Chapter 11
Disclaimer: I don't own them...yet. I have been told that anything's possible, so we'll see.
Author's note: Good news. I'm incredibly sick. Well, obviously this isn't good news for me but seeing as typing is the only thing I can do right now I can turn out another chapter incredibly quickly. Good news for you, I'd say. At least, I hope you think so.
A few quick notes:
Plasmolysed Cell Membrane-please don't stop reviewing. I look forward to hearing from you every time! And it does inspire me! I think when I recapture the good Captain Sparrow you get first call on him, being such a loyal reviewer.
Elderberry()-You bring up a good point, saying the crew might wonder about the good Commodore and Pearl sharing a bed. I thought of trying to write it into the story but, frankly, it's easier just to answer you. I'm assuming the regular crew, being used to pirates and some of them actually knowing Pearl, would be used to her doing what she does. Beyond teasing Norrington a bit I can't imagine them really caring. The officers, on the other hand, would probably be a different story. Of course, he is their superior officer and I've never been in the military, but I'm pretty sure questioning your superior on his bedroom habits wouldn't go over any better than questioning a pirate lass with an obsession with knives would. Gillette might be an exception, but he's made his feelings about Pearl abundantly clear up to this point.
I'll broach the Jack-in-a-closet topic at the end. I think I've kept you in suspense long enough.
It was well before dawn when Norrington awoke, sitting straight up in bed in alarm, trying to find a reason for him to feel that way. His dream, he realized even as it fled from his memory. He'd been having a nightmare. He wasn't sure what exactly it was about. Someone had been in danger, and he'd been running in circles too long to get to them.
Taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down he lay back on the bed. In the silence an odd noise came to him. Abandoning the bed he found his open window was the source. Leaning out he listened to the strained cords of a mournful fiddle. It had to be coming from the deck.
Pulling on a shirt he went up into the chill night air. Glancing up at the crow's nest he found his lookout hard at work. The music wafted down from the helm. Stronger now, the song seemed even more morose. He turned toward the helm, anger surging through him when he found it tied firmly in place. A ship with a broken rudder should never be left to steer itself.
He looked around for Pearl. The girl had insisted upon keeping to her steering overnight. She had called it a solution to the problem of their sleeping arrangements, and simply to avoid another raging argument he had agreed to it (or at least that's what he told himself).
The music rose and he found her sitting on the rail, feet dangling over the rushing waves as she swayed gently in the moonlight, moving with the notes she drew from the fiddle in her hands. Her eyes were closed, apparently to help her lose herself in the music, and he let himself indulge in her for just a moment.
Her skin was alabaster in the moonlight, dark lashes standing out in sharp contrast. The light glittered off of the silver beads in her hair and rings on her fingers as they flashed on the bow. She was positively breathtaking, something out of child's tale. A mermaid perhaps, or a siren. Yes, certainly, a siren sent to entice him. Even the music was sad and haunting, worming its way into his mind. He doubted he would ever forget the tune.
The music tapered off. He jumped when, without opening her eyes, she said, "Beautiful night, isn't it, Commodore?"
"I would say so. That was a beautiful song."
"Thank you," she said, putting down the bow.
"What was it called?"
"Lost Lindi. It's about a prostitute who falls in love with a sailor who drowns."
"Sounds uplifting," Norrington remarked.
"Oh, it is. Right up until she throws herself off of a cliff. It's sort of a warning. Prostitutes and pirates don't love for good reason. This is a reminder. Do you play?"
"The fiddle? No. I took lessons on the piano when I was younger."
"Ah, yes, as every proper young boy of breeding aught," she answered. "Very practical of you."
"Do you play the piano at all?" he asked.
"No. I could have learned, I suppose. The tavern down the street had a piano. It just never appealed. I'd prefer to sing, really. Have to live up to my name."
"Your name?" he repeated.
"Siren," she answered. "Pearl Siren Sparrow. If I didn't sing I wouldn't have earned the name my mother gifted me with."
He couldn't help but stare. This too closely echoed his thoughts from moments before. And who named their daughter Siren? A prostitute, he supposed. Gesturing to the rail next to her, ever the gentleman, he asked, "May I?"
She shrugged. "It's your ship."
He sat, staring at the moonlight sparkling on the water. "It's beautiful out here at night."
