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An Answer of Doubt- part 4
Norrington's first few days on the Pearl were relatively uneventful. He knew that all of Jack's original crew, and several of the ex-Navy knew his true identity. Most of the crew, as far as he could tell, did not. They accepted him as Grey, a deserter. Everyone else played merrily along. He manned, pumped, sanded, tarred, caulked, adjusted, polished, mended and sat, both lookout and two long night-watches.
Norrington did not mind the menial work. In fact it was heavenly, a delicious change from requisitions, reports, trying to explain military strategy to a governor, having to listen to a governor explaining social strategy. Though the work was hard, he never had to wonder if what he had done, was what he had set out to do. Did, what he polished, shine? It did! It was gratifying. James grinned to himself. He only had to turn pirate to find an honest day's work to do.
"Oy, Grey." Norrington looked up, but continued with his task, which at the moment was scrubbing deck.
"Yes, Clemmons?"
"What you got to smile about? You been scrubbing the same same deck I am? Somethin' not right about you, Grey."
Clemmons had come on board in Tortuga, same as James. At first, he had assumed that the man was antagonistic, but not just toward him. Clemmons was a pirate. Some pirates are antagonistic, aren't they? After a while, he wondered if Clemmons recognized him. Finally, he decided that it was something personal, less easy to explain. He had hoped ignoring the man, might cause Clemmons to lose interest.
Norrington made no comment, but returned his full attention to his work.
"What kind of a name is Grey?"
Norrington continued putting his back into scrubbing, until Clemmons put a boot on James' hands. Norrington pulled his fingers away, and stood, happy to be a couple inches taller than Clemmons.
"English, Clemmons. Since most of the men on this ship are English, and proud of it, I take it you do not have a problem with the English."
"Grey like what?"
"I don't follow you."
"Grey like corpses? Grey like ghosts? Grey like sea monsters?"
"Are ghosts and sea monsters grey, Clemmons?"
Paggett, another new arrival, chuckled but did not look up from scrubbing the deck. The parrot flew from Cotton's left shoulder and landed on James' right shoulder.
"Dead men tell no tales!" said the parrot.
"Mr. Clemmons, is there a problem?" Jack called out from the helm.
Clemmons said nothing, nor did his eyes move from Norrington. Jack gave the helm to Gibbs and glided astern to stand beside Clemmons.
"Our Captain has asked you a question, Clemmons. I suggest that you answer him," said Norrington, not taking his eyes from Clemmons.
"It's Grey, Cap'n! Grey's the problem here," Clemmons shouted.
"I'm listening, Mr. Clemmons."
Clemmons jumped a little. Norrington did not, though neither expected Jack's voice from mere inches away.
"Grey ain't just right, I tell ya!"
"Bad luck for the Navy! Bad luck for the Navy! BrrroK!" said the parrot.
Clemmons started to nod and point to the parrot, "You see! You heard him, Cap'n. Grey ain't right! The parrot knows!"
"Knows what? What's so bad about that? Made my life's work being bad luck for the Navy. In fact, the whole bloody lot of us have!"
Except for Clemmons, and Norrington, the rest of the crew, to a man, as well as Ana, shared a hearty laugh with the captain.
"No Cap'n! Listen to the parrot! Grey's like some kind of Jonah on the Pearl. Parrot's tryin' ta warn us, all of us!"
"Yes, well, save us all from the wisdom of parrots. The bird eats gunpowder, shot, and hair beads, and talks back to Anamaria. That parrot is so bloody brilliant, that if it weren't a bird, it would be long dead by now."
"Jonah on the Pearl! Jonah on the Pearl!" Jack rolled his eyes.
"You heard the parrot! Grey is a Jonah!"
"How d'ya know the bird's not talking about you, Clemmons? He is standing on Grey, and lookin' right at you, lad."
"T'is an omen Cap'n! He be a Jonah, I tell ya! Tha's why we got him! The Navy didn't want him! Bet he sank every ship he was ever on!"
"I've heard some crusty, fly-bitten, pea-headed codswallop in my time, but none of that compares to yours, Mr. Clemmons. Are you trying to prove to me that you are a folly-prognosticating parrot-brained scatomancer? Let me ask you something. Who am I, Mr. Clemmons?"
"See? A Jonah, I tells ya! The Cap'n's lost his memory, all 'cause of Grey!"
The crew laughed, enjoying the show.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, o sibyl of yore."
"Aye, you be Cap'n Sparrow!"
"Don't you think I'd bloody know, if he were a Jonah? Do you imagine I'd let a Jonah anywhere near my Pearl?"
"Sometimes these things be hard to know, Cap'n."
"I'd know, Clemmons. Belay that tattle and get back to work, now. If you don't, I predict that you will not enjoy what becomes of your future. Do I make myself clear?"
"Aye Cap'n."
"Mr. Cotton, take your parrot where it will not upset my crew. Back to work with the rest of you!"
"Cotton walked over to Norrington to retrieve the parrot. Norrington turned, leaning the shoulder with the parrot perched on it toward Cotton, as Cotton reached an arm out to take the bird. The parrot flew off Norrington's shoulder, over the bow to the east.
