Norrington pulled hard at the ropes with the other men, trying to draw in
the sails as quickly as possible before the wind really kicked up. It had
just started raining and the sky was quickly darkening to a menacing near-
black slate color. They were in for a good storm, that much was certain.
Over the moaning of the wind and the ominous creaking of the leaky vessel, he could hear the captain yelling at his crew to move faster. Once the sails were up, Norrington, along with all but a few of the crew and the captain, headed down into the belly of the Grey Lady to wait out the storm. The rest of the men headed over to the keg for beer and within a half an hour were having a jolly good time despite the dampness from the many leaks and the violent rocking of the ship. Norrington stood in the corner by himself watching the other men fraternizing like old friends and feeling more isolated than he ever had in his entire life. He didn't belong here.
He turned around and left the room unnoticed by the others with one of the lamps to seek solitude in one of the cargo holds. Why the hell had he joined this merchant vessel's crew? He had hoped that being back at sea would make him feel less out of sorts, but the past week had, if anything, only increased his discomfort. He didn't know how to live a civilian life, much less get on with the lower classes. He stuck out like a sore thumb among these common men with no background to speak of and little education. Few of them could read or write more than their own name. he certainly couldn't carry on a decent conversation with them, no matter how he tried. He wasn't even sure the language they spoke was the same as his. Half the words they used had meanings he wasn't familiar with, and possessed more double-entendres than could be imagined.
Norrington came to the furthest corner of the vessel, hung the lamp on a nail, and practically flopped down on one of the crates of sugar. He should have gone back to England. That would have been the reasonable, sane thing to do. Governor Swann had offered to write a letter to his cousin in parliament about getting him a respectable job with the government. Why the hell had he not taken it when he'd had the opportunity? Even now, though, he had to admit that a lifetime spent behind a desk doing endless paperwork was not something he desired, but he couldn't help but feel that at least there he wouldn't feel like he was trying to wear someone else's skin.
Now, though, for the first time since the murder of his father, he simply felt lost. While in the Navy, he'd occasionally hear tales from captains and other officers of coming upon ghost ships -- ships that were found adrift without a single soul or body on them, the cargo intact, the ship totally sound, but devoid of life. Most people figured that the crews of such vessels had fallen victim to disease or starvation or some sort of madness, but nobody ever really knew the truth. Norrington wondered if his life was to become like one of those ships, just aimlessly drifting without purpose or meaning. And more importantly: If it did... would he even care? At this point, he wasn't really so sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. He'd served England faithfully for most of his life, made God and Country his utmost responsibility, and one screw-up, one bad decision was all it took for England to dump him out on his ass. And where was God in all of this? He wasn't an exceedingly pious man, but he'd always believed that there was a God who watched over him and guided him, but now he had to wonder if He had abandoned him as well.
Norrington rubbed at his temples, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes, and for the first time since he was a lad, he felt mildly sea-sick, and not just for the increasingly violent rocking of the floor beneath him.
---- Norrington sat bolt upright as the ship lurched sharply to the side. He stood as the various crates slid across the floor towards the port side of the hold. The Grey Lady groaned like a dying beast and there was cracking, stretching sound. It took Norrington half a heartbeat to recognize it for what it was. This leaky old ship was not going to last out the storm. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and scrambled back up on deck. The rest of the crew was already present, trying desperately to keep the leaky bucket afloat, but obviously losing.
Suddenly the captain yelled out "Abandon ship!!" and everyone began scrambling for the lifeboats, Norrington included. He thought it a shame, because the second they scrambled into the small dinghies and rowed clear of the lurching ship, the wind began to die down. It was too late though. The Grey Lady and her cargo of sugar quickly disappeared under the still- choppy Caribbean waters.
Although the wind had abated, it was still raining steadily and Norrington and the other sailors were soaked through to the skin. Tempers flared and a couple of men in the back of Norrington's boat began a fistfight. Having had quite enough irritation for the evening, Norrington finally decided composure and manners be damned and turned around to give both of them a sold whack with his oar.
