"Are you sure you're all right, sir?" Gilette asked for the hundredth time.

"Damn you to Satan's cesspools! Yes, I'm all right, now if we could please-" Norrington broke off abruptly and took a deep breath. Good one, Bloody. Another few slips like that and you'll find yourself facing off with Sparrow in a neck-stretching contest. "Sorry…I've been ranting and railing at idiotic pirates so long I've almost forgotten how to speak to civilized people. At least there were no ladies present, eh?"

Gilette blinked, and returned Norrington's smile uneasily.

That smile! Damn that, too! Since when had he started smiling? Norrington realized that this was going to be a lot more difficult than he had previously imagined. He cleared his throat and forced his mouth into a frown. "Very well - back to business. As I was saying, the last time we tried to hang J-...Sparrow... it turned into a bloody fiasco. We can't have that happen again."

"Well, sir, Will Turner is out of town..."

"Good. And Mrs. Turner? She is here? Send for her at once."

As the soldiers scrambled to obey, Norrington focused on resisting the urge to open the window and get some air. His headache was getting unbearable and he'd give almost anything for a swig of rum or at least some-

"Commodore? Sir? Please, sir, what do you think?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention," Norrington grated out. "Please repeat yourself."

"I said, don't you think it would be a good idea to keep Sparrow in a straight-jacket like a madman? I mean, we already have him shackled, but that hasn't stopped him from fashioning sixteen different lock-picks from various materials he's found in the cell or on his person since we caught him. That averages to more than four a day, sir, and-"

"Excuse me, but I fail to see how the rate of Mr. Sparrow's lock-pick production would factor in the decision of whether or not to waste time going to a madhouse to borrow a jacket. Yes, gentlemen, you heard me correctly: waste time. It would be a waste of time to drive an hour and back again when we can make do with what we have here. If he's too mobile in shackles, get some rope and tie him properly."

The soldier gulped. "Well, sir, we tried that. Several times, sir, but he cuts the ropes or breaks them or wriggles out."

Norrington whirled to face him. "Or simply magicks them away? Or chews through them like a rat?" His patience had finally worn out. "Or perhaps he's actually a vampire, and can change into a bat at will, and slip his chains that way! Are you quite through admiring Captain Sparrow's amazing powers? Yes? Good." When he was calm again, Norrington decided it would be a good idea to memorize his obstacles. "Tell me what sort of guard you've got set up around him…what precautions your officer is having you take."

"Guards at every corner of the corridors, no guard ever being out of sight of all the others even for a moment," a soldier began. "No food that's not been checked for hidden escape implements, no visitors whatsoever, no human contact except the guards, who may not talk to him or listen to anything he says…" He had to break off for a moment to breathe, but then continued to rattle off the list. "No opening Sparrow's cell for any reason, no approaching the bars to poke food through unless he's face down on the ground at the far end, no removing or allowing to be removed the metal that's been welded over his window from the outside, no being drunk while on duty, and no giving Sparrow alcohol either." He took another breath, but Norrington interrupted.

"No drinks for the prisoner? Whyever not?"

The soldier looked away, blushing a little. "Uh, well, sir, it may sound silly, but some of us have heard that he gets special powers when he's drunk. And it may be wrong, of course, but we're taking no chances."

"I order you to be neither superstitious nor barbaric," the Commodore snarled, trying to mask his desperation with annoyance. "Give the man his alcohol if he needs it." He paused. "And I may need to speak with the prisoner at some point. What procedures are there for me to have a talk with him?"

"I suppose nobody would refuse you, sir, as long as you were accompanied by half a dozen guards for safety's sake."

At that moment there was a soft knock at the door. Norrington walked over and, expecting yet another group of annoying subordinates, yanked it open rudely. "Yes?"

*************

Elizabeth froze. "Commodore?"

Instantly softening, he took off his hat and stepped back to bow. "Miss Sw…Mrs. Turner," he corrected himself. "Good morning. I apologize - I was expecting someone else. Never mind. Come in."

She very nearly tripped over her feet as she attempted simultaneously to bid him good morning, step inside, and absorb the remarkable physical changes that had come over him since last she saw him.

As soon as she was seated, she couldn't help reaching over his desk to touch his lip softly. "What happened?"

I deliberately smashed myself against the wheel. Norrington shrugged and smiled. "It's nothing. Something the pirates gave me to remember them by."

Her eyes narrowed. "And on your brow?"

Gibbs offered me three gold pieces to be allowed to do that. "The same. Don't worry about me, it's only a flesh wound."

Something in his face gave him away, though, and she smiled wryly. "You poor thing…and I suppose that dark skin came from…being staked to the deck in the baking sun all day and trod on like a carpet?" Her tone was all innocence.

"Precisely."

"Poor man. I sympathize - the things I witnessed on that ship...I'll never forget it as long as I live."

"Mmm," Norrington agreed absently. He was suddenly absorbed in a brilliant new idea. "Mrs. Turner…considering your…familiarity with Jack Sparrow, I think we might as well get you on the record saying you identify him by face. I've heard some people complaining that they don't believe the man we have really is Jack Sparrow at all, but they'd never doubt the word of a lady. If you don't mind…?"

"Oh, of course," she agreed instantly. "Only tell me how I can…be of service…and I'll be glad to help."

Clearly she understood the game. "Well, for starters you can take out any hatpins you might be wearing - Sparrow can use them as lock picks if he somehow gets ahold of them."

"Of course." She rose and dipped a curtsy. "I must go back home and change my dress, as it will probably get dirty if I go inside the prison."

"Certainly. I shall wait for you right here."

He couldn't help wondering whether she still swayed when she walked, but he did manage not to look.

******************

TBC (soon.) See? I'm being good, updating regularly again...please, pretty please, review for me? Are ya still reading?