Chapter 4: Collisions

Now the Captain of the Artemis knew that time was running out for both herself and the ship. Understanding that her only chance was to jump into the bay, Andraste searched for some piece of wood to act as a raft. She was hardly in any condition to swim to shore given her leg. The blood alone would attract sharks uncounted and her splashing to stay afloat would do little to deter them. Balancing herself again on the edge of her swaying ship and biting back the yelp of pain as she put pressure on her leg, she surveyed the water for any debris the cannons may have caused. The only thing that caught her eye were two wooden planks that had been blown from the hull, both large enough to suit her purposes.

Grabbing her hat and holding it in one hand, Andraste dove off the edge of her ship, hitting the water with a loud splash. Luckily, she had aimed close enough and came bobbing to the surface a few feet away from her desired planks. She dog paddled the remaining feet and hurriedly stuck one plank beneath her knees and the other beneath her neck. Though unstable, the wood gave the Captain a good means to stay afloat, even if her blood was pooling in the water about her. Hopefully the sinking of the Artemis would be enough to deter any sensing sharks. If it wasn't…

She wasn't bobbing in the water for long; the Dauntless made all haste to sail its way towards her. Though while she didn't expect understanding from the marines, she wasn't prepared for their coarse handling. Obviously they were used to male prisoners, but as soon as she had pulled herself onto the main deck of the Dauntless (and what a climb that had been!) she was hauled brutally to her feet, leg wound and all, and clapped in irons. She was also looking up the barrels of several rifles pointed in her vicinity. Andraste could only try and keep herself alert, fighting the blood loss that made her light headed.

"Well, well, had your ship sunk did you, pirate?" came the voice of one Commodore James Norrington, the bane of pirates across the ocean.

The Captain removed her hat, pushing her fatigue aside, and gave a small bow. She allowed her charm to surface. She was Andraste Morgan Rose, a woman with a shipload of charisma; a well dressed, properly versed and dashing swashbuckler of the Caribbean Sea. "Commodore Norrington, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was wondering when we would finally meet." She smiled, "I'm Andraste Rose, captain of the Artemis." Andraste struggled with her shirt to get to her letter. She handed the wet bundle to the Commodore, "my letter of marque, sir. I am no pirate." She desperately hoped the man would be able to look past her sodden appearance.

Norrington only studied the smudging paper for a moment before handing it to a portly marine. He gave a forced smile, "your letter is no longer valid." At seeing the prisoner's subdued shock, the Commodore continued, "you attacked a British ship on route to Falmouth. You are no longer subject to the protection the Admiralty has placed upon you, ergo you are guilty of treason."

Andraste shook her head, absolutely adamant that she was innocent. "I attacked no British ships on my way to Falmouth. The last vessel that faced my guns was a Dutch ship in the Windward Passage. I know he was Dutch because he was flying Dutch colors and did not change them when he saw me."

"Three other merchant vessels saw you. Two of which reported you. When help arrived, what was left of the attacked ship was a smoking ruin and dead bodies. The survivors of the attack verified that it was your ship they encountered. You are quite guilty, Miss Rose. There is no denying it," the Commodore said matter of factly. "Lieutenant Gillette!"

"Aye, Commodore?"

"See to it that she's put in the brig until we're back to port. You can then escort our guest to Royale's prison and accommodate her with a cell."

Gillette nodded his head, "aye, aye, sir!" and had two of the marines grasp Andraste by the arms and haul her down to the Dauntless's brig.

When she was left alone, the Captain set about to ripping her black vest into a convenient bandage for her wounded thigh. The gold buttons were used to secure the vest in place and in the long run stem the bleeding. She could do nothing for the scrape across her back or her broken leg, and satisfied herself by thinking what she could do to prove her innocence.

Meanwhile, Commodore James Norrington paced about his cabin with his first Lieutenant following closely at his heels. They were discussing their recent capture of the female privateer–turned–pirate and the men who had escaped their grasp.

"Commodore, sir," began Gillette, "we could send out the Triumph and the Moore to follow them. They couldn't have gotten too far away."

Norrington sighed and turned to face his younger officer. They were seperated by a gap of six years, but the Commodore knew his first officer was on a track for greatness. Yet he lacked that drive that he had once had. Norrington had spent his youth training and climbed the ranks steadily forward, with only one misdemeanor to his name. He trusted Richard Gillette with his life; the young officer had never failed him in any respects, which is the reason why he had taken him under his wing in the first place. Yet at times he was too zealous and didn't consider the repercussions of his actions. "Mr. Gillette, to what end would our chase do? We would send them further out to sea and never catch them. No," James shook his head, "we shall bide our time."

Gillette looked sheepishly at his commanding officer from under long eyelashes. James had often reprimanded him on his quick-to-act nature, "patience is a virtue?"

The Commodore allowed himself to smile; he liked Richard. "You have taken that to heart, I presume?"

"Commodore's orders, sir."

Norrington gave a small laugh, removing the imperial air about him. It was only Richard and a few choice people who had seen him outside of the uniform; James was a lover of literature and music, not warfare and ships. Nonetheless, as soon as his wig was in place, the thoughtful demeanor evaporated like the ocean's spray on a ship's deck. When he was on duty, James was serious, commanding and even more intimidating. He was greatly admired by his crew and feared by all wrong doers.

Much like everyone else, Richard felt safe when James was about; his superior had everything in order on the ship and on the seas. He would lay down his life in instant to help him if it were needed or defend his commander's honor if any man dare slander it. With that devotion, he also wanted to protect his friend in personal matters. He knew of what had happened with Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner, he was there when it occurred, and couldn't help but feel sympathy for his commander.

When James wasn't looking, Gillette would often study him and notice the changes in his face. His eyes became sad and expressive, the jaw slackened somewhat and the posture slumped at the shoulders. It was on those rare occasions that the Commodore was entirely vulnerable; looking off across the distant expanse of sea and wishing for there to be something more. Even now, Lieutenant Gillette saw that vulnerability in his unguarded smile.

"Lieutenant? Is something wrong?"

Richard shook his head in a daze and averted his eyes respectfully. James had been more alert than he had judged. "No, sir."

Though not convinced, Norrington let the matter lie. Gillette had been strangely sensitive to his moods as of late. "Very well then, Lieutenant." There was some more talk between the two about repairs to Fort Charles before the conversation gradually died away. It left the two men in an uncomfortable silence, where one wanted the other to say something. Knowing that the ship was soon to dock, James thought it best to dismiss Richard so that he could take care of arrangements and gather the prisoner.

Gillette saluted, and stopped momentarily at the door. Bowing his head and strengthening his resolve, the Dauntless's first lieutenant made his way out into the sunshine.