A few yards ahead in another dinghy, the captain stood up and yelled to the men, pointing at a spot on the horizon. Norrington couldn't here what he said precisely but it was clear that they were to head in that direction. It would be at least a day and a half of hard rowing to get there.
-----
They were nearing the island and not a second too soon. The rain clouds had dissipated that morning and by the afternoon, it was scorching hot. His muscles screamed their protest as did his dry throat. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as they finally tied their boats to the docks. As the other men piled out of the boats, he turned to the former captain.
"I don't suppose you know the name of this island?"
"Tortuga."
Norrington's relief faded quickly. Of all the godforsaken places he could've ended up, he had to be here. Tor-bloody-tuga. He started to snicker quietly before bursting out laughing in earnest, falling on his arse on the dock and near tears. The other men looked at him suspiciously before dispersing into the town. His captain was the last to go, finally shrugging and leaving Norrington to his madness.
His hysterical laughter finally subsided and he flopped down flat on his back on the wet dock, arms spread out and staring at the cloudless blue of the sky. Life was very strange indeed. If anyone had asked him a year ago where he'd be today, he would have said Port Royal or England or even China before he would've said Tortuga. How absurd his life had become! He wondered if God was playing a fine joke on him. Norrington hoped that He was getting some kind of amusement out of it anyhow, because he certainly was not.
He wondered what his father would say if he were still alive. He'd probably disown his second son that instant. Perhaps he ought to write a letter to Edward. His brother would no doubt get a hearty laugh out of the tale. He no doubt would hear about his baby brother's dismissal from the Navy very soon anyhow if he hadn't already. He was probably expecting little James to show up on his doorstep any second now asking for help so he could gloat over his little brother. They had never gotten along particularly well as children. Edward still took every chance he could to get under his skin and berate him on his supposed total lack of competence.
Norrington rolled forward, hauling himself back to his feet. He scanned the harbor to the left of him for anything that might be a non-piratical ship, then proceeded to look over the town in front of him. What a disgrace. Positively filthy. Most port towns where dirty anyhow, but Tortuga took the cake. Shaking his head, he continued on to the right, looking at the other half of the harbor. His eyes settled on a ship about 50 yards down the beachfront. Poorly-mended black sails.
Oh, of all the rotten luck! Could things possibly get any worse? He figured probably not, save actually meeting up with the hare-brained, limp-wristed captain of that ship. Norrington pulled his hat down low, obscuring his eyes and praying to God that nobody would recognize him as he marched towards the "town" (if you even wanted to call the collection of dilapidated constructions and piles of filth such a thing). If they did, he ran a high risk of getting himself killed. After all, he'd given these pirates all kinds of grief for several years, not to mention hanging over a hundred of them. He doubted they'd take kindly to his presence in their beloved rat nest.
----
Norrington turned and headed towards the ramshackle town. He wandered through the mostly quiet streets. It felt odd; he figured things would be much more wild, but if the numerous passed out pirates laying in the gutters said anything about it, things probably got much more interesting after sunset. He walked quickly down the streets, scanning the various signs hanging over doors, looking for a quiet and hopefully not-entirely- disgusting tavern. He headed towards the eastern end of the town where he finally stopped in front of a propped-open door. Overhead hung a sign that had probably been painted in bright colors at one point in time, but now only small curls of dull color remained here and there over the name The Laughing Sailor. He tentatively stuck his head through the door and was pleased to note that save a drunk man passed out at a table in the far corner and a young woman drying and putting up recently-washed dishes and tankards behind the bar, it was empty.
He stepped into the poorly-lit and poorly-ventilated building. Although stiflingly hot and stuffy, he was pleased to note that it was reasonably clean. He noted a door in the back of the room leading what looked to be an office and a staircase. There must be an inn above the tavern as well.
The young woman behind the bar looked up at him as he walked up to the bar. She eyed him curiously. Norrington cocked an eyebrow in question. She smiled slightly at him.
