Points to the reader who remembered the dude Norrington shot! I was hoping I hadn't left him for too long. Don't forget that guy, he comes into play later. Not this chapter, but the next one.
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One round of the taverns told Jack that nothing too damaging had been said. As far as anyone knew, the only ship to have been attacked by the Black Pearl was the Hellfire, and Jack shifted as much blame as he could onto it for starting their fight in the first place. Some odd stories had been circulating about a pirate who called himself Bloody and habitually drank the blood of his victims. "Oh, him," Jack corroborated that one. "Yes, he seems to thrive on it, honestly. It's amazing."
The only bad news, really, came from Elizabeth. Goodness only knew whom she'd bribed to get a letter brought to the pirate city, but here it was, addressed to Captain Jack Sparrow in her most beautiful spindly cursive.
It irked Jack to admit that he couldn't read script, but eventually he gave up and brought the letter to Norrington, who had refused to leave the ship and mingle with the pirates.
The letter turned out to be short and to the point:
Jack, I have heard some BLOODY strange stories lately. What are you doing with YBFN? I am very ashamed of one of you. I would be quite surprised at YBFN if he were doing this all of his own free will, but if you are forcing his hand I demand that you stop it at once. Write back to me as soon as possible and tell me what is going on. – Elizabeth Turner
"Smart girl," Jack commented once the letter had been read out. "Even if someone read this there's nothing that could be held against anyone. Although it was a bit stupid to sign her name anyway…"
"Jack…" Norrington was staring at Elizabeth's neat handwriting. "Wh- what have I done?"
"Please don't get all dramatic!" Jack exclaimed. "Come on – you'll be home inside a few weeks, mate, and you're missing your only chance to live it up. I order you to come ashore tonight. See the sights. We'll fix you up with some nice Tortuga maiden and you'll forget all about this nasty letter."
Still off-balance after the reminder of his old life, Norrington allowed himself to be dragged ashore into a tavern. When he finally came out of his reverie and got his bearings, he was sitting sandwiched between the two most horrible-looking prostitutes he had ever seen. Having already resumed his policy of perpetual inebriation, Jack sat across from him describing some sea battle or another with such vehement gestures as to knock something over after nearly every sentence. Realizing he wasn't being watched carefully, Norrington struggled to his feet, detached the women, and made a run for it. He started back towards the Pearl, furious with himself and with Jack and with pirates in general, and was nearly there when his stomach started growling.
Well, there was no harm in stopping in at a tavern for a moment just to eat, was there? Before he could change his mind, Norrington ducked in to an almost-respectable-looking establishment…
…And collided squarely with a pirate who exclaimed, "You! You're the one they call Bloody, ain't you? I've heard all about you."
"Er…yes…yes, I am." It was better to be feared than bullied, and Norrington was gratified to see the pirate back away. Perhaps there was something to notoriety after all, he reflected. The tavern-keeper sat him at the nicest table and served him the least-maggoty food. The least ugly ladies came up to him, draped themselves over his lap, and demanded to hear stories of his adventures.
Just when he thought he might indeed be in over his head, his captain sauntered into the pub and sat down at his table. "Hello there, ladies, Bloody. I knew I'd find you here, mate. How's life?"
At his friendliest and most entertaining, Jack shared stories of the last few ships they'd taken, giving Norrington far more than his share of credit every time. Soon he had the women fighting over who would take him to her room.
When the bill was paid and everyone was thoroughly intoxicated, the group staggered out into the night. Jack escorted his lady to her home, presented her with a lovely necklace "to remember this wonderful night by," and kissed her goodnight.
Norrington stared oddly at him until he explained himself. "Ana Maria is waiting for me," he slurred, "And I promised I'd come back to her tonight." He smiled. "The other ladies will have to wait until morning."
Certain that they would be hung over into the next decade, Norrington's eyebrows rose. "Morning?" he echoed. "Perish the thought."
"Aye, morning. I can rise with the sun, mate. Listen: if drink drives every thought from your head save one, be sure it's this: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"
"Of coursh. Night, Jack."
Jack tipped his hat and left, waving cheerfully to Norrington…and his companion, who threw herself into his arms the moment the captain had gone….
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The next morning, Norrington remembered nothing beyond stumbling into her run-down set of rooms. Cursing his memory for its censorship, and cursing all the earth's rum for the headache he awoke with, he pulled his clothing on (inside out), left some pirate booty on the dresser for the lady, and was gone before she even awoke.
But the next night, determined not to repeat his mistake, Norrington was careful not to drink himself quite so far under the table. When the ladies began fussing over him he still had his wits very much about him, and even managed to tell some stories and jokes without Jack's help. Finally it was again time to leave the tavern for someone's room, and he did it this time without bumping into quite so many tables.
