A New Life part 4 by Kazren/Bainpeth
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Rated: PG for language and situations
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"Norrington?" Jack raised one brow at the news. He lay propped up in bed, his head resting back against the pillow. "Does that mean you're going over to 'is ship then?"
Frowning, Theodore shook his head and continued pacing back and forth. "He'll want to come here and inspect the damage, if I know him." He big off the expletive he wanted to add to the statement.
"Good Commodore."
"Unfortunately for you." He turned to face Jack again. "The entire crew knows someone is here. Do you think you can fool Norrington? My God, man, he knows you."
A lazy smile spread across Jack's lips. "Aye, he knows Jack, but not Thomas. I can do this, matie."
"My faith is lacking." Theodore recommenced his pacing. "Try to say as little as possible and for all your life is worth, man, don't move your hands when you speak. They'll give you away."
That caused the pirate to raise both brows, but he did not argue the point.
"Captain Groves, do you think you could possibly hold still for a moment?" Jack's voice was soft and sounded suddenly American and rather educated.
Groves paused mid-stride. "What did you say?"
Jack took a look deep breath. "Since I have been injured in the course of my duties," he began again in the American accent he had just acquired, "do you think it's possible for me to recuperate in relative peace and quiet? I am an agent of the crown, you know. Mr. Thomas Wells at your service, sir."
Theodore moved over to Jack's side. "That's good. No, that's bloody brilliant."
"Thank you."
"You sounded like Northern Colonial. Exactly."
Jack's smile appeared fleetingly. "Lived a year just north of New York. It's a pirate city, you know." He lapsed back into his regular speech pattern and added, "They cater to us in New York."
"So, Mr. Wells, you are from the Colonies?"
"Not now," Jack's eyes closed. "I'm really. . . tired." He took a long breath.
Perhaps, Groves thought to himself looking at the deceptively angelic face of his guest, Jack could pull this off.
A light tap at the cabin door distracted him and Theodore went towards it. Before he reached the door, it opened. Sergeant Quist stepped inside. He cast a quick glance around the cabin, spotted Jack, then addressed his Captain. "Sir," his voice was a whisper in respect for the patient, "The Commodore's ship has signaled. He will board the Resolute for inspection once they come along side."
"Thank you, Sergeant. Would you please send the Commodore my greetings and that we will be expecting him."
Groves watched Quist salute and leave. He touched the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, an old nervous habit, then looked once more at Jack. His entire career rested on the shoulders of the wounded pirate. He hoped Jack remembered his act and remembered to keep those fluttery hands of his still.
/\/\/\/\
Three hours later, with the entire ship's compliment on deck to welcome the Commodore, Groves stood at the front of the line as James Norrington climbed aboard. The ship's whistle sounded, and all the men stood at attention, including the detachment of red-coated Marines.
Commodore Norrington was dressed in his finest, despite the fact that his ship had to have been through the same hurricane as the Resolute. He accepted Captain Groves' salute, then Theodore fell in step beside James and the two officers walked down the line of men and up the steps to the aft deck.
Captain Groves had been given a detailed account of the damage to the miles of sails, rigging and decks, which he now recited to Norrington, pausing to point out the damage visible from their vantage point which the Resolute had taken during the storm.
"Sir, would you like to go below decks?" Groves asked. "There was some damage below the waterline, probably due to hitting debris from the battle between two pirate ships we saw just before the storm hit."
James nodded. "Which two?"
"The Black Pearl and the Muratania," Theodore told him, ushering James down the stairs to the main deck.
"Hm." James paused, waiting for Theodore's men to open the door to below decks. "The Black Pearl has become more of a legend than she was with Barbossa at the helm."
"How so, sir?"
The door was opened by a young eager midshipman, and James and Theodore proceeded down the steps.
"Jack Sparrow has become something of a Robin Hood in these waters," Norrington continued. "Surely you've heard the tales. He accumulated a vast amount of wealth at the Isla de Muerta and apparently has dispersed much of it to the poor and less prosperous."
Of course Theodore had heard the stories, but he was surprised that they had reached Norrington's ears.