"No' many customers a' this time o' day."
She put down the glass she'd been drying and turned to him fully.
"Can I help ye?"
Norrington swallowed thickly. He was loathe to speak but if he didn't he wouldn't get food. If he did, his accent would give him away. He never could manage to mimic the brogue of the lower classes. He'd attempted to on the Grey Lady on one occasion and only succeeded in making the other men think he either had a speech impediment or was an imbecile.
She looked at him apprehensively again.
"Did ye hear me? I asked can I help ye?"
He finally decided that it probably didn't matter anyhow; this bar wench was not likely to either recognize him or care if she did. She wasn't a pirate after all.
"Yes... Miss. Do you serve food here?"
She lifted an eyebrow slightly at his obviously not-from-around-here accent, but didn't comment on it. Norrington had to stifle a sigh of relief.
"Aye, but I'm afraid there's no' much choice. We only serve beef stew, though it's reasonably good."
Norrington's stomach growled and he had to agree with it: Stew would be heaven-sent at this point.
"That would be splendid."
The woman disappeared into the kitchen and a few moments later came out with a bowl of warm stew and placed it before him with a spoon.
"It's been sittin' in the pot for abou' an hour, but it should still be good. Ye wan' anythin' ter go wi' that?"
His first impulse was to order water, but that would give him away far too much, not to mention risk contracting dysentery. This wasn't Port Royal, after all.
"Beer, I suppose."
She dropped a tankard in front of him before turning and continuing her work with the dishes and ignoring him.
Norrington took a sip of the beer. It was watery stuff, tasting more like lukewarm piss than actual beer. Well, he hadn't really wanted spirits anyhow. At least the stew was still warm. He ate slowly at first, but eventually realized that manners were wasted in such an environment and practically gulped the rest of it. His stomach turned slightly when he was done from receiving so much food so quickly after being empty but he managed to choke back the impulse to vomit.
He stood up and dropped a few coins on the bar.
"I assume that there's an inn above this?"
Without even glancing at him, the bar wench nodded her head and pointed through the door near the end of the bar to the office in the back. Norrington headed over to the desk and without speaking dropped a few more coins onto the desk. The middle-aged balding man sitting behind it pocked the coins first, then reached back and pulled a key off a hook on the wall and tossed it to Norrington.
"That'll cover the week sir, 'less yer wantin' change?"
Norrington paused. He hadn't yet thought about his plans for the immediate future beyond collapsing onto a bed. After a few moments, the man spoke again, cutting off his thoughts.
"If ye ain't sure, don' worry 'bout it. If ye leave b'fore the week's up, jus' come back an I'll give ye what's left of yer money. Tha' key's te the room at the end o' the hall, on yer left."
Temporarily and blessedly relieved of the immediate duty of having to sort things out, Norrington nodded and dragged himself up the stairs and to his room. It was small and nearly as stuffy as the tavern below it. He walked over to the window and wrenched it up, hoping to coax in a bit of fresh air before tossing his hat on the chair in the corner and collapsing onto the bed without bothering to remove his boots.
----
James knew he wasn't supposed to be in his father's study, but if he didn't catch the wild sparrow that had flown in through the window before his father got home, he'd be in trouble. He leaped around the room chasing the small beast and trying to avoid breaking anything, but no matter how hard he tried, it stayed ever just out of his grasp. It would light somewhere and he would come within a hair's breadth of getting his hands around it when it would leap out of the way, twittering in amusement. Suddenly, the door burst open and his father marched in, red-faced and ranting about what a disappointment James was becoming while beating his fist on the desk. The sparrow perched on the bookcase behind his father, laughing to itself.
----
Norrington woke up suddenly in a cold sweat. He breathed in deeply, trying to still his heart. The yelling was gone. The thumping noises, however, continued, coming from below him. He looked out the window and was surprised to find that it was dark out, probably nearing midnight. He hadn't intended to sleep that long. He must've been more exhausted than he'd thought. The noises were coming from the tavern below, which was no doubt filled with patrons of dubious moral fiber.
