Chapter 5
"Shipping Off"
A quarter to twelve and they still hadn't set off, all due to certain… complications. What made it so complicated, you ask? Well, what– or should I say,'who'– else? Heaven knows where he disappeared to, but Jack was delaying the departure by a whole hour and a half in his absence. They could not very well leave without him, as he was the one that the note had been addressed to. To show up without him and expect their enemies to accept it would be nothing short of downright foolish and stupid.
Lieutenant Groves, a courteous, bright young fellow, stood beside the commodore, his lips pressed into a thin line, concealing his secret thoughts of amusement. His commander was a even-tempered and well composed man– even throughout the most dire situations. So true it was, that it had seemed to young Groves that the commodore could not lose his temper. Should some unfavorable happening take place, the officer kept a cool, stoic expression pressed upon his countenance; refusing to let anyone– regardless of whether they were an ally or enemy– glimpse at his thoughts. He was perfectly calm…until Jack Sparrow came along.
Groves had heard of the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow many times before, as he had joined the Navy at a young age and happened to know that Jack had come to be a thorn in England's side for many years; but he never actually got to see the pirate until the previous year. In truth, he hadn't appeared to be anywhere near as notorious as he had imagined. In fact, he looked downright insane. But Lieutenant Groves had enough firsthand experience to know that appearances can be very deceiving.
Captain Sparrow and Will Turner had somehow managed to commandeer the Dauntless and then, when Commodore Norrington had caught up with them and boarded, he had by hook or crook managed to slip under the soldiers' noses completely unnoticed and the next thing they all new, Sparrow and Mr. Turner were sailing away on the fastest ship in the Caribbean without a care in the world (in a figure of speech, of course). Surely, he had to be the best pirate he'd ever seen– he'd never known anyone to be able to sneak about soldiers in such a perfectly executed plan. And, somehow, he'd managed to do so perfectly and with someone at his side! The Turner boy, who hadn't set foot off of land since he came to Port Royal, had executed it just as perfectly as Captain Sparrow. Truly, the man had to be a great leader. Ha! Captain indeed!
However, no matter how many great things there were to Jack Sparrow, with the current situation, the lieutenant couldn't help but note that he held many faults as well.… One them was punctuality, and the other- which, I suppose, could walk hand in hand with the first fault- was driving Commodore James Norrington nigh insane. This is what Groves thought so funny. The commodore could collect himself under possibly every situation… unless Jack Sparrow was there. Only then did he seem to lose some form of his cool.
For some, it was disgusting the way that Sparrow could cause the commodore to lose his temper so quickly and to others, it was a silent and very secret riot. His normally allayed composure would be shattered in an instant, replaced with contortions of rage, frustration and even the brink of insanity–all just from having to listen to that drawl any further. And did Sparrow stop then?…No, he did not. It was almost as if he enjoyed his playful torture; asking horribly stupid questions, twisting words and sentences around to have different meanings, touching objects that weren't meant to be touched, talking about random and insignificant subjects–some of them lewd and uncomfortable to bring to thought–, breaking rules and small promises and shirking chores–shrugging it off thereafter as if it were nothing–, singing that blasted song in an off-key tone.…
After many long hours of attempting to be patient, the commodore had come to a new conclusion and theory: it was possible to cross too many lines, and, right now, Jack was flirting with the idea, coming closer and closer to getting a very good punishment as each minute passed.
The commodore glanced at his watch again. Ten minutes to noon. Blast it! Where was he?! He said he'd be there and they were depending on it! He growled to himself, threatening to mumble his thoughts out loud. 'If he doesn't show up in ten minutes I'm going to-' Then he heard it.
"We exhort, we pillage, we filch, we sack. Drink up, me hearties! Yo ho!" Jack swerved his way toward the docks, singing at the top of his lungs with Joshamee Gibbs trailing behind him, attempting at his best to try and not look perturbed with his captain's galling behavior.
Norrington grimaced. Not that bloody song again. He'd been singing through much of the night as he oversaw the work being done to the Interceptor and, as a result, the commodore had lost much sleep to the repeating tune and reiterating words turning over and over, redundantly inside his mind. He had come to greatly dislike that song. "Mister Sparrow!"
"We–aye?" Jack replied snapping-quick, jerking his head in the commodore's direction, but still looking for whoever it was that called his name. "Who calls for ol' Jack– and with an incorrect title, no less! But I may forgive yeh in due time."
The commodore let out an exasperated sigh loud enough to catch Jack's general attention, but it wasn't until Mister Gibbs tugged firmly at Jack's coat sleeve and pointed out Norrington for him that Jack finally found his summoner.
"Ah!" he proceeded down the docks until he was within conversing distance from Commodore Norrington. "Well, sweet mother o' pearl! If it ain' ol' J. Green!"
Lieutenant Groves snorted, to his own horror . Snorted! In response to a joke mocking an officer of higher rank! He hadn't meant to–it had slipped out in his sudden amusement, and he hastily regained his composure, casting his eyes down at his newly acquired commoner's shoes, suddenly becoming very intrigued by them. My, how they didn't shine!
"James," the commodore growled his correction, his bad mood obviously not improved by his lieutenant's reaction, regardless of his fairly well-collected composure.
"No 'J. Green,' eh? Well, 'ow 'bout 'Jimmy?'" Jack lightly placed a friendly arm around James' shoulder.
James removed Jack's arm none too harshly. "James."
"Jim?"
"James," Norrington pressed, fire flashing in his eyes. Why couldn't he just take it and accept it?!
Jack sighed and rolled his eyes at his defeat. "Fine. James. S'long as you be callin' me 'Jack' or 'Captain Sparrow.' Savvy?" Jack held out a dirty hand for the commodore to shake with a jauntily amiable grin.
The commodore did not answer. He simply glared back at Jack's outstretched palm a moment or two before planting his gaze elsewhere, his cool composure returning with the commanding tone that took his voice, "Mister Sparrow…what's this nonsense about you disappearing for over an hour, thus delaying our departure by an hour and a half?"