"Will Turner and the governor's daughter believed in the man, or so I heard," Theodore commented as he lead the Commodore down another flight of steps, these steeper than the last. "I was not at the hanging that day."
"The non-hanging," James correct. "Perhaps in this the two young people were correct," he conceeded, "however I have know both Will and Elizabeth for a long time, and Elizabeth has always had a romantic notion about pirates. I thought the day Jack threatened her would have changed her, but alas, no."
The two officers inspected the lower decks then returned to the upper aft decks. The sun was near to setting as they leaned against the aft rail, looking back at the Dauntless, which followed in the Resolute's wake a discreet distance behind.
"There's word from the Ministry of French smugglers," Commodore Norrington told Captain Groves, secure that no one else could overhear their conversation.
"Smugglers? We have dealt with smugglers before," Groves assured him.
"Ah, but these smugglers are bringing German, no Hessian weapons, firearms, in through North Africa and selling them to the native Indians who are attacking our outposts. They are trying to stir up war from the Hudson down to the southern most colonies."
"And how do we know they're actually French behind this and not the Huns?" Groves asked.
"We captured one of the smuggler's ships and killed the captain before he could destroy his orders. The arms are Hessian, shipped out of Hamburg to Tunisia by the French. They are transferred to private vessels, one of which we suspect is the Muratania. I hope Sparrow blew her out of the water."
Groves simply nodded. "How would Sparrow know about this?"
James turned to face him. "He wouldn't. He simply has a deep and abiding loathing for von der Kirchhoff. For once he and I agree on something."
"I see." Groves wondered why Norrington was telling him these things.
"I have sealed orders for you." Norrington straightened. "You will be involved in tracking down these smugglers and confiscating the weapons before they can reach the hands of the Indians in the Colonies."
Now Groves understood. "No more pirate chases?"
"This will be more profitable for the time being." Norrington looked down the length of the Resolute. "I think I'll take a walk. I'll join you in your cabin in a bit."
"Will you stay for tea?"
"Certainly?"
Theodore smiled. "And dinner? Will you dine with me, sir?"
"Yes, thank you, Theodore." James smiled briefly, then turned back to the Resolute. Hands behind his back, he started across to the steps.
"Sir." Groves knew it was time to mention his guest. "I have a guest aboard."
Norrington stopped and turned, head cocked to the side, waiting to hear more.
"He is an agent of the crown, from what I'm told," Groves said slowly, making sure he said only the truth. Jack had told him, just a few hours ago, that he was an agent of the crown. "Said his name is Thomas Wells. Have you met him?"
With a curious gleam in his eye, James shook his head, "No, but I would like to. How did he come to be aboard?"
"That's the curious part of the story." Here it comes, Theodore thought. If he swallows this, he'll swallow the lot. "We were following the pirate ships and saw someone fall overboard, or jump overboard, it wasn't clear. Luckily, we were able to rescue him, half-drowned and hit by a wooden splinter that nearly took his life."
"Remarkable. If he is working for the crown, as he says, then him being on the Muratania would make sense."
Theodore did not correct Norrington, who assumed the British spy was working on von der Kirchhoff's ship.
"He can't remember everything."
"I assume he was masquerading as a pirate on the Muratania," Norrington theorized.
"He doesn't look like a pirate," Theodore told him. "Looks like a gentlemen, except for the gold teeth."
"Well, these agents can be quite theatrical and tricky characters," James smiled, as if in memory. "I'd like to meet the chap if he's up to it. Let's go directly to him now."
Groves nodded and smiled. What else could he do?
Knowing that Commodore Norrington would be crossing his path sooner or later, Jack reasoned. He would not do for him to meet the man dressed in a night shirt. It just didn't have style. The deep pain in his left shoulder was a constant angry gnawing. Forcing the pain to the back of his mind, Jack focused on sitting up and bringing his legs over the edge of the bed. The world swam before his eyes and his breath seemed to catch in his throat.
Jamie must have seen him struggling to get up, because he rushed across the thick carpet, his feet barely making noise. "What are you doing, if I may be so bold?"
