It promised to be a bright and sunny day in Port Royal. A light sea breeze stirred the warm morning air carrying the distinctive fragrance of salt water and palm trees through the open window of Commodore Norrington's office.
The Commodore sat behind his Spartan desk and finished the last of the morning's paperwork. With a flourish he affixed his signature to the last document, stacked the paper neatly atop the others and rose from his chair.
Taking his tricorn from the desk, he walk towards the door and stood only moments later at the pier. He drew a deep breath and allowed the merest hint of a smile to break through his schooled expression of stern solemnity. The Dauntless was anchored out in the bay, bathed in sunlight. It was a sight that made pride swell in the Commodore's chest, a feeling that did not diminish in the slightest as he surveyed the other ships docked at the piers. The HMS Kerrington, a middle-sized frigate was anchored on the far side of the docks, while the HMS Pierce was anchored closer to the port. The Pierce was the replacement for the HMS Interceptor, which had been lost at sea eight months ago. Some refinement had been made in the ships design, giving the Pierce even more capacity for speed without the necessity to reign in its firepower.
The Kerrington had taken some damage two weeks ago defending Fort Charles from a short-lived pirate attack. Repairs were almost complete and Commodore Norrington looked forward to seeing the ship returned to peak condition.
The Commodore was about to inspect said repairs, when he heard rapid footsteps behind him. When he turned around he saw Governor Swann heading towards him, Mr. Travers at his side flanked by two armed constables.
"Commodore," Governor Swann addressed him, "might we have a moment? We require your assistance."
Norrington nodded his greeting. "Certainly, Governor. How may I be of service?"
Mr. Travers stepped forward. "Perhaps, Commodore, it would be best if we discussed the matter in your office."
Although the Commodore loathed to spend any more time cooped up indoors, he readily agreed. With a formal gesture he invited the men to walk in front of him. Mr. Travers immediately marched off across the docks, the constables following behind. The Governor, however, lingered a moment and fell into step with Norrington.
"I presume this matter concerns the mysterious map that caused such a stir in your study yesterday."
Governor Swann nodded. "It does indeed. Neither Mr. Travers nor I could find any visual reference on the map that would connect it to known shorelines in Europe, Africa or the Americas. We were hoping that you, being a seafaring man, could shed some light as to the location this map depicts."
The pair had reached the Commodore's office and entered. Mr. Travers was already sitting in Norrington's chair an air of impatience around him. The map was displayed on the desk.
"Now Commodore," Travers said, "is there anything you recognize?"
Norrington repressed a frown at seeing Travers sitting in his chair. His dislike for the man had been immediate upon their introduction. There was a certain standoffish arrogance to the Governor's guest that Norrington did not care for at all. The animosity seemed to be mutual as Mr. Travers had made certain remarks regarding Norrington's age in relation to his rank as well as his conduct during Miss Swann's abduction that made his low opinion of the officer quiet obvious.
On account that Mr. Travers was the Governor's guest and a friend of the Swann family, the Commodore had chosen to ignore these comments as long as Mr. Travers avoided a direct insult. However, the uninvited occupation of his chair was such an insult and Norrington quickly dismissed the idea to overlook the affront.
He stepped next to Travers and glared down on him.
"If you would be so kind to relinquish my chair, Sir." He took care to keep his tone level and pleasant, for any display of anger would have put him at a disadvantage.
Travers arrogantly stared back at him for a moment before he broke eye contact. "Of course, Commodore. I apologize," he pressed forth between gritted teeth.
"Thank you." Norrington sat and pulled the map closer to study it. The star's tips in the upper left corner were labelled clockwise from the top with the letters J, M, N, and V. Most of the parchment was taken up by the drawing of a map, while the bottom was partitioned off by a horizontal line below which three verses, each containing five lines, where written in a language the Commodore was not familiar with. It was neither French, nor Spanish, or Latin although the shape of letters pointed to a European language. On the far left corner were two depictions of a bird, the one on top being a stork the lower one a falcon. In between the birds was the drawing of a tree. Unknown designs and multicoloured symbols had been painted into the space separating the three verses. And the right corner held the marking of a black star above a quarter moon which was the only object the Commodore recognized.
He indicated the picture with his finger. "Those are the markings of the Moon Tide, if I'm not mistaken."