Jack blinked dully at the commodore for a second, that slow-witted and slightly perplexed look he so often wore placed firmly on his face. It seemed as if he were contemplating a response. But the commodore knew otherwise and was proved right in his doubt, to his fury. He turned on heel back to Mister Gibbs, who was standing, as ever, a few feet behind him. "As I was sayin' before," he began, hands ready with fingers spread so he make his wild gestures as casually as possible and his head bobbing slightly in its merry way, "I've jus' discovered tha' the bad omen you was talkin' 'bout is jus' tellin' us tha' we have to put up with him for the whole bloody journey."
"Mr. Sparrow!"
"Hm?" Jack hummed in an exaggerated "I-was-unaware" manner, turning back around and facing Norrington with an expression similar to his tone of voice.
The commodore now marched up to Jack, his face contorted in anger both at the insult Jack had uttered and Jack's perturbing behavior, "Do not pretend you didn't hear or understand me, I know very well you did and I expect an answer! Where in heaven's name were you, man?!"
Jack, who was swaying oh-so-slightly, stared open-mouthed and almost sleepily at the commodore before clamping his jaw shut and then, smiling genuinely and replying, "Yes."
The commodore's face went from anger and vexation back to his cool composure, hiding the utter perplexity he truly felt. Yes? Yes to what? What did that have to do with anything? "What?"
"Yes," Jack repeated calmly.
"What are you talking about?"
"You said you 'wanted an answer.' I now have given you an answer: 'Yes,'" Jack answered simply as he spun around with a flap of his coat and a jingle of his numerous beads and began to walk away.
"No! Don't you leave!" the commodore called, irate once again. Since he agreed to assist Sparrow on his rescue mission, he had lost some measure of authority over him. This was Sparrow's mission and thus Norrington wasn't in full command as was usual– he was Jack's ally and, ever since their agreement, this was the way he had to speak to him to get him to listen: as if he were a small child. "I want an answer to the question I last asked you!"
Jack turned back around. "Alrigh'. The answer is: 'My answer is: "Yes."'"
"No it isn't!"
"Yes it is. You asked for an answer to the las' question you asked me. The las' question asked was, 'What are you talkin' 'bout?' referrin' to what 'Yes,' was supposed to mean and, I assure you Jimmy boy, 'Yes' does indeed mean, 'Yes' and nothin' else." He gave another grin, though this one was a tad more forced, and turned to walk away, Gibbs following him silently.
"Jack Sparrow, if you don't come back this instant, I'll be given a reason to flog you!"
Jack stopped in his tracks. He simply stood there for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not he wanted to obey, but after a moment of rare stillness and a muttered word or two from Gibbs, he turned around and dragged his boots back to Norrington, thinking a fair share of foul words and curses in his pirate mind before stopping before the commodore.
"Alright," the commodore sighed, rubbing his temple. They hadn't even started this blasted voyage and Jack was already beginning to give him a headache. "I want a truthful answer to the question: 'Where were you at ten thirty this morning?'"
Jack looked back at the commodore for a few seconds, not moving except that he was blinking every couple of seconds, his jaw set at a crooked angle.
.…
.…
.…
"Well?"
"Well wha'?"
"I'm waiting for your answer."
"Oh, alrigh'. You do that." He looked up at the sky, entertaining himself with the shapes of the clouds and one distinctly reminded him of a bottle of rum.…
Norrington raised an eyebrow. What was he doing now? "Mister Sparrow?"
"Hm?"
The commodore threw him a look and gesture that said, "Well, let's have it!"
Jack mirrored back the shrugged shoulders and raised eyebrows that the commodore had just thrown him, causing Lieutenant Groves and Mister Gibbs to exchange amused glances with one another.
"Stop that!" the commodore growled.
"What?! Don' get angry at me, commodore– you were the one who didn' specify when or where I had to tell you!"
Norrington would've groaned in frustration if he hadn't other people in his presence. Why did he do this to him? "Very well… right here, give me your answer now–"
"Isawsomethin'runnin'inthetreesan'decidedtofollowit," Jack rambled very quickly and then grinned crookedly.
The commodore raised an eyebrow, looking at Jack as if he thought he was the world's biggest buffoon… which he did, and it was no secret. However, regardless of the drunken façade he put up, it was evident to those who knew him well that Jack wasn't quite that stupid. There were moments when he could knock someone off their feet with his sudden brilliant genius, coming up with plans that were flawless and there were times when he'd let the mask fall and you could catch a glimpse of someone remarkably insightful and sober.… Now wasn't one of those times.
Jack let his grin change to a mock-serious mood and asked at a whisper, "May I go now?"
"No!" Norrington barked. "Answer again, only slower this time– slower!"
Jack continued his comical grin before he opened his mouth and began to answer carefully, "Yo lo ví algo en el bosque, y-"
"In English, Mr. Sparrow," the commodore almost sounded whiny– he was really beginning to tire of this game. And he did realize that Jack was tickled quite pink with delight at the apparent torment he was causing the commodore. You see, Jack had never tried doing this to such an extent to anyone before and he found it to be quite a form of entertainment. But he was beginning to run out of ideas and the game, he supposed, was beginning to drag a bit, so he finally gave in and spilled the beans.
"Well, Captain," if he hadn't trained himself so, the commodore would've flinched at the oozy and sardonic tone with which Jack chose to say his temporary title– he hated that tone–"to tell you the truth, I saw somethin' … odd i' the woods. In fact, t'was so odd, that I daresay it more than deserved my attention for tha' full hour or so tha' you say I was missin'. So, I went a-chasin' it."
Commodore Norrington looked almost lazily at Jack, seemingly in some way unconvinced. "Did this odd something have any qualities that were female or alcohol related, Mister Sparrow?"
Jack cocked an eyebrow at this, plastering a look of utter outrage upon his piratey visage. "Sir! How dare you suggest such a-"
"Mr. Sparrow?"
Jack clamped his jaw shut before giving one of his famous gold and silver grins. "No," he soughed simply and without hesitation.
"Well, then," the commodore sighed, "may I ask what exactly was it that so horribly needed your undying attention?"
"Aye. You may."