Jack's eyes focused on the man's face only inches from his own. "I have t'find me clothes," Jack explained. "I can't meet the Big Guns dressed like this." He felt himself swaying precariously.
Jamie reached to help Jack sit. "You look like death warmed over, Mr. Wells."
Nailing him with his most haughty glare, Jack raised his chin. "Death wants his new clothes."
Jamie couldn't meet those dark eyes for more than a few moments. With a sigh, the steward went to where he'd laid out the clothes he'd cleaned. With his back turned, Jack cast a quick smile his way.
"These belonged to a pastor." Jamie brought the stark black and white clothes to the bedside and folded them over a chair.
"Now they belong to a spy," Jack told him with a mysterious tone to his voice.
"Yes." Jamie smiled. He studied Jack. "You don't want to be liftin' that left arm of yours with that hole in you, so move slowly. Raise the right one." He held the right cuff of the night shirt while Jack followed his instructions. He couldn't restrain hissed that whistled out between clenched teeth when he had to move his left arm, but they got the nightshirt off. He held it for a moment in triumph, then put it on the bed.
"You've got quite a collection of tattoos," Jamie commented.
There was a not much room for privacy aboard a ship, and sailors quickly learned not to stare at one another, unless they wanted a fight. Jamie, it seemed, had not learned that lesson. Jack decided to let it pass. "You may have stolen me hair, but I still have my tattoos," he grinned back proudly. "Each one a memory. Well, actually, I woke up with one I have no idea how I got, but the others are all me mementos of good times."
Jamie said nothing. He raised one brow in a manor that reminded Jack of his young friend, Will Turner.
Very slowly, with several pauses while Jack regained his breath, they got Jack dressed. He felt very weary and dizzy, but his determination got him through the ordeal, and Jamie's clever fingers tied the stock at his neck. Jack was barely aware of what Jamie was doing. He was fighting back the pain and the black specks that came in tides to overpower his vision.
"You're a new man," Jamie commented taking step back to study Jack. "Wait a moment." He went to a drawer, pulled out a brush, and came back. Jack sat tolerantly while Jamie brushed his hair into some semblance of order.
"There." The steward put the comb back and pulled out a mirror for Jack.
"I know what I look like," Jack waived the mirror away with his right hand. "You don't have to remind me."
"Let me help you to the chair here." Jamie returned to Jack's side and put a gentle arm under Jack's good right arm.
This, Jack thought, may not be a good idea. With Jamie's help, he stood. His knees felt weak and the change in position started the fire burning anew in his shoulder, but he was master of his body. He would not let it command him. Clenching his jaw tightly, he allowed Jamie to help him walk the few steps to the armchair by the dining table.
"You sit here and I'll get you some nice warm broth."
"With brandy." Jack's voice had a low soft growl to it.
"Fine. Just a touch. If I can talk cook out of it."
Jamie left the cabin.
Sitting in the chair, Jack felt almost faint. He knew the blood had drained from his face. He glanced over his shoulder. The entire row of beautiful glass windows were closed. Fresh sea air might make him feel stronger. Only a step away, he thought. Forcing himself to stand again, Jack held onto the furniture with his good arm and took one slow step after the other. Reaching the window, he leaned against the wide seal and pulled one window open. He was about to return to his chair, when he heard something very interesting.
With great care, Jack made it back to the chair and collapsed into it, his head down, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Just as he did so, the door opened and Commodore Norrington proceeded Captain Groves into the room.
"Oh, Mr. Wells," Groves sounded surprised to see him up.
Slowly Jack raised his head, his eyes focusing on Norrington, first the man's knees, then his waist, chest and at last, face. He hadn't changed much in the past few years since he'd last seen the famous Pirate Hunter.
"Please excuse me for not standing," Jack said in his best American accent. "I am convalescing from injuries I sustained in the line of duty."
Groves, standing behind Norrington, had a somewhat shocked look on his face. "Ah.Sir, let me introduce you to Thomas Wells. Mr. Wells, Commodore James Norrington."
