CHAPTER FIVE: THE NOTORIOUS OKABOJEE
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Jack's luck (if one could truly be desperate enough to label nearly drowning three times, but still managing to keep their trembling arms clinging effectively on a split barrel as luck) lasted for the duration of the night, and in the long wordless hours of the dark there had been no sign of the Fantana. At this point, however, Norrington was not so certain of his own gratitude. At least the enemy had a warm, dry hold he would have later retired to, and the odds of a clean death was likely. Captain Francisco seemed to have taken a bit of a liking to adversary, to the length of respecting his surrender.
Now, in the cold mist of the ocean's morning his arms burned with the ache of clinging on to the soaked wood, and his head had begun to throb. The pain came in battalions, and Norrington raised a shaky hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, frowning hard and ducking his chin. He closed his eyes, and the time continued to pass on with the gentle rustle of the waves, each one lapping at his shivering body and slowly eroding his tolerance. For everything. Norrington fancied himself a well composed man, controlled, but the last three days – had it been three days? – had tried the limit of that control, as well as the span of his patience. He lingered on the edge.
An little over an hour, perhaps, and his motionless arm that bound him to Jack Sparrow was stirred when the pirate finally showed a sign of life. Jack wordlessly touched Norrington's shoulder, and the other man slowly lifted his head in the direction in which Jack gestured. It was beginning to glow where the sun began to peek above the rolling waves, and he could already feel the warmth start to shine down and soak into the wet material of his heavy shirt. The new feeling sent a prickle over his otherwise numb upper body. He shifted his position on the barrel to better catch the sun.
It was a blessing now, but in three or so hours the rays of the sun would have their hide burned and blistered to the white of their bones. At the thought of a sun burn Norrington realized how thirsty he actually was. With a sudden intake of air he gagged on the dryness of his parched throat. The sea air seemed to scrape at the raw flesh, and Norrington grimaced with every salty breath he inhaled.
"Of course you didn't bother to think about what even one day in this bloody water will do to us," he muttered, not even caring whether or not his neighbor heard him. "We have no water."
"No water," Jack repeated dryly, and gave his head a minimal inclination to look at Norrington. With his eyes as dull with fatigue as Norrington knew his probably were, Jack Sparrow certainly gave the water logged effect an entirely new meaning. His dark hair was like a thing of it's own. It weighed heavily around that tanned face like a stranded creature. "You truly think me an idiot, don't you, Commodore?"
"Absolutely."
"And yet I am the one that bothered to fill me cannies with that nice supply of water we had sharing a hold with us on the Fantana," Norrington ventured a distrusting glare over his shoulder, but certain as the sunrise, Jack slowly produced a full canteen, alertness replacing the groggy cast of his face. It was real enough that the very sound of the fresh water sloshing about in the canteen's belly made Norrington's craving heighten all the more. He flicked a narrow-eyed glare over to Jack.
"Pause and consider," he said nastily, "What exactly will happen to you when the Royal Navy comes sailing by and hears how you made me jump through ignited circus hoops before sparing me severe hydration. Just consider it a moment, and decide what you really want to do." Jack's dark brows shot up at the sound of that idea, but the young commodore's calm threat did not seem to strike any fear in the pirate. He stroked one of the braided tendrils of his beard, a little smirk pulling up the corner of his mustache at whatever mental image he was getting. Norrington snorted. "If you think I am going to beg for it, think again."
"You will when the sun hits high noon, mate."
The dark lines of Norrington's already drawn brows came down further, and if his stern face could possibly harden anymore, it did. "Give it to me," he said darkly, his voice edged with a dangerous frost. Now generally Commodore James Norrington was a patient man, a gentleman in every aspect of the word, and would have been highly insulted if anyone had ever predicted his next move only a week ago - never in a hundred years would he be caught using such irrational tactics to achieve a goal, but over the course of the past three days, the rational young man had been thrown beneath more stress than most men have to deal with in a lifetime, and his diplomatic side he kept handy for negotiating with impossible sorts had long since evaporated in the Caribbean sun. Especially negotiations with a man he would rather see swinging from the gallows.
"I don't know, what would you do if you were thirsty enough?"
Norrington, without first receiving permission from his good senses, threw his left fist so hard into the side of Jack's jaw that the pirate's head snapped back, and he nearly lost his grip on his half of the barrel. Jack hesitated for a moment in utter shock, and twisted back up to a straight position, regarding Norrington with incredulous dark eyes. Still he held onto the canteen with his stiff fingers, and his brows fell back down to give the commodore a pointed look.
"Well that wasn't very nice of you –" Jack began, but another strike from Norrington, this time to the other side of his jaw with the hand bound to the chain they shared, and Jack clumsily lost his grip on the canteen, as well as his balance on the barrel. He reeled back in pain and surprise.
Norrington caught the canteen with his free hand, and under the water kicked both legs into Jack's chest, sending him several feet away from their temporary float, but not far enough to bring himself down with the pirate. When Jack surfaced again he gave an exaggerated cough and started hitting his chest with a curled fist, hacking up sea water. Norrington ignored him, and uncorked the canteen, letting the cool water quench his thirst as it ran over his dry tongue and down his throat. He allowed himself only two sips as there was no telling how long he would have to stretch it over.