The commodore rolled his eyes heavenward at the way that Jack had to always take the scenic route to get to things. Blast him. "What was it, then?"
"Me shadow."
That commodore's eyebrows knit themselves in confusion. "Your… shadow, Mr. Sparrow?"
"Aye. Me shadow." He looked back at the commodore, his dark eyebrows hidden beneath his bandanna with a look of innocence, as if he expected him to believe this incredulous remark, this idea.
Commodore found his temper rising rapidly at a dangerous rate. He clenched his fists and began to attempt to control his rage in his breathing. It didn't work. "Jack Sparrow, do you mean to tell me that you spent an hour and a half dillydallying in the woods chasing after your blasted shadow?!"
"Aye."
The commodore opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again, once; twice; three times and then, completely dumbfounded and speechless at Jack's …stupidity, squared his jaw, let out a growl as he turned on heel, smashing his palm against his forehead and deciding that Jack was more of a complete lunatic than he thought. Misfortunate as he was, though, Norrington knew he wasn't finished with Jack yet. "Please follow me, Mister Sparrow. And do try to keep that horrendously big mouth of yours shut unless asked otherwise to open it…savvy?"
Now it was Jack's turn to scowl at his mockery as he followed, grumbling to himself. No one mocked Captain Jack Sparrow without making him sour for at least a few seconds. (Need he remind himself of that stupid monkey? That was not funny!)
Gibbs was busying with the drink in his flask when Jack began to pass and gave him a warning glance. Gibbs, just coming to realized he was being watched choked on the beverage and began to cough in spasms as he hastily lidded the flask and shoved it under his jacket, trying to appear normal. He coughed several times, his body still unsatisfied with the current state of his esophagus. "Cap'n?" he choked, his eyes filling with tears.
"'ead back to the Pearl, Gibbs…" Jack stated simply, not seeming to notice his friend's sudden throe. He began to follow after Norrington again. "Oh!" he remembered something with a high-pitched exclamation and stopped as Gibbs was finally able to breathe freely once again. "But, while yer at it– pick up some extra bottles o' rum– thanks to the weddin' our stocks have gotten quite low."
Gibbs grinned. "Aye, Cap'n."
He breathed a sigh of relief as his captain disappeared down the docks. "Too close, that one was." He pulled out his flask again as he began to make for the shops downtown. He had a job to do, and one he wasn't too upset about either.
Jack went and followed after the commodore, pleased with himself. That was a close one– he couldn't imagine having to go this whole trip without his precious drink. It didn't seem logical. Jack grinned. Rum. Heh. Sometimes he wondered whether all the fits and fusses he made were worth it. When Elizabeth…er…burned his rum, was it really worth all the anger? It was still a heart wrenching thought. Hm.…
Jack thought about it carefully. About the sharp, burning taste of the acid liquid coursing down his throat and the way it took away all sorts of pain, replacing it with some unusually delightful form of happiness. Was it worth it? He smirked as he thought what Elizabeth would do if she heard his thoughts. 'Worth every effort, every penny.'
"Oof!" he grunted as he bumped into the commodore, who, apparently, had stopped walking. "Sorry."
The naval officer didn't so much as stumble, but simply turned around, casting his normal lazy eye on Jack. He'd taken enough of a breather to contain himself… for a few minutes, anyway. "Alright, Mister Sparrow, let's confirm our plans and weigh anchors."
"Okay, firs' thing," Jack said, adjusting his tricorn so it was at an angle of his satisfaction– slightly squint and thus, perfect, "s'either Captain Sparrow or Jack to you. Least ways 'til we return with the governor an' the whelp. If my dear friend, the kidnaper, hears you callin' me by that, 'Mister Sparrow' nonsense he'll know immediately who you really are. Hate to break your heart, but you're no' exactly an unknown with pirates in these waters. Formalities must be dropped, Jimmy."
The commodore shot a fiery glare. "I will call you 'Jack' so long as you address me as 'James.'"
Jack held up two fingers, seemingly oblivious of the commodore's remark. "Second." He held his hands out in a 'picture this' gesture. "I know you've been at this sort of business with savin' damsels in distress like Will– poor eunuch–for a good while, but this time we're dealin' with people who don' think the way tha' you think they think.
Norrington's face contorted into confusion, but he didn't ask on the subject of Will (partially because he didn't want to know and partially because, even if he did want to know, Jack kept talking, preventing any questions.)
"Therefore, I advise you to jus' follow my lead and do exactly as I tell you."
Norrington rose an eyebrow in doubt. "Me heed to your orders?"
Jack grinned and nodded, slapping the commodore on the back. "I'm glad I've gotten through to you. Now, as for your instructions–"
"– Mister Sparrow– "
"– Jack," Jack pressed, taking a leaf from the commodore's book. He looked the commodore in the eye with a seriousness that was so sudden it was striking. "You do me the honor of addressin' me correctly an' I'll give you the courtesy of treatin' you likewise. Do we have an accord, James?" He decided not to try and shake on it– last time he tried that it didn't work out.
"Very well…Jack." The commodore smirked with the pirate. At least they were beginning to make progress somewhere. "Please specify what, exactly, do you mean by 'instructions?'"
"Well," Jack recklessly threw his arm around the commodore's shoulder once again, receiving a disappear of the smile and a roll of the eyes from said commodore in response, "if we want you to be able to help, then we've got to do it in a way that'll prevent our dear quarry from suspecting anything. I have thought up a good plan, but you'll have to follow it to the letter, savvy?"
The commodore's eyebrow cocked again as he responded a little bit dismally. "Aye. Savvy."
"Picking up quick, aren't we, James?"Jack grinned, flashing gold and silver.
James couldn't help but smirk a bit in response. "That we are, Jack. That we are."
"Fantastic! But, before spillin' out on all me secrets…" he licked the forefinger of his right hand and began toying thoughtfully with his moustache, "I've one question 'bout your business or there's no use goin'."
"And what could that possibly be?" With his knowledge of how strange and unpredictable Jack could be, the commodore couldn't help being sarcastic. He wasn't exactly sure if he was looking forward to what Jack was about to say, either.