"My pleasure," James said, pulling a chair closer to Jack's and sitting down. "You do not look well, sir."
Groves was of a like mind. "You should be in bed," he said sternly.
Jack raised a hand. "I could not meet such a famous, honored person as you, Commodore, whilst laying abed." He smiled with his lips closed.
"I would not have you get more ill due to me," Norrington protested.
"Sir," Jack suddenly sat up a little straighter, his face very serious and, he was sure, very pale, "I have urgent news I did not feel entirely free to share with Captain Groves." He leaned slightly forward, and Norrington leaned forward in his own chair to catch every word.
"What is it?"
"It's the damned Frogs, sir. They are smuggling Hessian firearms into the Colonies using pathetic third-rate pirates and smugglers to help stir up the Indians against the colonial outposts." Jack spoke slowly, concentrating on his accent and keeping his hands holding fast to the arms of his chair.
Norrington swung around and cast an "I told you so!" glance at Groves, then returned to facing Jack. "What more can you tell me?"
Jack sighed dramatically. Truth be told, he did hurt. It felt like the devil's own brand was burning into his shoulder and he had to fight to retain his faculties. "The arms are shipped by the French out of Hamburg. They take them to Tunisia, where the smugglers pick them up and cross toward the Caribbean. They sail up the eastern seaboard, meeting their contacts at secluded coves." He closed his eyes. "I was caught spying on von der Kirchhoff. Heard of him?"
"Yes," Norrington nodded.
"Heinrich von der Kirchhoff was going to hang me, when the Black Pearl came up and started harassing her. Unfortunately, the two ships began exchanging fire. I was hit and knocked clear overboard. It probably saved my life, but I lost all my proof."
"Brave man," the Commodore said. "We have gained the same intelligence, but I didn't know von der Kirchhoff was involved. If Sparrow didn't kill him, you can be assured sir, the British Navy will."
Jack's smile was small, his head jerking slightly to the side, then he looked down. The darkness was threatening to overwhelm him. "I think I need a lie down," he managed, then he slumped forward in his chair.
To Be Continued.
"Norrington?" Jack raised one brow at the news. He lay propped up in bed, his head resting back against the pillow. "Does that mean you're going over to 'is ship then?"
Frowning, Theodore shook his head and continued pacing back and forth. "He'll want to come here and inspect the damage, if I know him." He big off the expletive he wanted to add to the statement.
"Good Commodore."
"Unfortunately for you." He turned to face Jack again. "The entire crew knows someone is here. Do you think you can fool Norrington? My God, man, he knows you."
A lazy smile spread across Jack's lips. "Aye, he knows Jack, but not Thomas. I can do this, matie."
"My faith is lacking." Theodore recommenced his pacing. "Try to say as little as possible and for all your life is worth, man, don't move your hands when you speak. They'll give you away."
That caused the pirate to raise both brows, but he did not argue the point.
"Captain Groves, do you think you could possibly hold still for a moment?" Jack's voice was soft and sounded suddenly American and rather educated.
Groves paused mid-stride. "What did you say?"
Jack took a look deep breath. "Since I have been injured in the course of my duties," he began again in the American accent he had just acquired, "do you think it's possible for me to recuperate in relative peace and quiet? I am an agent of the crown, you know. Mr. Thomas Wells at your service, sir."
Theodore moved over to Jack's side. "That's good. No, that's bloody brilliant."
"Thank you."
"You sounded like Northern Colonial. Exactly."
Jack's smile appeared fleetingly. "Lived a year just north of New York. It's a pirate city, you know." He lapsed back into his regular speech pattern and added, "They cater to us in New York."
"So, Mr. Wells, you are from the Colonies?"
"Not now," Jack's eyes closed. "I'm really. . . tired." He took a long breath.
Perhaps, Groves thought to himself looking at the deceptively angelic face of his guest, Jack could pull this off.
A light tap at the cabin door distracted him and Theodore went towards it. Before he reached the door, it opened. Sergeant Quist stepped inside. He cast a quick glance around the cabin, spotted Jack, then addressed his Captain. "Sir," his voice was a whisper in respect for the patient, "The Commodore's ship has signaled. He will board the Resolute for inspection once they come along side."