"You all saw that! The parrot abandoned ship! It knows he's gonna sink us!"
Then before anyone could say or do anything, Clemmons pulled a knife, stabbed Norrington in the back, and drew up his arm, to stab again.
Jack pulled back on Clemmons knife arm at the wrist and shoved this elbow inward, with his other hand, bending the elbow the wrong way, with a sickening crunch. Clemmons hand dropped the knife. Cotton picked it up off the deck.
"Mr. Cotton, help Grey into my quarters. Mr. Gibbs, you'll be needed in my quarters as well. Ana, you have the helm."
Cotton cut Norrington's shirt off, and used it to hold pressure on the wound, while walking him to the Captain's quarters.
"Mr. Adams! Mr. Sterns! Check for weapons then escort Clemmons, here, to the brig, where he can sharpen up his one-armed half-witted fortune telling act, while we sail toward the port of his impending arrival. The rest of me crew, shows over. Back to work."
Jack entered his cabin to find Norrington face down on his bed, Cotton still pressing on the wound, and Gibbs drinking Jack's best rum.
"How does it look?"
"Dunno Jack, Cotton reckons it's bleeding hard yet," said Gibbs between sips.
"How does it feel, James?"
"I've had worse."
"Here, Cotton, I'll do that. Go find that trouble-loving bird."
Cotton let his hand up, when Jack's replaced it. He gave Jack an apologetic shrug.
"Lock us in behind Cotton, Mr. Gibbs."
Gibbs did, and wandered over to watch as blood soaked through Norrington's shirt.
"My fault fer recruitin' him, Captain. Knew he was a bit of a loon, but never figgered him the type to go all daft and stab somebody," said Gibbs, and then finished off the bottle.
"To quote the only sensible thing Clemmons had to say, sometimes these things be hard to know."
After another minute or two, Gibbs said, "Let's have a look. That stain ain't getting no bigger, Jack."
Jack raised his hand and peeled the shirt back.
"What do you think, Mr.Gibbs?"
"Looks like the blade hit rib and slid a ways, the tip went up under some muscle. Seen plenty worse. Best take care with it though."
"What do suggest?"
"Not a lot of flesh over that bone. Wouldn't like to have to cauterize it. Cleaning and stitching would likely be the best thing fer it."
"I'll do it. Take Stearns and Adams or Mulrooney, take all three with you, and go see what you can do for Clemmons' arm. Then you and Ana keep an eye on the crew for me, ey?"
"Aye, Jack."
When Gibbs left, Jack locked them in. He pulled out various implements from drawers and a fresh bottle of rum from the bottom of a wardrobe. Jack poured some rum into a flat copper tray and handed the bottle to Norrington.
"Have a drink, James."
James rolled slightly and took a couple of hard swallows.
"I take it you have done this before?"
Jack laughed. "Been practicing on myself for years. Gibbs is good. He's patched me up a time or two. Course his eyes aren't as keen as they once were. Didn't want him stitching my hand to your back, mate."
Jack soaked the needle and thread, and a clean bandage, in the rum. He took another bandage, dipped it and used it to dab at the edges of the wound, then cleaned the surrounding area. He took up the needle and thread, held the skin together between his fingers, so the edges lined up correctly, and made the middle stitch. Norrington did not even flinch. Jack halved the wound on the right side with a second, then on the left side. On the sixth stitch, Norrington said, "I feel like a pin cushion! Are you going to embroider flowers around the border?"
"Not my fault it's a long cut. Just one more stitch, James."
Jack was satisfied that limited movement would not tear open his neat handiwork. He took the rum soaked bandage, wrung it and patted it over the stitches, then placed flat a layer of clean dry bandages and wrapped a long bandage around James to hold everything in place, not loose enough to slip, not tight enough to restrict breathing. Jack finished with a loop around James' shoulder for support, and another around his chest for good measure. Then he tied the ends off.
"There now. You rest here, James. I'll string up a hammock. You'll have a night-nurse not five feet away."
"I'll be fine to sleep with the crew, Captain."
"You sleep where you are, until I throw a healthy man out of my cabin. That -is- an order, Mr. Grey."
"I thought we had agreed that I would receive no special treatment, Captain."
"Fair enough. Won't bother with the hammock, then. Wouldn't give up more than half my bed for anyone else on the crew. Better for you, anyway. If you need me in the middle of the night, you can give me a tap. Meantime, I'll send various crewmembers in, all of whom are not me, to check on you, lest a single visit from the Captain to his own quarters, constitute, in your mind, some favoritism on my part. Oh, wait. If I don't come in, that is a kind of favoritism, isn't it?"
"I see, you intend to use the fact that I prefer no favors against me, in order to do what you want."
"I didn't make the rules, James. Can't blame me for playing by them, to the best of my ability."
"This is not a game."
"Who ever said it was?"
"Thank you for stitching me up, Jack."
"I'd have done the same for anyone, mate."
"I know."
"Try to sleep, James."
"As soon as I have the chance to sleep."
"Don't mind me. Just need to plot a course."
As Norrington watched, Jack found a chart in a cupboard, and sat to make some calculations. When Jack looked up again, Norrington was sleeping heavily.
...to be continued...