"Turner." Jack stated simply. He smirked at the commodore's surprised reaction– he was catching him off-guard. "I happen to know you've held a bit of a grudge 'gainst the lad for quite some time, but now, as you realize, his fate's in your hands. I know how far your intentions reach for the governor, 'cause tha's all professional obligation and duty, et cetera. As for Turner– how far are you willing to go to save 'im?"
The commodore simply stood, frozen for a moment. He wasn't sure he had heard Jack correctly for a second, but it appeared that he had, for there Jack stood, patiently awaiting an answer with a stupid grin on his face. And yet, the commodore couldn't help but wonder whether or not this was all a big joke– Sparrow didn't seem the kind of man to care about anyone other than himself. Still, it appeared that he had asked the question. 'For Turner?' His eyebrows contorted as he began to think about it.
And while he was doing so, Jack couldn't help but grin a bit. He'd asked Will the same question before they had officially set off to save Elizabeth. Will had answered without a second to lose or a second thought and Jack could remember his answer very distinctly: 'I'd die for her.' A powerful thing to say, without a doubt. And Jack had thought that he'd back down, but he didn't– he'd meant it. When the time came that that was the only option, he didn't back down in the least, but gave himself whole-heartedly to the cause, even if it pretty much was a lost cause (that stupid kid desperately needed to be taught how to direct a proper parlay).
For Will, Jack knew that Elizabeth would answer and do the same thing in a heartbeat. Those two… their hearts and minds were unbreakably twain and Jack could trust the one when the other was in danger. As for the commodore… well, Jack couldn't help but be cautious. He knew Norrington was a good bloke, but he had plenty of personal reason to abandon Will to die at the hands of some foul pirates. Will had, after all, taken his lady.
And it was, indeed an interesting thought to puzzle out. How far was the commodore willing to go for William? He did indeed respect and, to a point, even cared for Will, however, it wasn't always that way. In fact, there was a time where it was very, very different.
After Jack Sparrow had managed to escape, a horrible tension had existed between the two remaining gentlemen and it wasn't unnoticeable. Norrington for two months thereafter had hated William Turner, loathed him entirely. He despised absolutely everything about him, from the way he walked and talked to how wonderfully talented he was in his craft. He abhorred his face and his eyes–those blasted eyes that seemed to snatch away, to capture Elizabeth every time he laid them on her. It had made him sick how Turner could make her blush and smile and laugh so effortlessly, how she visibly melted by his touch, how she was drawn to the sound of his voice. But the thing Norrington had hated above all other things was the way that he had waltzed right in and taken Elizabeth with a petty, 'I love you,' seconds before his arrest. That was it. That was all it took. In that one instant afterwards, the commodore could see in her eyes that he had entirely lost her after years of struggle, while Turner had won her with one reckless pursuit and one somehow seducing sentence. And that's why he had detested him.
But Will did not hate Norrington. He never had. Rather, he pitied him and felt quite guilty whenever he laid eyes on him, for he knew very well that Norrington felt for Elizabeth as well as he did. He did not hold any contempt towards him. You see, whenever unprovoked, Will Turner was a boy–er–man of a gentler, peaceful nature. His bitterness and cold manner towards the commodore in the past had been a result of the fact that Will had unconsciously dubbed Norrington the ultimate competition for Elizabeth's heart, but it had never gone anywhere near hatred. It was just rivalry. He had let his acrimony go when he heard tell of Elizabeth's engagement to the commodore and, oddly enough, after he had accepted the woeful marriage betrothal, the resentfulness never permanently returned. In fact, Will would joke that it had taken flight and found a new home- in the commodore's heart. And it was true. Will held no grudge when he thought he had lost Elizabeth, he had made peace.… But after he took Elizabeth away, that thought had made the commodore all the more enraged.
He was so bloody perfect! Even his faults were magnificent! He was a blacksmith…but he was so gifted that that didn't matter–he probably could become a wealthy artisan if he worked hard enough. He was a pirate…but he became one in the name of passion, love and adoration and it was labeled by the commoners of the town as 'incredibly romantic'– from the ladies – or 'a dashingly honorable deed' – from the men (and, of course, the children thought it was simply "fantastic"). And, thus he had won respect with many in an area where he should have lost it. He was brave, healthy, strong, intelligent, tremendously courteous and civil, handsome, talented, passionate, compassionate and even his faults were magnificent.… He hated him.
Well, it was on one night when, after returning from a celebration in honor of the arrival of a brand new ship in Port Royal's fleet, that he had been especially angry. Before the gala, he had asked Elizabeth if she would be willing to accompany him for the duration of the party. She declined graciously, explaining she had already promised herself to Will for the night. Strike one.
At the party, she and Turner seemed a bit more open with their affections toward each other. Normally, a woman would simply link arms with her escort and dance with the gentlemen for the duration of the celebration. The couple, however, seemed more content to lace their finger together in holding hands, consistently throw loving glances in other's direction and, once, Turner was so bold as to throw decorum to the wind and steal a kiss upon his lady's rosy cheek while she was in the middle of a conversation. She blushed deeply and smiled back at him before returning to her chat, clearly not disapproving. Strike two.
Finally, somewhere along the middle of the celebration, Governor Swann stood saying that he had a special announcement: after much thought and contemplation, he had agreed to give his blessing for the betrothal of his daughter, Miss Elizabeth Swann to Mister William Turner.… Strike three.…
He left in anger and with a broken heart. NaVve thought it seemed, you must understand that somewhere deep inside he had had the hope that she might return to him someday. William Turner had shattered all his hopes in one instant. It wasn't fair. He, James Norrington, had had her. He, James Norrington, had had her father's blessing….He, James Norrington, had had his heart nad hers in the palm of his hand, but then Will Turner had to come and tear them out beyond his reach, throwing James' to the wind and confiscating Elizabeth's whilst smiling genuinely to the rest of the world, pretending that he was the good-hearted victim the whole time.…
Commodore James Norrington despised, loathed and hated him more in that one night than the rest of his life combined. Locking himself up in his wealthy home alone (as he had excused the household servants to join in the celebrations for the evening), he had locked himself up with his thoughts and became violent. Overturning furniture and throwing, breaking objects of lesser weight he let out his fury. He wanted Turner to feel his hurt, to know what it's like to have the girl you love more than anything promise herself to you and then go back on her promise because she secretly loved another man. He wanted him to suffer. He wanted to take him away from Elizabeth.… He wanted to kill him.