Mr. Travers sneered down at him. "Yes, we already know that. But what of the writing? Or the shoreline? Do you recognize those?"
"I admit that I do not." It took the Commodore no small portion of self-control to reign in his temper. He did not appreciate being lectured or scolded like a schoolboy. There were quiet a few thinks he would have liked to say to Mr. Travers had he been at liberty to do so. Instead he shook his head regretfully. "However, we have quiet a few excellent maps at our disposal on the Dauntless. If you would permit me to keep the map in my possession for few days, further research…"
"I'm afraid that will be quiet impossible, Commodore," Travers interrupted him. His hands darted to the map then stopped as if he had to forcefully quench the instinct to keep the map in his possession. He seemed to consider for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Although if you would be so kind to send those maps to Governor Swann's home. I would be very interested to compare them with this document." Travers' voice was civil but audibly tense.
Norrington gave the man a long, hard look. He had to admit that this map intrigued him very much. When he had witnessed the dispute about the servant girl's conduct at the mansion yesterday, he had thought the matter to be disdainfully trivial and had found little reason for Mr. Travers' flare of temper. Now, that he knew the map was connected to the Moon Tide, he could understand why Mr. Travers was in such a contentious state.
The Moon Tide had been a pirate ship sailing off the coast of Madagascar. It's captain had been known as Matthew 'the Beast' Bartholm, a blue eyed devil who had sunk and plundered merchant ships loaded with gold and diamonds from the African colonies. The ship had disappeared eighty years ago and, as so often, none of the Beast's treasure had been found. Though Norrington was convinced that, just like any other pirate, the Beast and his crew had spent the stolen valuables on ale and amusing company, rumours of a hidden treasure had never completely died down. Many, pirates and merchants alike, had tried to find it, leaving nigh a stone unturned on the Madagascan coast, but nothing had ever been retrieved.
And now this map had been found.
Though even more puzzling was the fact that instead of travelling to Africa, Mr. Travers had crossed the Atlantic to the Caribbean and was now requesting to compare the Moon Tide's map to naval maps depicting the shorelines of the Americas. The matter was most intriguing indeed and Norrington realized that he precious little information to assess the situation.
Commodore Norrington nodded politely at Mr. Travers. "If it is your wish to compare the maps in private, you may, of course, do so. I will have copies send to you as soon as my duties allow."
Travers offered his thanks and snatched the map from the desk. He folded it carefully and stowed it into a leather satchel, which he put into the inner pocket of his coat. Then, without further ado, he excused himself.
The Governor, who had remained a quiet but astute observer of the confrontation, motioned towards the door. "Walk with me, Commodore," he said, not unkindly.
* * * * * * *
Governor Swann and Commodore Norrington walked along the pier past the HMS Pierce. Norrington nodded in acknowledgement to the saluting crew, before refocusing his attention on the man next to him. Governor Swann surveyed the Dauntless with an appreciative gaze.
"A truly marvellous ship, Commodore."
Norrington permitted himself to smile. "I agree, Sir."
"I understand that the Kerrington will be ready to join our fleet again shortly."
The Commodore knew Governor Swann well enough to realize that his inquiry had been made out of politeness rather then actual interest and therefore kept his answer short. "Yes, Governor. Lieutenant Gillette is overseeing the repairs and he assures me that the Kerrington will be seaworthy by the end of the week."
"That's good to hear, Commodore. I don't mind saying that I am quiet impressed with the way you carry out your occupation. The citizens of Fort Charles are very fortunate to have such a capable man ensuring their safety."
"Thank you, Your Excellency." While Norrington forced himself to smile as though charmed by the compliment, inside he repressed a sigh. Ever since the Governor's daughter, Elizabeth, had broken off their engagement to marry William Turner, Governor Swann had been prone to these occasional bouts of flattery. Norrington endured them with dignity since he knew the Governor was concerned about him, although he considered the ordeal to be rather patronizing in nature.
The Governor took a deep breath before facing him. "Now, about this mysterious map. May I be frank and ask your thoughts on the matter?"
"With due respect Governor. I doubt that the map is authentic."
"Mr. Travers seems to be convinced that it is."