Out on the street, valiantly allowing his lurching date to hang onto his arm, Norrington felt rather claustrophobic. There were far too many people and too much stink and sweat, so he headed down a small back alleyway. Reeling a bit from the rum and the girl's overpowering perfume, he didn't even hear the footsteps behind them. A hand on his shoulder made him whirl around, and he got a quick glimpse of a big dirty fist before it connected with his face and
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Norrington opened his eyes and then squinted them shut again, wincing as the sunlight drove daggers into his already-aching head. He lay still for a few moments, trying in vain to remember why he was lying in what felt (and smelled) remarkably like the gutter, and then finally forced himself in one agonizing motion to sit up and look around.
Once his vision cleared and he could let go of his temples, the first thing he noticed was a pirate sprawled out next to him. It was another moment before he noticed the blood that had pooled under the man's midsection…and only a second or two after that before he noticed that the bloody sword lying next to them was a perfectly balanced, elaborately decorated Will Turner original.
Norrington gulped and reached to his hip, praying that somehow his own sword was still there and the murder weapon had belonged to somebody else…
Nope. Empty, of course. His sword was not where it belonged, it was lying on the ground covered in some dead pirate's blood and-
The "dead" pirate chose that moment to sneeze. Blood flew from his mouth and he groaned, slowly moving his hands to cradle his wounded belly, as Norrington watched in horrified fascination.
Whoever did that – me, I suppose – did a nice job, he reflected. Several of the pirate's fingers were clearly broken, as was his nose and probably a rib or two besides, judging from the look of his chest. Not to mention the stab wound that had left a respectable puddle of blood on the ground.
Still feeling oddly numb and befuddled, Norrington attempted to rise and see about getting the other man medical attention. As soon as he'd struggled to his feet, though, he became aware of a number of funny sensations in his body.
Something itched under his nose. He went up to touch it, and found that most of his face was caked with dried blood. Something was wrong with his left leg. He glanced down and noticed a small, thin dagger protruding from his thigh. That could explain why it was so difficult to stand. But wasn't it odd…a lady's weapon? What lady had-
All of a sudden the answer came back to him. This fool on the ground had grabbed his lady-friend last night, and snatched the dagger she'd drawn to defend herself with. Norrington remembered viewing the scene from an odd perspective – he'd been on the ground, knocked down by a hard punch to the face… which would explain the cut under his eye that was the source of all this blood.
He licked his lips, frowning as he became aware of their metallic flavor. He could remember the whole fight, now – what had started as a drunken attempt to carry off a woman had escalated quickly when Norrington objected on moral grounds. She'd run away while the men were exchanging blows, but finally when Norrington tried to knock the pirate's dagger away, he'd ended up driving it down into his own leg instead. Furious, he'd drawn his sword and efficiently put a hole through his attacker's abdomen, before sinking down to the ground and comforting oblivion.
He wondered what to do next.
Thankfully, the injured pirate helped him out. "Tay-ee-uh wenches."
"What?" Norrington bent over him to hear better.
"Said, take…me…t'one o'th'wenches," he gasped. "Have er bind it for me…I'm bleedin bad, mate."
Was this what pirates did for one another after a fight? Did this fool even remember who had given him the wound? Norrington wondered whether he ought to just walk away, but he finally decided he couldn't really leave a man in such bad condition. He hauled him to his feet and, doing his best to ignore his own injuries, half-dragged the semi-conscious pirate back to the main road to look for help.
Apparently sleeping late was the custom in Tortuga, for although the sun was already high, very few people seemed to have recovered yet. Several pirates who, like Norrington, had slept sprawled in the streets had also been awakened by the sun, but they merely dragged themselves into some shade before collapsing again.
No help from those fellows, Norrington thought wryly, heading for a random house. Perhaps some of the ladies lived there, and they might be able to help since they would just be asleep and less horribly hung-over.
They knocked on the door and then stood waiting, leaning on each other and breathing heavily. The other pirate spoke first. "What's your name, friend?"
"N…" Norrington cleared his throat. "They call me Bloody. You?"
"You?" After a few unsuccessful attempts, he managed to stand on his own and look Norrington in the face. "You're Bloody? Jack Sparrow's little friend?"
"I wouldn't call myself little," Norrington said, feeling inexplicably needled.
"You'll be little by the time we're through with you. We'll cut you to pieces, mate. We heard what you did to the Hellfire, and now this, and we-"
At that moment the door opened. Not even caring whose house it was, satisfied that he had passed the responsibility off to someone else, Norrington turned and limped carefully back towards the ships.
His only thought was finding Jack and getting himself the bloody hell out of piracy once and for all.
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TBC
I originally had Bloody's little, um, altercation take place on his first night in Tortuga, but then I figured I should at least give him one night of drunken debauchery before getting him stabbed again. Poor little bugger!
And if anybody thinks it's OOC for him to spend the night with a hooker, you can always believe his better nature took over at the last moment and they just cuddled up and went nite-nite together. *leers and begins to channel Barbossa* But I doubt it.
Review for me! Or he won't get any more sleezy Tortuga lovin'! (he won't get any anyway, though.)