In his tirade, he picked up a sword–the sword that Will had made for him–and made to throw it in fury when something about it made him stop. Whether it was the reflection of the moon from the open window onto its golden hilt and polished blade, whether it was the cool caress the leather grip and metal guard played upon his fingers, whether it was the satisfying weight or the pleasingly perfect balance, to this day he knew not. All he knew was, as he looked at that sword, it made him stop. It was so unimpaired. A weapon designed to preserve its wielder's strength, energy and life while killing with more efficiency. And yet, weapon though it was, there was something about it that was breathtakingly beautiful. Every little detail of the craftsmanship sang of skill, of talent, and of a love of the craft.
'This is a beautiful sword. I expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion to every aspect of his life. My compliments.…'
As the words he had uttered and heard during an event that seemed eons ago echoed in his mind from out of the blue as if he had spoken or heard them again, suddenly he was still.
'But we've got to save Will.'
'One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness.'
Frozen in time.
'We have to hunt them down, we must save her!'
Silent.
'Elizabeth? I'm concerned that your answer was, perhaps, less than sincere.'
'I would not give my word lightly.'
'Actually, I think it'd be rather exciting to meet a pirate.'
'Yes, I understand. But it is so wrong that I want it given unconditionally?'
'Mr. Murtogg , remove this man.'
'It is not a condition, it is a request.'
'Commodore, I beg you, please do this. For me…as a wedding gift.'
'Your answer would not change mine.…You are a fine man, James.'
The images came flowing back to him in their fullness.
'That's not good enough!'
Images that, over time, had wandered from the truth as they played in his mind as ripples, becoming more and more stretched from the truth, perverted and incorrect in their details.
'He is without doubt the worst pirate I have ever seen.'
'Mr. Turner , you are not a military man, you are not a sailor. You are a blacksmith and this is not the moment for rash actions.'
'He's a pirate!'
In his memory, Turner had borne this lustfully hungry glint in his eyes when looking at Elizabeth.
'Pirate or not, this man saved my life.'
And Elizabeth seemed to enjoy sending scornful looks in the commodore's direction.
'So this is where your heart truly lies?'
'It is.'
Now, as the images came back to his mind in their true light-- so flawless it was as if God Himself had sent them– the commodore realized his faults.
'I should have told you everyday from the moment I met you.… I love you.' He could picture the moment clearly. In Will's eyes their was no lustful monster. There was an innocence. The innocence of someone young but without final hope offering his soul completely and unabashedly, knowing what it meant but praying with prayer upon heartfelt prayer that his cry would be heard. It was his acceptance that all was over for him. It was his last prayer: Before he died, he wanted her to know… he love her. He always had and he always would.
'This is a beautiful sword,' was repeated. Only, this time, he had visual images active inside his mind to help him understand why he had been at such peace at the time he uttered those accursed words. 'I expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion to every aspect of his life. My compliments.…' He smiled at Will, awaiting his reaction. The boy stood there, garbed in pirate hat and cape, turning things over in his eyes. In Norrington's memory he had smirked, figuratively spitting in his face at his victory. He eyes had flashed with a mocking fire, and it had stabbed pins into the commodore's heart. But, as he now studied the lad's face, waiting for that scorn to come and steeling himself for some odd hurt… he found in never came. His memory was wrong.
'Elizabeth!'
'The rocks, sir! It's a miracle she missed them!'
'Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here who cares for Elizabeth .'
A flurry of feelings flashed before Will's eyes, all too quick for the commodore to grasp and read properly. But finally one singular emotion blazed forth, shining with a brilliance that took the commodore aback. Will's lips did indeed twitch, but there was no smirk. It was a gentle smile, quick and subtle, but testifying of the same thing that radiated in his shining orbs. It was evident that he held no scorn for the commodore, nor any superiority. James nearly gasped as he realized…
'Thank you.'
…Will was grateful.
He dropped his sword with a shuddering and clash and became enveloped in waves of guilt and shame. He had wanted Will to hurt, to feel his pain, to die. But what he hadn't realized is that Will did hurt. He had felt his pain. And, in his heart of hearts, he had died–the commodore had killed him. Will had known and understood the commodore's agony to the same magnitude from when she consented to marry James. He had probably sampled it before, when he fell in love with the girl and realized: he could never have her. He knew the commodore's pain. He had felt it. And yet, he had acted more like a man than James, his senior.
'…Thank you.…'
In that one moment everything changed. He immediately went back to the party. Grasping Will's hand firmly, he grinned the first real grin he'd given in months and said simply, knowing Will would catch the small double meaning, 'As expected, done with proper care and devotion, Turner. My compliments.' Will beamed. That night was the beginning of a fast and firm friendship that no one had foreseen, and he was grateful he had let go.
'Oh, and Miss Swann? The very best of luck to you both.'
Norrington smiled as his thoughts began to turn at a slower pace in his head, bringing him back to the present. He had a question to answer and his thoughts had digressed: Should the opportunity arise that, for whatever reason, he could easily save the governor but, to a point, have to sacrifice to rescue the boy, would he do it? That was, after all, just all he was: a boy– not even one of great value, just a blacksmith– who was barely into manhood. He still had years of life to discover, to learn, to know, to experience.
'For heaven's sake– he'd literally just married! He still has yet to discover the true meaning of the words 'husband' and even 'father.' He has the opportunity to live a life to the fullest, learning and teaching, living and dying, giving and taking. In fact, that's something every boy and man has the potential to have… even me.'
It was hard question, as the future held many surprises, but he was sure he knew the answer. He was sure. "You know what, Jack? That's a very interesting question. And I've had to think about it for a while, but I think I know the answer: I'll go as far as my strength can take me."
Jack smirked back in reply. "You sure?"