Pearl nodded agreement. "I'm always first to volunteer for night watch. I love it."
As he watched the wind lifted, brushing them and causing her trinkets to tinkle gently as they brushed one another. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, sighing softly as if it were a lover's caress rather than the wind.
He pushed that thought firmly out of his mind. "Not going to storm, is it?"
Without opening her eyes she shook her head. "Clear sailing all the way to Port Royal."
"What's it like?" he asked. "Your connection with, you know, the winds or whatever."
She chuckled. "'Winds or whatever,'" she muttered. "I can't explain it any better than that, so don't worry about it. It's closer to an older brother, just sending me a heads up that everything is fine."
"What about when we get a storm?"
She shrugged. "So my brother isn't very even tempered. He always gives me plenty of warning."
"If you ever decide to go straight with the law there'll always be a place on my ship. I don't care if you are a woman," he told her.
"Now that's an interesting picture," Pearl remarked.
He chuckled agreement. "Can I ask you something?"
"You just did," she returned. "You can ask, but you'll meet Davy Jones before I promise to answer." Her dark eyes skewered him, moonlight swirling in their depths.
Commodore Norrington, the man who had faced down death and pirates a hundred times, was suddenly uncomfortable under the woman's gaze. "What's it like, being a pirate?"
She grinned, at which he opened his mouth to defend himself. She held up a hand to forestall him. "No, no. It's normal to be curious. Honestly, it's like freedom, pure and simple. And the fact that you can lose that in a heartbeat makes it that much better. 'Take what you can, give nothing back.' Live life to the fullest, never apologize, and never look back and think 'if only.' Can you even imagine a life like that?"
"No," he answered thoughtfully.
"But you get something out of that bargain too."
"What's that?"
"Oh, honor mostly. You can say you've never in your life lain hands on what doesn't belong to you. You have your own set of rules and you stick to them. Yours just happen to be the King's Laws rather than the Pirate's Code. And then the whole getting into heaven thing sounds like a good deal."
He looked over at her. "You...know about that?" he asked.
"Well, of course. Our fair share of men have sailed into Tortuga to 'save' us. It sounds like a good deal and all except for the fact that you can't have any fun. And one made the mistake of leaving me with a Bible--assumed I couldn't read, I think. The whole stoning prostitutes to death didn't lay too well with me."
He shook his head. "A part of me envies you though. I mean, you've probably seen things in your lifetime that I'll never be able to imagine. And I do suspect you've had a good deal more fun than me."
She laughed. "I'd drink to that, if I had any rum. But I'd wager you're happier with your honor intact."
"Yes," he agreed.
"We do what we must, and as much as we can to secure our happiness within the confines of the first," she remarked.
"Where did you read that?" he asked.
She shrugged. "No where. I just thought it up."
"You're very talented."
"Just because I can spout nonsense as pompously as some University boy? Nah. You know, I'm sure there are things you could do, within the confines of the Bible and the Royal Navy, that you'd enjoy. You know, to live life to the fullest."
He shook his head, leaning back on his arms. "I have a reputation to uphold."
She paused to look around the empty deck, then up at the lookout, who was staring off in the opposite direction. "Not right now. There's no one here but you and me."
"What are you suggesting?"
"If you could do any one thing right now, no matter how wild and crazy, what would it be?"
He laughed. "Pearl, I don't think this is appropriate."
"That's exactly the point!" she returned. "Come on, what do you say? Grab a rope and jump into the water. Sing a sonnet, dance naked under the full moon!" He laughed out loud at that one. "Come on, I could play for you. Hell, I could dance with you."
"You wouldn't!" he cried.
"I would. I've done it before. Crazy gypsies, don't ask. But I have." They both sat there laughing for several minutes before finally settling down. "Seriously, though, Edward, if you could do any one thing right now, what would it be?"
"Honestly?"
She leaned forward to look into his eyes. "Honest to whatever-deity-might-be-watching-over-us."
"This."
Later he would blame it on the stars and the moonlight and the sounds of water rushing beneath them and salt air in their faces. In his own mind he even blamed the damn beads glittering in her hair. But the truth was, it was simply the one thing he wanted to do most in the world at that moment.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her stiffen in surprise. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. But after the shock passed she seemed to melt into him, tilting her head to better meet him.