Norrington stood up and rubbed firmly at his eyes. A dull headache throbbed in his temples and his throat felt like cotton. There was no way he'd get back to sleep, so he pulled his hat on and slowly made his way back down the stairwell to the tavern below. It was indeed as full and noisy as he'd anticipated. There was a full-out brawl developing near the door until the bar wench suddenly doused the men involved with a bucket of water and ordered them outside. Norrington laughed quietly to himself. That was probably the closest thing to a bath those filthy pirates had received in years. Turning back to the room, the bar wench sighted Norrington at the end of the bar and swiftly crossed the room to him.
"Wake ye up, did they? Sorry 'bout tha', there's really naught te be done about preventin' such things. Here-"
She dropped a tankard full of the same weak beer he'd had that afternoon on the bar in front of him.
"On the house."
Norrington muttered his thanks and accepted the drink. He drank it slowly, keeping his gaze down. He didn't think he could stand going back to that dark, cramped, and quiet room to be alone with his thoughts, but he didn't want to risk being caught either. Mercifully, the bedlam went on behind him, and though at one point he was nearly doused in a foul-smelling ale, for the most part he was left undisturbed. The young woman came by occasionally and refilled his mug for him, throwing a sympathetic look his way. How much she had discerned of his origin he wasn't sure, but she certainly didn't bear any ill will towards him. She seemed to pity him more than anything else.
As the night pushed on, the pirates dropped like flies, leaving it to the barmaid to drag them outside into the street. Eventually, around what Norrington estimated to be around three hours prior to dawn, the pub was again quiet and nearly empty as it had been during the day. The bar wench walked over and sat down on a stool directly opposite him, staring at his face with a wry expression. Norrington felt exceedingly uncomfortable under her silent gaze, but eventually she spoke.
"Ye don't exac'ly fit in 'ere, do ye?"
"I suppose not."
"I take it yer not a pirate."
"Hardly."
"Yer in Tortuga, though."
"The merchant vessel I was employed on sank. This was the nearest land."
"So ye were a captain then."
"No, just a common sailor."
"Ye don' sound all tha' common te me. Sounds te me like ye come from a good family. One with money. Ye sure yer jus' a common sailor?"
"Quite."
"So how does a man o' obvious breedin' end up a common sailor then?"
He knew it to be extremely rude not to respond when spoken to, particularly if the speaker was a woman, even one of low status such as the woman in front of him, but he just couldn't muster the inclination to reply to this busybody, so he simply glared instead. How indeed.
"Tha's alright. If ye don' wanna talk about it, I understand. I 'pologize fer prying where it's no' my business. Sorry if I offended ye."
Norrington felt slightly guilty. She hadn't really done anything awful. Indeed, she'd been rather kind to him since he walked into her tavern that afternoon.
"No, no. I'm not offended. I'm merely tired."
"Well I can see tha'. Ye look positively mis'rable."
Norrington looked down at his fingernails, suddenly finding them the most interesting thing on the planet. He hated discussions like this. He didn't like talking about his problems with other people and he simply couldn't stand to appear even remotely weak. In the Navy, it was imperative that he always save face in front of his men or how would they ever respect him?
When the woman leaned over and cocked her head to the side, trying to look at his down turned face, he was startled out of his thoughts.
"I really ought to retire for the night. Thank you for the beer."
He stood up and turned to leave when the woman placed a hand on his arm.
"If ye ever need a friend, I'm always around her."
"Thank you miss, I'll keep that in mind."
He pulled away again and was halfway to the stairwell when the woman yelled after him.
"The name's Dabria, not 'miss!'"
He stepped onto the stairs when she yelled a second time.
"Well? What about you?"
He paused for a second. He wouldn't risk giving his real name to anyone on this island, but he wanted to tell her something. He supposed the name he had used on the Grey Lady would have to suffice.
"Geoffrey."
