Chapter 3 - Back on the Black Pearl
Norrington knelt trembling in the sand at his feet. It should have been every pirates' dream, but it gave Jack quite a chill.
"Are you here alone?" he asked.
Norrington blinked up at him, shaking with weariness and fever. After a few moments, in which he seemed to ponder the meaning of the question, he nodded.
"Gibbs, stay here with the rest of the shore party. I want the supplies loaded first thing in the morning. Anamaria love, you and me are going back to the Pearl with our guest."
Anamaria glared at him, opening her mouth to say something, probably a suggestion that wouldn't bode well for Norrington's health. Jack put his hands together and looked back at her with his best pleading expression. Don't give me any trouble now. She always said that it made him look like a kicked puppy that look, but it normally worked and it served him well now. She dragged Norrington to his feet and started in the direction of the Pearl's boat. The Commodore seemed completely exhausted, barely able to stand, and his weight was making her stagger. Jack moved to take the man's other arm.
When they had rowed out to the Pearl they had to lower a rope and haul Norrington aboard like a sack of flour. It seemed to take an age before they had got him onto his feet again and into Jack's cabin.
Out in the moonlight Jack had seen that Norrington was thin, feverish and suffering from a severe shock. In the light of the lamps his truly pitiful condition was fully revealed. He was dressed in nothing but his underclothes, which were heavily marked with partially washed out bloodstains. The rags were stiff with salt - Norrington had obviously rinsed them in the lagoon rather than risk contaminating the spring. If the state of the boat they had found were anything to go by, the rest of his uniform had probably been past saving. The bottom half of his shirt was missing, ripped up to make clumsy bandages that encircled his left arm and chest. There was a lump the size of an egg on his temple, in the process of turning from the purple-black of a recent bruise to the yellow-green of a well-established one. Glancing down at his hands, Jack saw that they were scraped nearly raw, the fingernails ragged and bloody at the edges. He must have dug those six graves with his bare hands.
"Anamaria love, can you lend him some clothes?"
Norringon wasn't quite so far gone as he'd thought - a look of complete horror came across his face. For the first time that night Jack's face broke into a proper gold-toothed grin.
"Don't worry mate, she wears a shirt and breeches just like the rest of us. It's just that she might have something clean for you."
Anamaria rolled her eyes with exasperation and disappeared for a couple of minutes back to her own cabin. She insisted on keeping her own space on the Pearl and had never left so much as a scarf in Jack's quarters. She returned with a much-mended shirt and pair of breeches that she dumped on the table. With one quick contemptuous glare at the two men she turned on her heel and stormed off, slamming the door on the way out, just to make her point. At least she hadn't hit him yet.
"You know, for a fine upstanding officer of His Majesty's Navy, you don't make a very good impression on women."
The ghost of a smile touched Norringon's face for a second. Perhaps he was coming out of it a bit.
"All right, I think I'd better have a word with my first mate, so I'll leave you for a bit. There's water in the jug there and you can help yourself to a tot if you want a composer." Jack rose and left the Commodore to his own devices. No harm in leaving him unwatched with the state the man was in.
Anamaria was standing at the helm staring out across the lagoon towards the open sea. She must have heard him approach but steadfastly refused to look at him. He walked up behind her and slid his arms gently around her middle, holding her close.
"He would have hanged you. He's tried it twice and he'll do it if we give him another chance."
"He's a naval officer love and I'm a pirate. It's the way of the world. In fact, if he'd only had the sense to be a merchant, I think we could have been the best of friends. Really I do." He stuck his head on her shoulder. Please forgive me love.
"If he'd been a merchant then it would be his cargoes we're stealing" she pointed out.
"True love, but I reckon it's a privilege many are proud of, to be robbed by Captain Jack Sparrow. Shows they're men of substance, savvy?"
She snorted derisively but the tension started to leave her and he could sense he'd won this battle, at least for now.
"He's had a bit of time to clean himself up. Let's go back and see what he has to say for himself."