"Thank you, Sergeant. Would you please send the Commodore my greetings and that we will be expecting him."
Groves watched Quist salute and leave. He touched the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, an old nervous habit, then looked once more at Jack. His entire career rested on the shoulders of the wounded pirate. He hoped Jack remembered his act and remembered to keep those fluttery hands of his still.
/\/\/\/\
Three hours later, with the entire ship's compliment on deck to welcome the Commodore, Groves stood at the front of the line as James Norrington climbed aboard. The ship's whistle sounded, and all the men stood at attention, including the detachment of red-coated Marines.
Commodore Norrington was dressed in his finest, despite the fact that his ship had to have been through the same hurricane as the Resolute. He accepted Captain Groves' salute, then Theodore fell in step beside James and the two officers walked down the line of men and up the steps to the aft deck.
Captain Groves had been given a detailed account of the damage to the miles of sails, rigging and decks, which he now recited to Norrington, pausing to point out the damage visible from their vantage point which the Resolute had taken during the storm.
"Sir, would you like to go below decks?" Groves asked. "There was some damage below the waterline, probably due to hitting debris from the battle between two pirate ships we saw just before the storm hit."
James nodded. "Which two?"
"The Black Pearl and the Muratania," Theodore told him, ushering James down the stairs to the main deck.
"Hm." James paused, waiting for Theodore's men to open the door to below decks. "The Black Pearl has become more of a legend than she was with Barbossa at the helm."
"How so, sir?"
The door was opened by a young eager midshipman, and James and Theodore proceeded down the steps.
"Jack Sparrow has become something of a Robin Hood in these waters," Norrington continued. "Surely you've heard the tales. He accumulated a vast amount of wealth at the Isla de Muerta and apparently has dispersed much of it to the poor and less prosperous."
Of course Theodore had heard the stories, but he was surprised that they had reached Norrington's ears.
"Will Turner and the governor's daughter believed in the man, or so I heard," Theodore commented as he lead the Commodore down another flight of steps, these steeper than the last. "I was not at the hanging that day."
"The non-hanging," James correct. "Perhaps in this the two young people were correct," he conceeded, "however I have know both Will and Elizabeth for a long time, and Elizabeth has always had a romantic notion about pirates. I thought the day Jack threatened her would have changed her, but alas, no."
The two officers inspected the lower decks then returned to the upper aft decks. The sun was near to setting as they leaned against the aft rail, looking back at the Dauntless, which followed in the Resolute's wake a discreet distance behind.
"There's word from the Ministry of French smugglers," Commodore Norrington told Captain Groves, secure that no one else could overhear their conversation.
"Smugglers? We have dealt with smugglers before," Groves assured him.
"Ah, but these smugglers are bringing German, no Hessian weapons, firearms, in through North Africa and selling them to the native Indians who are attacking our outposts. They are trying to stir up war from the Hudson down to the southern most colonies."
"And how do we know they're actually French behind this and not the Huns?" Groves asked.
"We captured one of the smuggler's ships and killed the captain before he could destroy his orders. The arms are Hessian, shipped out of Hamburg to Tunisia by the French. They are transferred to private vessels, one of which we suspect is the Muratania. I hope Sparrow blew her out of the water."
Groves simply nodded. "How would Sparrow know about this?"
James turned to face him. "He wouldn't. He simply has a deep and abiding loathing for von der Kirchhoff. For once he and I agree on something."
"I see." Groves wondered why Norrington was telling him these things.
"I have sealed orders for you." Norrington straightened. "You will be involved in tracking down these smugglers and confiscating the weapons before they can reach the hands of the Indians in the Colonies."
Now Groves understood. "No more pirate chases?"
"This will be more profitable for the time being." Norrington looked down the length of the Resolute. "I think I'll take a walk. I'll join you in your cabin in a bit."
"Will you stay for tea?"
"Certainly?"
Theodore smiled. "And dinner? Will you dine with me, sir?"
