
"All right. Just give us the direction and we'll be on our way," Norrington demanded.
Pearl made no answer, simply grinned up at him over the two inches he had on her. Understanding dawned on him suddenly and he groaned. "You're not going to give us the coardinants, are you?" Still grinning she shook her head. "You're going to insist on taking the helm, aren't you?" This received a wider grin, if it was possible, as she nodded.
"Surely not!" Gillette cried.
Pearl smiled innocently now, tossing her short locks and causing the beads in her hair to click against one another. "Captain's in my blood, and I'll play whatever advantage I can to see to it that I end up at the helm."
Norrington sighed, then suddenly brightened. "Port knows the way."
Pearl shook her head and rolled her eyes. In a sing-songy voice she chanted, "He won't take you."
"Why not?"
"Because you're a Commodore. He's not going to lead you into the greatest nesting ground for pirates in the world."
"You're willing enough," Gillette pointed out.
"I'm the daughter of a legendary pirate, and not far from a legend myself. I can get away with things others can't."
Gillette groaned. "We're doomed."
Norrington nodded. "I'm inclined to agree." He calmed himself by force of will. Getting angry with her would get him absolutely no where. She had proven that all ready. If she meant them any harm, if she had any intention of stealing the ship, she would have done it by now. And they owed her a debt for keeping them from the storm. "She did save our lives last night. I want to make it abundantly clear that that is the ONLY reason I'm letting you do this."
"You're the Commodore," she answered sweetly.
"I'm only ever going to hear that when I'm doing what you want, aren't I?" he asked.
"Yep," she answered happily. "Let's get this ship turned around. Hoist the sails, lads. We've work to do!"
Norrington sighed as she strode out to help round up the sailors. "And just like that she's the captain," Gillette sighed.
"You have to admit, she is good at it."
"She is that."
Final note: For all of you still waiting for your Jack time I promised you long about chapter 7 or so, fear not! No, I haven't recaptured him yet, but I have a foolproof plan. Just look. Opens closet door to reveal a towering pile of run See? How can he resist? I don't even have to rig the door to close on him. He'll just drink himself stupid and collapse. He's much easier to handle that way, between you and me. Wink I'll have him back by the next chapter yet!
Speaking of which, next chapter Pearl volunteers for night watch and everyone's favorite Commodore gets restless. I can't imagine why. Reviews make writing go faster! And gets you lots of my love. Don't you want to be loved?