The commodore shrugged, his face back to it's normal, casually cool and patient self and his posture as military as ever. But in his eyes there was a strange warmth and what seemed to Jack a very misplaced twinkle. "Believe it or not, all grudges were put in the past long ago; to the point that, I believe I might consider Will…my friend…. A very good friend."
Jack grinned. That was just what he wanted to hear. "Oh, good!" He spun on heel and began to make for the town, expecting the commodore to follow. "No worries, then!"
It was more or less half an hour past high noon when the ships finally weighed anchor, hoisted their sails and began the voyage–twelve twenty two, if you wish to be precise. The sun was out, the wind was in their favor and, to Mr. Murtogg's and Mullroy's great delights, a very colorful butterfly landed on the helm of the 'Tradesmen's Trove' (as she shall be called from this time forward) and there stayed until the quartermaster gave it a turn, oblivious to its presence. Sailors, as you may know, can be quite superstitious. They believe many things that normal landlubbers would deem absurd, but, unfortunately, some of those tall tales are far shorter than they seem. I do not know how true or false this one particular belief is, but as the saying goes, a butterfly aboard your ship assures the blessing of a safe journey.
The men aboard the Black Pearl were not so lucky. Rather, they were being bombarded with pesky seagulls.
"Dumb birds!" Gibbs cursed aloud as he managed to swat one off the rail with a swing of his mop. The thing let out an awful squawk before it went tumbling aft and, regaining its composure in midair, began taking flight after the ship.
Cotton's parrot gave a low growl in its gizzard, eyeing the fowl disapprovingly before it muttered in agreement, "Dumb birds," and tucked its head under its wing to block out the unwanted racket. Clearly, he thought that they were a hair-brained and pathetic excuse for the name 'bird.'
There were possibly fifty of them and they all were following the ship. One of the sailors was stupid enough to bring a bit of fish and leave it out in the open for the sea-pigeons to discover. Normally, just one gull would have found the morsel, eaten it, and then be gone. This specific catch, for some odd reason, smelt quite a bit stronger than was usual, unfortunately. The whole bit wasn't eaten, but fell on the deck and happened to have a mass of rope placed carelessly upon it. Needless to say the birds smelt it and soon were swarming the boat in search of the fragrant source–even after Marty had managed to find and discard of it.
They were cawing and squawking and screeching and swarming about the ship in numbers that were far from pleasant. Men had to swat them to and fro and many of them got unpleasant white, messy surprise presents in their eyes, hair and on their hats and clothes.
"This is a bad omen, Jack!!!" Gibbs roared to the pirate captain as he fumbled with a large ale barrel.
"What?!" Jack called back, not even glancing from his work.
Gibbs gave a huff of disapproval. This was no time to playing with ale barrels. He waddled right up next to Jack and hollered straight into his ear, "I said, 'This is a bad omen, Jack!!!'"
"WHAT?!" Jack asked, finally lifting his gaze from the beverage container to look at Gibbs, squinting, for some odd reason.
Gibbs eyebrows fell low with annoyance as he rolled his eyes and took a deep breath that puffed out his chest. He was preparing for a thunder: "I SAID-"
"Hold on!" Jack interrupted, pulling out his pistol and firing it into the air.
The brainless birds scattered and went their ways, but the men knew it, unfortunately, wouldn't be for long. They'd have to wait to be further out to sea before that blessing could be bestowed upon them.
"Now," Jack stuck his pistol back in his belt and turned back to boggling with the ale barrel, "what was it you were sayin'?"
"Jack," Gibbs shook his head a bit, his voice husky with despair, "s'an omen. A bad one. Y'know as well as any sailor what the birds mean."
"Not to worry," Jack replied, coolly as he unfastened what Gibbs noticed to be some sort of buckle on the side of the barrel and began fumbling with a second one further down its side. "I've been on many a journey–yeh know tha'– and if there's one thing tha' I 'ave learned s'that the birds don' mean a thing."
Gibbs shook his head in displeasure. "I dunno, Jack. I still think s'a bad omen."
"Aha!" Jack cried in triumph as he undid the second barrel buckle. He grabbed the barrel and swung it open as if had been vertically cut in half and had hidden hinges applied– which it did. "There you go, luv. Yer 'ome free!" He reached into the barrel and, to Gibbs' uttermost horror, helped out a very cramped and grumpy Elizabeth Turner. He'd smuggled her aboard!
She began to pick out the many tufts of straw that she had entangled in her soft honey tresses, coughing a bit, and looking none too pleased with the captain. "Did you absolutely have to stuff the thing with straw, Jack?"
"Well, 'nless you wanted to be discovered from bein' bumped about, we 'ad to use somethin' to quiet your presence, luv," replied with a grin. "Unless, of course, you would 'ave been willin' to take off that lovely dress you have and use that to soften things up."
She glared at him with her mouth agape, no longer interested in taking the animal feed from her hair. "Jack Sparrow, that is the most vile-"
"Jack!" Gibbs hissed in a horrified disruption. "What were ya thinkin'?! Two women onboard the Pearl?! Now we've got three times the amount of bad luck–all thanks to the birds and yerself!"
Jack just chose to ignore his second mate's panicked yammers. "Well, when yer done pickin' that extra gold outta yer hair, I sugges' you fin' Ana an' ask if she has a spare outfit or two."
She jumped a bit as he suddenly took a large step nearer to her, coming too close for comfort. He began to stroke her cheek softly with his rough pirate hands and she could smell the rum on his breath, regardless of the fact that he hadn't drank within the last twenty four hours. She held her breath. He spoke again, huskily, looking seductively into her lovely eyes. "If not, yer free to borrow a shirt and pair o' pants from me, but… it'll come at a price."
Her eyes went wide as she came to recognize his bold endeavor and she took no time in snatching the mop that Gibbs held, slamming it were it counts. Jack grunted in pain but his pride wouldn't allow him to crumble by the hand of a woman (who wasn't Anamaria) in front of his crew. He simply forced a painful grin through his sudden grimace.
"Disgusting pig! I'm married!" she snarled as she threw the mop down and stormed off in a huff, her face flushed with anger considering she had to force herself to walk away rather than strangle Jack. Not only was he the captain, after all, but the only man she knew of that could save her husband.