"Yes, thank you, Theodore." James smiled briefly, then turned back to the Resolute. Hands behind his back, he started across to the steps.
"Sir." Groves knew it was time to mention his guest. "I have a guest aboard."
Norrington stopped and turned, head cocked to the side, waiting to hear more.
"He is an agent of the crown, from what I'm told," Groves said slowly, making sure he said only the truth. Jack had told him, just a few hours ago, that he was an agent of the crown. "Said his name is Thomas Wells. Have you met him?"
With a curious gleam in his eye, James shook his head, "No, but I would like to. How did he come to be aboard?"
"That's the curious part of the story." Here it comes, Theodore thought. If he swallows this, he'll swallow the lot. "We were following the pirate ships and saw someone fall overboard, or jump overboard, it wasn't clear. Luckily, we were able to rescue him, half-drowned and hit by a wooden splinter that nearly took his life."
"Remarkable. If he is working for the crown, as he says, then him being on the Muratania would make sense."
Theodore did not correct Norrington, who assumed the British spy was working on von der Kirchhoff's ship.
"He can't remember everything."
"I assume he was masquerading as a pirate on the Muratania," Norrington theorized.
"He doesn't look like a pirate," Theodore told him. "Looks like a gentlemen, except for the gold teeth."
"Well, these agents can be quite theatrical and tricky characters," James smiled, as if in memory. "I'd like to meet the chap if he's up to it. Let's go directly to him now."
Groves nodded and smiled. What else could he do?
Knowing that Commodore Norrington would be crossing his path sooner or later, Jack reasoned. He would not do for him to meet the man dressed in a night shirt. It just didn't have style. The deep pain in his left shoulder was a constant angry gnawing. Forcing the pain to the back of his mind, Jack focused on sitting up and bringing his legs over the edge of the bed. The world swam before his eyes and his breath seemed to catch in his throat.
Jamie must have seen him struggling to get up, because he rushed across the thick carpet, his feet barely making noise. "What are you doing, if I may be so bold?"
Jack's eyes focused on the man's face only inches from his own. "I have t'find me clothes," Jack explained. "I can't meet the Big Guns dressed like this." He felt himself swaying precariously.
Jamie reached to help Jack sit. "You look like death warmed over, Mr. Wells."
Nailing him with his most haughty glare, Jack raised his chin. "Death wants his new clothes."
Jamie couldn't meet those dark eyes for more than a few moments. With a sigh, the steward went to where he'd laid out the clothes he'd cleaned. With his back turned, Jack cast a quick smile his way.
"These belonged to a pastor." Jamie brought the stark black and white clothes to the bedside and folded them over a chair.
"Now they belong to a spy," Jack told him with a mysterious tone to his voice.
"Yes." Jamie smiled. He studied Jack. "You don't want to be liftin' that left arm of yours with that hole in you, so move slowly. Raise the right one." He held the right cuff of the night shirt while Jack followed his instructions. He couldn't restrain hissed that whistled out between clenched teeth when he had to move his left arm, but they got the nightshirt off. He held it for a moment in triumph, then put it on the bed.
"You've got quite a collection of tattoos," Jamie commented.
There was a not much room for privacy aboard a ship, and sailors quickly learned not to stare at one another, unless they wanted a fight. Jamie, it seemed, had not learned that lesson. Jack decided to let it pass. "You may have stolen me hair, but I still have my tattoos," he grinned back proudly. "Each one a memory. Well, actually, I woke up with one I have no idea how I got, but the others are all me mementos of good times."
Jamie said nothing. He raised one brow in a manor that reminded Jack of his young friend, Will Turner.
Very slowly, with several pauses while Jack regained his breath, they got Jack dressed. He felt very weary and dizzy, but his determination got him through the ordeal, and Jamie's clever fingers tied the stock at his neck. Jack was barely aware of what Jamie was doing. He was fighting back the pain and the black specks that came in tides to overpower his vision.