The corners of his lips twitched in the hint of a smile that he couldn't totally prevent as he returned to his room. Maybe not everyone in this pirate town was completely loathsome.
Over the moaning of the wind and the ominous creaking of the leaky vessel, he could hear the captain yelling at his crew to move faster. Once the sails were up, Norrington, along with all but a few of the crew and the captain, headed down into the belly of the Grey Lady to wait out the storm. The rest of the men headed over to the keg for beer and within a half an hour were having a jolly good time despite the dampness from the many leaks and the violent rocking of the ship. Norrington stood in the corner by himself watching the other men fraternizing like old friends and feeling more isolated than he ever had in his entire life. He didn't belong here.
He turned around and left the room unnoticed by the others with one of the lamps to seek solitude in one of the cargo holds. Why the hell had he joined this merchant vessel's crew? He had hoped that being back at sea would make him feel less out of sorts, but the past week had, if anything, only increased his discomfort. He didn't know how to live a civilian life, much less get on with the lower classes. He stuck out like a sore thumb among these common men with no background to speak of and little education. Few of them could read or write more than their own name. he certainly couldn't carry on a decent conversation with them, no matter how he tried. He wasn't even sure the language they spoke was the same as his. Half the words they used had meanings he wasn't familiar with, and possessed more double-entendres than could be imagined.
Norrington came to the furthest corner of the vessel, hung the lamp on a nail, and practically flopped down on one of the crates of sugar. He should have gone back to England. That would have been the reasonable, sane thing to do. Governor Swann had offered to write a letter to his cousin in parliament about getting him a respectable job with the government. Why the hell had he not taken it when he'd had the opportunity? Even now, though, he had to admit that a lifetime spent behind a desk doing endless paperwork was not something he desired, but he couldn't help but feel that at least there he wouldn't feel like he was trying to wear someone else's skin.
Now, though, for the first time since the murder of his father, he simply felt lost. While in the Navy, he'd occasionally hear tales from captains and other officers of coming upon ghost ships -- ships that were found adrift without a single soul or body on them, the cargo intact, the ship totally sound, but devoid of life. Most people figured that the crews of such vessels had fallen victim to disease or starvation or some sort of madness, but nobody ever really knew the truth. Norrington wondered if his life was to become like one of those ships, just aimlessly drifting without purpose or meaning. And more importantly: If it did... would he even care? At this point, he wasn't really so sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. He'd served England faithfully for most of his life, made God and Country his utmost responsibility, and one screw-up, one bad decision was all it took for England to dump him out on his ass. And where was God in all of this? He wasn't an exceedingly pious man, but he'd always believed that there was a God who watched over him and guided him, but now he had to wonder if He had abandoned him as well.
Norrington rubbed at his temples, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes, and for the first time since he was a lad, he felt mildly sea-sick, and not just for the increasingly violent rocking of the floor beneath him.
---- Norrington sat bolt upright as the ship lurched sharply to the side. He stood as the various crates slid across the floor towards the port side of the hold. The Grey Lady groaned like a dying beast and there was cracking, stretching sound. It took Norrington half a heartbeat to recognize it for what it was. This leaky old ship was not going to last out the storm. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and scrambled back up on deck. The rest of the crew was already present, trying desperately to keep the leaky bucket afloat, but obviously losing.
Suddenly the captain yelled out "Abandon ship!!" and everyone began scrambling for the lifeboats, Norrington included. He thought it a shame, because the second they scrambled into the small dinghies and rowed clear of the lurching ship, the wind began to die down. It was too late though. The Grey Lady and her cargo of sugar quickly disappeared under the still- choppy Caribbean waters.
Although the wind had abated, it was still raining steadily and Norrington and the other sailors were soaked through to the skin. Tempers flared and a couple of men in the back of Norrington's boat began a fistfight. Having had quite enough irritation for the evening, Norrington finally decided composure and manners be damned and turned around to give both of them a sold whack with his oar.