She took some time to cool down and eventually found Anamaria. Together, they had managed to come to a bargain: a pair of clothes for a certain amount of work on top of the chores she'd promised Jack she'd accomplish in return for smuggling her onto the Pearl (she was not about to let a rescue mission for her spouse and father to be attempted without her. The idea was absurd!). She also had convinced her female pirate friend that sharing a cabin would be a very good idea.
So, feeling quite successful, she decided to begin her first day of work aboard the Black Pearl. Unfortunately, it was in this moment of high spirits that she was called, along with Ana and Gibbs to Jack's cabin for an important meeting of sorts, and she groaned.
Jack seemed as perky as ever, however, and acted as if the previous events of the day did not happen at all (and Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder how many times he did this, as she had heard from Will he had gotten a good slap or three whilst in Tortuga).
"Right! 'Ave a seat!" he chirped as he settled himself in his chair and propped his feet unceremoniously upon his desk.
"This better be good, Jack," Anamaria threatened darkly as she took liberty of one of the chairs, turning it backwards and straddling it with her arms resting on the top of its back.
Jack ignored her. "The reason I called the lo' of you here, was so tha' we could make sure tha' the lovely 'lizabeth 'ere knows 'xactly wha's goin' on. See, if I don' inform, she'll skin me alive. An' I rather like me pretty skin, so le's quench 'er curiosity! Wha' would you like to know, Mrs. Turner?"
At first she looked about her nervously, at Gibbs' and Anamaria's faces, as if checking to see whether they approved of her presence. Finding only kindness and comradery in their gazes, she turned back to Jack, a braver, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tell me everything you told the commodore. Where are we going?"
Jack stretched his arms and settled his hands comfortably behind his head. "Well, James is headin' for St. Lucia with all haste possible. We however won' be joinin' 'im jus' yet."
"Why not?" she implied. She was beginning to catch on that she became angry with Jack at the wrong time whilst receiving information from him. She needed to be patient until the end of the discussion had arrived, but it was hard.
"Because s'too obvious tha' the commodore is helpin' us if he follows us – this I explained to 'im. So we decided t'would be bes' if 'e sails into port a week before us, an' pretend to have no relation with us. It also makes an appearance for any spies that Foulkes may have left behind that suggests we're listenin' to his request an' not tellin' the Navy nothin' whilst we part ways."
"That makes sense," Elizabeth agreed, thoughtfully. "So, while they're in St. Lucia, where are we going?"
Jack grinned. "I 'ave a hunch tha' if we make a very special stop in a very special place we'll fin' very special an' valuable information– an' no, s'not a brothel; though it does contain many."
Elizabeth an eyebrow as she began to understand what Jack was shooting at. "Tortuga?" After hearing descriptions of it and the tale of his experience there from Will, Elizabeth wasn't sure that going there would ever be a wise thing for her.
But Jack smirked. Elizabeth always was a very quick girl. Sharp-witted. Good thing to have around in a tight spot and yet sometimes a pain in the butt.… Just like her whelp of a husband.
"And what, may I inquire, does this so-called 'hunch' suggest we might find?" Anamaria asked know, ever impatient with Jack. There were times where he seemed so out of it that she couldn't be sure whether he was drunk or just faking it; nor was she sure of whether to trust him or not in these instances.
Jack took out his pistol and began to examine it, polishing the barrel vigorously with the pinstriped sash about his waist upon finding a smudge. "Well, I don' quite know. Could be anythin' really. My guess is good information, but, whatever it is, my hunch is tellin' me we'll fin' somethin'."
Elizabeth stood and made for the door, a pleased and content expression gracing her. "Well, Jack. If I have any more questions, I'll shall make them known to you."
"Oh, joy," he mumbled to himself, sarcastically. He couldn't help it really. Her inquisitiveness wasn't one of his favorite traits belonging to her. In fact, her mind got in the way of almost everything. He much preferred her body. "Why am I not surprised?"
"The only thing I have to say is that it better be a very good hunch, or else I'll have to hurt again for getting my hopes up," she continued, not noticing his grumbling.
He put his gun down and grinned jauntily. "Oh, s'a good hunch, luv. A bloody good one."
William Turner had never hated being on a ship more in his life. He loved ships. He loved the way they rocked back in forth at the mercy of her majesty, the Sea. And he especially delighted in challenging her. Attempting to conquer her by surviving lightning flash after lightning flash and conquesting one wave swell at a time. He relished the smell and taste of salt upon his lips as the wind blew about, whipping through his hair and kissing his skin. And the sound of the flap of canvas sails or creaking bows or cawing gulls were things of comfort, pacifying his soul.
Now, however, as he sat in the brig of a dark prison; feeling the rock of the sea, hearing the creaking of bows and smelling salt from the fishy depths beyond was all but pacifying. He was enveloped in dark thoughts, being by himself. He didn't know what day it was or the location of the ship he was on. Truth be told, he didn't know much except that all his comrades had been killed and that he was on a ship that should never have been built, unable to escape.
He didn't know how long he had been there, locked up in that musky dungeon with only the rats for company, as he could not see the light of the sun or any light for that matter. He'd lacked light for so long that he began to wonder whether the ship hadn't just sunk and he hadn't realized.
'No,' he thought swarthily, 'the ship would've stopped rocking, then. And there's no water in here.…'
No water. He licked his dry, cracked lips. He got three servings of water a day. Three meager servings of dirty, contaminated water. But he drank it, too parched to turn it away or care about the illnesses he could receive as a result from it. He hadn't used his voice in so long and his throat was as dry as a barren wasteland–he didn't know if he could speak anymore. And he was hungry. Helpings of food weren't exactly generous there.
As if to confirm it, his stomach grumbled, uncomfortably demanding for the food it could not have until the right time came. The opportune moment.… It was calling for the proper amount, not some sparse serving that could be held in the palm of one of his rough hands. But he knew that such a stomach-filling helping wouldn't be coming in the near future.