"You're a new man," Jamie commented taking step back to study Jack. "Wait a moment." He went to a drawer, pulled out a brush, and came back. Jack sat tolerantly while Jamie brushed his hair into some semblance of order.
"There." The steward put the comb back and pulled out a mirror for Jack.
"I know what I look like," Jack waived the mirror away with his right hand. "You don't have to remind me."
"Let me help you to the chair here." Jamie returned to Jack's side and put a gentle arm under Jack's good right arm.
This, Jack thought, may not be a good idea. With Jamie's help, he stood. His knees felt weak and the change in position started the fire burning anew in his shoulder, but he was master of his body. He would not let it command him. Clenching his jaw tightly, he allowed Jamie to help him walk the few steps to the armchair by the dining table.
"You sit here and I'll get you some nice warm broth."
"With brandy." Jack's voice had a low soft growl to it.
"Fine. Just a touch. If I can talk cook out of it."
Jamie left the cabin.
Sitting in the chair, Jack felt almost faint. He knew the blood had drained from his face. He glanced over his shoulder. The entire row of beautiful glass windows were closed. Fresh sea air might make him feel stronger. Only a step away, he thought. Forcing himself to stand again, Jack held onto the furniture with his good arm and took one slow step after the other. Reaching the window, he leaned against the wide seal and pulled one window open. He was about to return to his chair, when he heard something very interesting.
With great care, Jack made it back to the chair and collapsed into it, his head down, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Just as he did so, the door opened and Commodore Norrington proceeded Captain Groves into the room.
"Oh, Mr. Wells," Groves sounded surprised to see him up.
Slowly Jack raised his head, his eyes focusing on Norrington, first the man's knees, then his waist, chest and at last, face. He hadn't changed much in the past few years since he'd last seen the famous Pirate Hunter.
"Please excuse me for not standing," Jack said in his best American accent. "I am convalescing from injuries I sustained in the line of duty."
Groves, standing behind Norrington, had a somewhat shocked look on his face. "Ah.Sir, let me introduce you to Thomas Wells. Mr. Wells, Commodore James Norrington."
"My pleasure," James said, pulling a chair closer to Jack's and sitting down. "You do not look well, sir."
Groves was of a like mind. "You should be in bed," he said sternly.
Jack raised a hand. "I could not meet such a famous, honored person as you, Commodore, whilst laying abed." He smiled with his lips closed.
"I would not have you get more ill due to me," Norrington protested.
"Sir," Jack suddenly sat up a little straighter, his face very serious and, he was sure, very pale, "I have urgent news I did not feel entirely free to share with Captain Groves." He leaned slightly forward, and Norrington leaned forward in his own chair to catch every word.
"What is it?"
"It's the damned Frogs, sir. They are smuggling Hessian firearms into the Colonies using pathetic third-rate pirates and smugglers to help stir up the Indians against the colonial outposts." Jack spoke slowly, concentrating on his accent and keeping his hands holding fast to the arms of his chair.
Norrington swung around and cast an "I told you so!" glance at Groves, then returned to facing Jack. "What more can you tell me?"
Jack sighed dramatically. Truth be told, he did hurt. It felt like the devil's own brand was burning into his shoulder and he had to fight to retain his faculties. "The arms are shipped by the French out of Hamburg. They take them to Tunisia, where the smugglers pick them up and cross toward the Caribbean. They sail up the eastern seaboard, meeting their contacts at secluded coves." He closed his eyes. "I was caught spying on von der Kirchhoff. Heard of him?"
"Yes," Norrington nodded.
"Heinrich von der Kirchhoff was going to hang me, when the Black Pearl came up and started harassing her. Unfortunately, the two ships began exchanging fire. I was hit and knocked clear overboard. It probably saved my life, but I lost all my proof."
"Brave man," the Commodore said. "We have gained the same intelligence, but I didn't know von der Kirchhoff was involved. If Sparrow didn't kill him, you can be assured sir, the British Navy will."
Jack's smile was small, his head jerking slightly to the side, then he looked down. The darkness was threatening to overwhelm him. "I think I need a lie down," he managed, then he slumped forward in his chair.
To Be Continued.