A few yards ahead in another dinghy, the captain stood up and yelled to the men, pointing at a spot on the horizon. Norrington couldn't here what he said precisely but it was clear that they were to head in that direction. It would be at least a day and a half of hard rowing to get there.
-----
They were nearing the island and not a second too soon. The rain clouds had dissipated that morning and by the afternoon, it was scorching hot. His muscles screamed their protest as did his dry throat. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as they finally tied their boats to the docks. As the other men piled out of the boats, he turned to the former captain.
"I don't suppose you know the name of this island?"
"Tortuga."
Norrington's relief faded quickly. Of all the godforsaken places he could've ended up, he had to be here. Tor-bloody-tuga. He started to snicker quietly before bursting out laughing in earnest, falling on his arse on the dock and near tears. The other men looked at him suspiciously before dispersing into the town. His captain was the last to go, finally shrugging and leaving Norrington to his madness.
His hysterical laughter finally subsided and he flopped down flat on his back on the wet dock, arms spread out and staring at the cloudless blue of the sky. Life was very strange indeed. If anyone had asked him a year ago where he'd be today, he would have said Port Royal or England or even China before he would've said Tortuga. How absurd his life had become! He wondered if God was playing a fine joke on him. Norrington hoped that He was getting some kind of amusement out of it anyhow, because he certainly was not.
He wondered what his father would say if he were still alive. He'd probably disown his second son that instant. Perhaps he ought to write a letter to Edward. His brother would no doubt get a hearty laugh out of the tale. He no doubt would hear about his baby brother's dismissal from the Navy very soon anyhow if he hadn't already. He was probably expecting little James to show up on his doorstep any second now asking for help so he could gloat over his little brother. They had never gotten along particularly well as children. Edward still took every chance he could to get under his skin and berate him on his supposed total lack of competence.
Norrington rolled forward, hauling himself back to his feet. He scanned the harbor to the left of him for anything that might be a non-piratical ship, then proceeded to look over the town in front of him. What a disgrace. Positively filthy. Most port towns where dirty anyhow, but Tortuga took the cake. Shaking his head, he continued on to the right, looking at the other half of the harbor. His eyes settled on a ship about 50 yards down the beachfront. Poorly-mended black sails.
Oh, of all the rotten luck! Could things possibly get any worse? He figured probably not, save actually meeting up with the hare-brained, limp-wristed captain of that ship. Norrington pulled his hat down low, obscuring his eyes and praying to God that nobody would recognize him as he marched towards the "town" (if you even wanted to call the collection of dilapidated constructions and piles of filth such a thing). If they did, he ran a high risk of getting himself killed. After all, he'd given these pirates all kinds of grief for several years, not to mention hanging over a hundred of them. He doubted they'd take kindly to his presence in their beloved rat nest.
----
Norrington turned and headed towards the ramshackle town. He wandered through the mostly quiet streets. It felt odd; he figured things would be much more wild, but if the numerous passed out pirates laying in the gutters said anything about it, things probably got much more interesting after sunset. He walked quickly down the streets, scanning the various signs hanging over doors, looking for a quiet and hopefully not-entirely- disgusting tavern. He headed towards the eastern end of the town where he finally stopped in front of a propped-open door. Overhead hung a sign that had probably been painted in bright colors at one point in time, but now only small curls of dull color remained here and there over the name The Laughing Sailor. He tentatively stuck his head through the door and was pleased to note that save a drunk man passed out at a table in the far corner and a young woman drying and putting up recently-washed dishes and tankards behind the bar, it was empty.
He stepped into the poorly-lit and poorly-ventilated building. Although stiflingly hot and stuffy, he was pleased to note that it was reasonably clean. He noted a door in the back of the room leading what looked to be an office and a staircase. There must be an inn above the tavern as well.
The young woman behind the bar looked up at him as he walked up to the bar. She eyed him curiously. Norrington cocked an eyebrow in question. She smiled slightly at him.
"No' many customers a' this time o' day."
She put down the glass she'd been drying and turned to him fully.