Oh, he had faith that he'd get out of there. Some day. Fortune was a fickle lady and was bound grant a man luck sometime. He let out a wry laugh as he began to toy with the smooth metal of the band that hugged his wedding finger.
'I haven't had a run of good luck in a long time… not before since I got here, anyway. Of course, Jack must've had plenty of these sort of runs in his lifetime.… I know I've had my share.'
His sagging belly cried forth again, pleading for nourishment like a newborn babe begging the same from it's mother. He let his head fall back against the dark planks of wood that made the bulkhead, still absentmindedly palpating the piece of jewelry upon his left hand.
'I'm bound to have some good luck soon.…'
Heavy, padded thumps upon a wooden surface could be heard from somewhere in the dark obscurity before, across the room to the man's right, the opening of a door and the light of a lantern announced that, finally, his stomach could be at least slightly satisfied. It was dinnertime.
"Oi!" a husky voice came from the light's direction, as it's holder turned up it's light to reveal two grungy looking men, one tall, gangly, stupid looking and clutching the lantern in a bony hand, the other short, stocky and with a very less-than-kind appearance. Both had very bad teeth.
The short one, with matted, dull, dirty blond hair (balding at his head's top, mind you), a wispy beard, a scar testifying to a split bottom lip, skin tinted a brownish red from too much time spent in the sun and a very yellow color to what was supposed to be the whites of his bloodshot hazel eyes was the one who has spoken. "Turner! We brought your rations!"
The tall, stupid one giggled – er– well, stupidly, and William Turner smirked. If you could tell in the scanty lantern light, this taller one had only one real eye. The right eye, which was a slight lighter shade of blue than the other, moved in strange, jerky movements and to queer angles every now and then, squeaking as it did so. And its texture suggested that the small orb was made of wood.
"Shiver me timbers," Turner spoke, his voice deep but slightly cracked and raspy from its lack of use, "I don't see what's so funny Ragetti. Did you just figure out the punch line to that joke I told way back when? Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?"
Ragetti's titters immediately stopped and any sign that he had ever found anything funny disappeared as he scowled bitterly at the prisoner. "Stupid blighter," he mumbled.
But the shorter of the two stepped forward, carrying a small bowl of stew and a slice of stale bread in his grimy hands. "Captain says," he began to snarl as he handed the meal to Mister Turner, "you'd better begin to watch your tongue or you'll be losin' it soon."
"Liar," William hissed as he dipped his bread into the watery stew. "The man needs my tongue if he's to get what he wants. He wont be cutting it out any time soon." He looked up with mischievous eyes as he tore at his bread, awaiting his administrator's violent response.
But all he got was the rumble of a growl from deep inside his captor's throat and a heated glare as he stood and made his way back to the door, where Ragetti was still frowning.
"Oi, Pintel!" he called after the sea rat, causing the short man to stop with a grunt. Shoving another piece of bread into his mouth, Mister Turner continued, "Speaking of said captain, would you do me a favor?"
Another growl. "Depends on jus' what dat would be." He sounded vexed, but that didn't bother the prisoner.
"Deliver a message, for me, would ya?"
Pintel grunted his consent, rather than obliged with words. He didn't work. And he especially didn't like delivering messages and being a carrier– he liked killing them.
"Tell our dear Captain that I said he's a bastard.… We all know how much Hector Barbossa loves that."
Pintel turned around and gave a sickly grin, its ominous feeling magnified by the pale flickering light of the lamp, his teeth dark and yet reflecting the scant light on their slimy surface. "Comin' from you, he loves it more than anythin'… Bootstrap."
Author's Notes:(Sighs.)Okay, I'll admit it. It's neither one of my longest nor my best chapters. Funny how the simplest ones can be so complex to write, though.... The ties between the Prologue and the story are starting to get hinted on, as you can see. (Major explanations came through last chapter, but-just a warning-not all of them were complete....) I like to take on the movie format and let you guys catch on piece by piece, till you reach the ending and then totally understand it. Kinda like a puzzle, I guess.
OH! And I had a brainwave a few days ago and have come up with the perfect climax and ending. This is going to great. I've finally figured out what I want this to be about... I wasn't sure at first. Isn't that sad?! But I got the basic plot down now- it's kinda long. But I hope it's to your satisfaction(s)!
So- yet again- patience, my poppets. (I just decided I like that word. British slang can be so fun!)
Crazy Pigwidgeon- Oh good! You were only waiting with a pitchfork! I was afraid you were going to grab a guillotine... (Sorry, bad French joke. I didn't mean any offense, if you took some.)Sorry about freakin' you out. A less freaky beginning and more relaxing pace for this chapter, 'kay? And if you're basic in your English, then I would like to know what is Intermediate and Advanced. 'cause you sure fooled me! I thought you were at one of those levels!
Ila- I'm crossing my fingers and hoping I didn't ruin your Jack. It's so easy to overboard with him and make him just plain stupid. Fourteen, eh? Well, have confidence in yourself, my dear. The only thing I can say is: 'Practice makes perfect!' And, trust me, it really does! - If you don't like what I've done for Will, you're going to hate the first part of the ending. Bwah ha ha ha ha.... But I feel bad for Will too. He's a good guy.
Quiet Infinity- I hoped that your head spinning was a good thing. No, seriously. You got good guts girl. You should listen to your instincts about this captain... alot of them are right. I'm going to have to watch out with you- you'll figure everything out before it happens! I'm glad you like the W/E stuff. I have to say your opinions on all of that run perfectly align with mine. Sweet, huh?
RareReality- Gee! Enthusiastic, aren't you? I hope this chapter didn't change your opinion on my fic... really. YAY!!! Someone who like Murtogg and Mullroy. That bit was one of my favorites and I only had 1 review on it! T-T .... But then you came along! Now I have 2!!! Funny though. My audience seem to think that my funniest joke was a salutation line that I didn't even think about much when I wrote it. Pretty weird, huh?
Williz- Alright, like the rose analogy. I don't mind at all! Thanks for your compliments and support- it really is encouraging!
So... I need to get to work on the next chapter! We need to know what's happening with Will and Weatherby- we've abandoned them! Gah! Hope to hear from you guys soon!
Jack E.