"The Moon Tide vanished over a half a century ago, Sir. Some say a storm crushed it against a reef near Cape Town, others claim it was attacked by another pirate vessel. There are no consistent reports, I'm afraid. Rumours of treasure have been broad and unreliable. Nothing of the ship or its cargo has ever been found. No stray coin or trinket , no flotsam. I am quiet certain that this map will turn out be another dead end, Governor."
Governor Swann sighed regretfully. "You might very well be right. We shall see." The men stopped walking. "If you would excuse me now, I must attend to my guests."
"Of course, Your Excellency."
"I am holding a ball the day after tomorrow to celebrate the arrival of Mr. And Mrs. Travers. You shall, of course, receive a formal invitation by this afternoon, but Mrs. Travers insisted I casually inquire if you will attend." There was an amused glint in the Governor's eyes that Norrington found entirely inappropriate. Although, on reflection, he had to admit that his vexation stemmed more from the prospect of spending an evening in the company of women who wanted him to marry their daughters rather than from the Governor's amusement at seeing him struggle to escape such a commitment.
"I would be delighted, Sir."
"Then Mrs. Travers will be quiet pleased." Chuckling in amusement, Governor Swann departed.
Commodore Norrington despised to admit, even to himself, that he was still hurting from the unexpected blow Elizabeth had dealt him, when she had chosen Will Turner. Norrington had done the honourable thing and stepped down, never giving Elizabeth any indication that his feelings had run deeper than she had believed. He understood that she had to follow her heart but that didn't make the pain any easier to bare. He had even attended the wedding four weeks ago, smiled politely and offered his best wishes for a happy future, knowing that she would have never found happiness with him. It was a realization that cut him deeply and so he had immersed himself in his work until, on the brink of exhaustion, one of his Lieutenants aided by Privates Murtogg and Mullroy had breached protocol and dragged him against his express wishes to a small Tavern in Fort Charles were he had drunken himself into a pleasant stupor.
When he had come back to his senses sometime during the next afternoon, he had dearly wished to march Lieutenant Gillette to the gallows and see him hang for his audacity. He had shouted once for Matthias, his valet, before he had buried his head in his pillow fearing that it would explode. When the pain had subsided enough for him to dress and face the bright sunlight he had found the young Lieutenant aboard the Pierce issuing orders and altogether handling Norrington's duties quiet capably in the absence of his superior. Needless to say that this had done absolutely nothing to improve the Commodore's mood.
To this day he did not know how Gillette had managed to keep Norrington's slip of self control a secret, but after he had studied his men carefully for several days he came to the conclusion that they were unaware of his conduct that night. He had ordered Lieutenant Gillette to join him on the quarterdeck and although he had still been rather bellicose he had realized that it was his own conduct rather than Gillette's unauthorized behaviour that irked him the most. In hindsight, he even admitted that as unbecoming of a gentleman it was to get intoxicated beyond reason he had needed a moment to let go, something he would have never allowed himself to do while he was sober. The young officer had stood before him ready to accept whatever punishment his superior chose to deal out, but giving no indication that he regretted his actions. Norrington had found a grudging respect for the Gillette, the man, not just the Gillette, the officer, that day.
The Lieutenant had taken the rather lenient dressing-down in stride and had returned to his duties never loosing a word about either incident. Norrington had given the two Privates the same reproach and they kept their silence as well as Gillette had done. It was only on the day after, when his head had finally stopped threatening to split open that he had felt grateful for their actions and had to restrain himself to apologize for his abruptness the day before.
He had slowly begun to recuperate then. And having suffered enough heartache for the time being he had successfully dodged any attempts to entice him into proposing marriage again, though they had been numerous indeed.
Being a Commodore at 36 as the youngest son of Lord Christopher Norrington, he was an eligible match and many mother of unmarried daughters had set her eyes on him as a potential son-in-law. He realized that he would have to take a wife one day and dreaded being betrothed to one of an endless parade of young, pretty, sophisticated girls who lacked any spirit and waited demurely until her mother had picked a suitable husband for them. Or worse, a woman with spirit who lacked any capacity for common sense.
Unbidden, the image of Elizabeth invaded his thoughts again and he forcefully pushed it aside. It was no use to mourn lost opportunities. She had made her choice and, being a gentleman, he had respected it.