"Can I help ye?"
Norrington swallowed thickly. He was loathe to speak but if he didn't he wouldn't get food. If he did, his accent would give him away. He never could manage to mimic the brogue of the lower classes. He'd attempted to on the Grey Lady on one occasion and only succeeded in making the other men think he either had a speech impediment or was an imbecile.
She looked at him apprehensively again.
"Did ye hear me? I asked can I help ye?"
He finally decided that it probably didn't matter anyhow; this bar wench was not likely to either recognize him or care if she did. She wasn't a pirate after all.
"Yes... Miss. Do you serve food here?"
She lifted an eyebrow slightly at his obviously not-from-around-here accent, but didn't comment on it. Norrington had to stifle a sigh of relief.
"Aye, but I'm afraid there's no' much choice. We only serve beef stew, though it's reasonably good."
Norrington's stomach growled and he had to agree with it: Stew would be heaven-sent at this point.
"That would be splendid."
The woman disappeared into the kitchen and a few moments later came out with a bowl of warm stew and placed it before him with a spoon.
"It's been sittin' in the pot for abou' an hour, but it should still be good. Ye wan' anythin' ter go wi' that?"
His first impulse was to order water, but that would give him away far too much, not to mention risk contracting dysentery. This wasn't Port Royal, after all.
"Beer, I suppose."
She dropped a tankard in front of him before turning and continuing her work with the dishes and ignoring him.
Norrington took a sip of the beer. It was watery stuff, tasting more like lukewarm piss than actual beer. Well, he hadn't really wanted spirits anyhow. At least the stew was still warm. He ate slowly at first, but eventually realized that manners were wasted in such an environment and practically gulped the rest of it. His stomach turned slightly when he was done from receiving so much food so quickly after being empty but he managed to choke back the impulse to vomit.
He stood up and dropped a few coins on the bar.
"I assume that there's an inn above this?"
Without even glancing at him, the bar wench nodded her head and pointed through the door near the end of the bar to the office in the back. Norrington headed over to the desk and without speaking dropped a few more coins onto the desk. The middle-aged balding man sitting behind it pocked the coins first, then reached back and pulled a key off a hook on the wall and tossed it to Norrington.
"That'll cover the week sir, 'less yer wantin' change?"
Norrington paused. He hadn't yet thought about his plans for the immediate future beyond collapsing onto a bed. After a few moments, the man spoke again, cutting off his thoughts.
"If ye ain't sure, don' worry 'bout it. If ye leave b'fore the week's up, jus' come back an I'll give ye what's left of yer money. Tha' key's te the room at the end o' the hall, on yer left."
Temporarily and blessedly relieved of the immediate duty of having to sort things out, Norrington nodded and dragged himself up the stairs and to his room. It was small and nearly as stuffy as the tavern below it. He walked over to the window and wrenched it up, hoping to coax in a bit of fresh air before tossing his hat on the chair in the corner and collapsing onto the bed without bothering to remove his boots.
----
James knew he wasn't supposed to be in his father's study, but if he didn't catch the wild sparrow that had flown in through the window before his father got home, he'd be in trouble. He leaped around the room chasing the small beast and trying to avoid breaking anything, but no matter how hard he tried, it stayed ever just out of his grasp. It would light somewhere and he would come within a hair's breadth of getting his hands around it when it would leap out of the way, twittering in amusement. Suddenly, the door burst open and his father marched in, red-faced and ranting about what a disappointment James was becoming while beating his fist on the desk. The sparrow perched on the bookcase behind his father, laughing to itself.
----
Norrington woke up suddenly in a cold sweat. He breathed in deeply, trying to still his heart. The yelling was gone. The thumping noises, however, continued, coming from below him. He looked out the window and was surprised to find that it was dark out, probably nearing midnight. He hadn't intended to sleep that long. He must've been more exhausted than he'd thought. The noises were coming from the tavern below, which was no doubt filled with patrons of dubious moral fiber.
