RETURN TO THE BLACK PEARL
Well, I figure I've tortured you guys enough. I've actually had this chapter written for a couple of days, but I just haven't had time to post it. Blame my school, not me.
On an interesting sidebar, the other day in my AP English class (which I love, by the way), we were required to pick a favorite word. Mine was "dastardly." I just love that word. It makes me so happy.
CAST OF THOUSANDS: What kind of freak gets really happy from a word? Oh, wait, remember who we're talking to.
ME: That was uncalled for.
Chapter Three: Jack Attack, Continued
Norrington watched in astonishment as Captain Jack Sparrow, hanging on to the rigging of the Black Pearl while attempting a balancing act on the side, lost his balance, then his grip, then his dignity when a bullet flew past—whether it connected with pirate flesh or not, Norrington couldn't tell—causing him to dive head-first into the azure water that appeared to swallow him whole. After a few moments, the ripples in the water smoothed out. To all intents and purposes, Captain Jack Sparrow was dead.
The effect of his passing was immediate and obvious. The Black Pearl's continuing attempts to repel her attackers were half-hearted at best. Norrington chose at this time to break up the fight. At the Dauntless's approach, the other pirate ship scattered. But the Black Pearl made no effort to flee.
So Norrington found himself with a legendary pirate ship and her crew of unusually subdued pirates on his hands.
The Black Pearl's crew worried him. They simply did not act like the pirates Norrington had dirtied his hands with previously. They seemed to care more about the death of their captain than they did the fact that they had been captured. Even his promises to hang every last one of them, soon, failed to rouse them. So Norrington was careful to give orders for a patrol to be sent to search for Sparrow out of their hearing.
"But Sparrow must be dead!" exclaimed a bewildered and incredulous Gillette.
"I assure you, Lieutenant, that he is not," Norrington said grimly. He hadn't believed Sparrow's death for a minute. It would have been too good to be true. Too easy, almost. It would have been the perfect way for all his troubles and vexes to disappear, so of course it hadn't happened. Life was never that good.
"No man could survive that," Gillette asserted.
No man but Captain Jack Sparrow, that is, Norrington thought sardonically. And he was aware that at least two other people felt the same way.
A squad of marines accompanied him through the streets of Port Royal. He halted outside a building; a sign swaying gently in the wind proclaimed it BROWN'S SMITHY. He motioned to some marines, who compelled the barred door to open and fell behind Norrington. They marched in.
The only normal thing about the interior was the resigned-looking donkey, which stood calmly munching hay. Norrington briefly wondered at the absence of the large, grubby-looking man with liquor oozing from his very pores whose usual post was in a nearby chair, but then recalled that said man was comfortably detoxifying at the fort jail, blissfully unaware of the charges he would have to face upon his awakening.
Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann had been caught in the middle of a sentence, which began "We've got to find Jack—" and most likely would have been finished with "before Norrington does."
His hunch had been right. He wished it hadn't. "Miss Swann," said Norrington formally. He didn't want to do this, but he felt he had no choice. "Mr. Turner. You are under arrest." At this, several marines quickly apprehended the stunned couple.
"For what crime, Commodore?" Elizabeth demanded hotly, regaining her voice almost immediately.
He sighed. He really didn't want to do this. "For plotting to aid and abet a known fugitive."
Elizabeth glared at him. The look said, "I thought you were above that." Norrington smiled briefly. "Don't worry. You'll only be held until Sparrow has been hanged." He gestured towards to door, and his captives were guided in that direction by the red-coated marines that inexplicably reminded him of barber poles.
As they exited, Norrington felt his shoulders slump uncontrollably.
That dastardly Norrington! He says he won't let Will and Elizabeth out of jail (or, as Prof. Tolkien would call it, gaol) until you review.
CAST OF THOUSANDS: How dastardly.
ME: Wait 'til you see that dastardly moustache he's grown.