Unfortunately, that was how long it took Norrington to get over his shock at his own audacity. He pulled back quickly. Pearl followed until it became a matter of pulling back or falling head over heals into the water. It was something she might have chanced had she not still been holding her fiddle.
She didn't move, remaining stretched out on the rail, leaning lazily on one arm which still held her bow, coking one eyebrow up at the furiously blushing Commodore. "Um, I, that is, don't know what-"
"Well, I could tell you," she answered, sliding closer. "It's called a kiss. Men and women do it all the time. Come to think of it, men do it often enough on long sea voyages. And women in Tortuga, but that'll cost you extra-"
"Please stop!" he gasped. "I'm sorry." He turned, climbing over the rail to escape the woman. "I don't know what came over me. Please forgive me."
She shrugged, straightening. "Nothing to forgive," she assured him. "It was what you wanted to do. In fact, I certainly wouldn't object to doing it again." She straightened, carefully depositing her fiddle in the wooden case before advancing on him. He took a step back, but she was faster and more determined. In no time she was in his face, grinning like a minx. "Maybe we could take a trip to your cabin." She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him against her. She leaned forward to nip at his neck. He couldn't help the groan that sprung to his lips. "It's been too long since I've had a man, and you're a magnificent specimen. We could have some fun."
"The ship!" he interrupted suddenly as he realized what a spectacle he was making of himself. What if the lookout saw? What was he thinking? This was completely unlike him.
"Huh?" Pearl questioned.
"The ship is broken. The rudder."
"I know," she answered, looking up at the usually collected man who was suddenly prattling.
"It shouldn't be tied up. You should be watching it."
"It's all right. We're on a straight course. This'll keep us until noon tomorrow, easily. We could just slip off for an hour or two. No one would notice." She drew close again, approaching with a new swagger to her hips. "You know, I did grow up with prostitutes. I could teach you things-"
"To the helm. That's an order. I'm going to bed. Stay here. Just stay."
She watched him rapidly retreat to his cabin, shaking her head. "I hate the skittish ones," she muttered, carefully stowing her fiddle more securely in its wooden case before returning to her ordered post at the helm and idly checking the compass to find them right on course.
Staring out at the ocean before her she leaned forward onto the wheel and sang lazily, "And really bad eggs."
Final note: I know, it's a little short, but I just updated so you should all be happy.
"Now let's check the closet o' rum." Gleefully scampers over to fling open the door "What have we here? Pixie," tossing Tinkerbell over her shoulder "fairy, nymph, sprite," (these are all different things. If you don't know the difference you should take steps to educate yourself. This is important stuff!) "Elf"
"Greetings my Lady."
"Watch who you're calling Lady. I'm no Lady." pauses to consider the blond beauty "But I think I'll keep you anyway. Why don't you go, you know, hang out."
"Yes, my Lady."
Watches the intoxicated elf walk away with glee "What else? Leprechaun." Pulls small, squirming, red-haired creature out of the closet as it screams "RUM!" Throws him over her shoulder
"No Sparrow! Dagnabit! Maybe I need pirate booty. Where did my cousin's Pretty, Pretty Princess game go?" Leprechaun runs back to launch into the closet "No! Listen you obsessive-compulsive, alcoholic excuse for a midget, this is not for you!"
"RUM!"
"No rum. You-" Stops as inspiration strikes "You can only have rum on one condition."
"RUM!"
"Yes, rum. I need you to go find a friend of mine and bring him back."
"RUM!"
"Yes, I know. I'll give you lots of rum if you go get my friend. His name is Jack. Jack Sparrow. He's a pirate."
"And you give rum?"
"Yes, if you bring him back."
"What look like?"
"Well, my verbally challenged friend, he's a pirate. He's incredibly hot and has kohl paint all around his eyes and-"
"Me find you give rum?"
"Yes, if you find him and bring him here. Alive. That part is very important."
"And me get rum?"
"Yes."
Leprechaun laughs maniacally and runs off.
Well, there you have it folks. Let's just sit back and wait. In the mean time, reviews make my fingers fly over this keyboard.
Next up: Tortuga again! Imagine all the trouble these two can get into in a town where morals are shunned as strongly as law enforcement. Tee hee.