Norrington stood up and rubbed firmly at his eyes. A dull headache throbbed in his temples and his throat felt like cotton. There was no way he'd get back to sleep, so he pulled his hat on and slowly made his way back down the stairwell to the tavern below. It was indeed as full and noisy as he'd anticipated. There was a full-out brawl developing near the door until the bar wench suddenly doused the men involved with a bucket of water and ordered them outside. Norrington laughed quietly to himself. That was probably the closest thing to a bath those filthy pirates had received in years. Turning back to the room, the bar wench sighted Norrington at the end of the bar and swiftly crossed the room to him.
"Wake ye up, did they? Sorry 'bout tha', there's really naught te be done about preventin' such things. Here-"
She dropped a tankard full of the same weak beer he'd had that afternoon on the bar in front of him.
"On the house."
Norrington muttered his thanks and accepted the drink. He drank it slowly, keeping his gaze down. He didn't think he could stand going back to that dark, cramped, and quiet room to be alone with his thoughts, but he didn't want to risk being caught either. Mercifully, the bedlam went on behind him, and though at one point he was nearly doused in a foul-smelling ale, for the most part he was left undisturbed. The young woman came by occasionally and refilled his mug for him, throwing a sympathetic look his way. How much she had discerned of his origin he wasn't sure, but she certainly didn't bear any ill will towards him. She seemed to pity him more than anything else.
As the night pushed on, the pirates dropped like flies, leaving it to the barmaid to drag them outside into the street. Eventually, around what Norrington estimated to be around three hours prior to dawn, the pub was again quiet and nearly empty as it had been during the day. The bar wench walked over and sat down on a stool directly opposite him, staring at his face with a wry expression. Norrington felt exceedingly uncomfortable under her silent gaze, but eventually she spoke.
"Ye don't exac'ly fit in 'ere, do ye?"
"I suppose not."
"I take it yer not a pirate."
"Hardly."
"Yer in Tortuga, though."
"The merchant vessel I was employed on sank. This was the nearest land."
"So ye were a captain then."
"No, just a common sailor."
"Ye don' sound all tha' common te me. Sounds te me like ye come from a good family. One with money. Ye sure yer jus' a common sailor?"
"Quite."
"So how does a man o' obvious breedin' end up a common sailor then?"
He knew it to be extremely rude not to respond when spoken to, particularly if the speaker was a woman, even one of low status such as the woman in front of him, but he just couldn't muster the inclination to reply to this busybody, so he simply glared instead. How indeed.
"Tha's alright. If ye don' wanna talk about it, I understand. I 'pologize fer prying where it's no' my business. Sorry if I offended ye."
Norrington felt slightly guilty. She hadn't really done anything awful. Indeed, she'd been rather kind to him since he walked into her tavern that afternoon.
"No, no. I'm not offended. I'm merely tired."
"Well I can see tha'. Ye look positively mis'rable."
Norrington looked down at his fingernails, suddenly finding them the most interesting thing on the planet. He hated discussions like this. He didn't like talking about his problems with other people and he simply couldn't stand to appear even remotely weak. In the Navy, it was imperative that he always save face in front of his men or how would they ever respect him?
When the woman leaned over and cocked her head to the side, trying to look at his down turned face, he was startled out of his thoughts.
"I really ought to retire for the night. Thank you for the beer."
He stood up and turned to leave when the woman placed a hand on his arm.
"If ye ever need a friend, I'm always around her."
"Thank you miss, I'll keep that in mind."
He pulled away again and was halfway to the stairwell when the woman yelled after him.
"The name's Dabria, not 'miss!'"
He stepped onto the stairs when she yelled a second time.
"Well? What about you?"
He paused for a second. He wouldn't risk giving his real name to anyone on this island, but he wanted to tell her something. He supposed the name he had used on the Grey Lady would have to suffice.
"Geoffrey."
The corners of his lips twitched in the hint of a smile that he couldn't totally prevent as he returned to his room. Maybe not everyone in this pirate town was completely loathsome.