He corked it again and exhaled hard, relief washing over him with the warm rays of the morning sunlight. Through the corner of his mind he heard Jack swimming back, and glanced over his shoulder – it was quite a sight. Sparrow did not look so angry as he was dumbfounded, obviously not having expected such aggression from a man of Norrington's social upbringing. He held his free hand up upon returning to the piece of split wood, signaling his lack of desire for anymore violence, and willingness to share the loot that used to be his with his chain mate. Norrington flicked a disinterested glance over at Jack, but did not return the canteen.
"You might've just asked for it nicely," Jack said after a moment of dubiously rubbing the tender spot on his jaw, and he leaned into his half of the barrel lazily, the water lapping at his sides and just below the pit of his arms. "Really got me there, mate, I'll give you that. No hard feelings, of course."
Norrington frowned, and turned to address Jack on just what kind of a mood he was really in, and a familiar pain flashed before his eyes white when the other man struck back, balling a fist and driving it into Norrington's left eye. Pressure momentarily jolted the socket and he swore viciously, as he felt the blood quickly rush in around it to form a what would later become an ugly black bruise. He gritted his teeth and withheld a snarl at Jack when he felt the canteen ripped from his fingers.
"That," Jack remarked, jauntily raising the canteen to his lips. "was not something I wanted to do. Took me by surprise, you did." He took a long swallow of the fresh water, and set it on his half of the barrel, then held a sun-browned hand out to the enraged Norrington, raising both brows in a non-aggressive gesture. "Finish it, shall we?"
Norrington hesitated, suspicious. He gingerly reached out to make the truce, but instead of a hand shake he moments later found himself in the position he was before, head snapped back with both of his hands cradling a newly forming bruise. Jack rubbed his knuckles while holding onto his half of the barrel with his elbows, swearing softly to himself. Norrington's already ragged temper snapped completely, and he lunged. This time Jack was quick enough to duck beneath the force of the commodore's fist, and in turn plowed himself into Norrington's chest, shoving the other man down into the cold water.
The first thought that entered Norrington's anger-clouded mind when the surface closed over him was that if he ever got back to civilization, the first order of business would be to have Sparrow hung up before a firing squad rather than the noose - but Jack's boots halted his ascension, suddenly planted on his chest and shoving him further down below the surface of the water. He forced open his eyes, and the salt water immediately assaulted them with it's sting, but Norrington was just stressed and angry enough to grab a fistful of the other man's trousers and yank him back down. Jack gave a muffled cry, and did not open his eyes in time to avoid another savage slam in the face by his opponent.
Norrington broke the surface, and Jack followed, both men dragging in deep ragged breaths and at once reaching out to keep the other at bay.
"You're mad, you pirate bastard," Norrington bit out between clenched teeth. "I'll have your neck for this –!"
"That was the original plan, I thought," Jack gritted through an equally-immobile jaw, his reply having a certain amount of trouble traveling through a constricted throat – Jack hadn't quite noticed at first Norrington's fingers scrabbling to get around his neck, both thumbs pushing into his larynx and shutting most of his voice off. Jack brought his hands up around Norrington's forearms, clawing ineffectively through the wet material of his long-sleeved shirt. "Why should I be – so keen – to give you - water if all you'll – do for me is – " Jack finally dug his dirty nails into the damp flesh of Norrington's thin aristocratic wrists, and ripped the other man's hands from his throat. "- hang me?!"
"You can't expect to live the life you lead and not run into consequences," Norrington spat out, enraged, and jerked in Jack's grip like a cornered animal, his fingers curled stiff to attack. "Do not even begin to think you can place guilt on me for doing my duty!"
Jack managed to hold off another thrust of Norrington's violent hands. "Do the words 'extenuating circumstances' mean anything to you, Commodore, or would you hand over your own mother to the gallows if the book told you to, hm?" he reached out and threw an arm over the barrel again so it did not float out of their reach, pulling it to his side and holding on with one arm while unintentionally allowing Norrington another window of attack. Having the upper hand, he evaded the blow and instead grabbed a fistful of Norrington's dark hair (a distant hint of amusement sparked when he noticed that the wig was lost), shoving him hard below the water surface. This time Jack held him down by the chained hand still twisted in his hair, and a one of his legs slung over the other man's shoulder, forcing Norrington to stay under with the weight of his body.
"Now that is just about all I can stand, there, mate," Jack called out to his prisoner, trying to balance with the barrel and Norrington beneath him all at once. It turned out to be a difficult task, but an effective one, as Norrington eventually slowed his struggling. Jack smirked, a rueful, rakish grin, far too pleased with himself to release the commodore just yet, but when Norrington stopped moving entirely he, in a half-panic, loosened his grip and hauled the other man up by the arm. Norrington coughed hoarsely, his head bent as he spasms shook his drenched body. Jack leaned in. "Commodore?"
Norrington snapped up and backhanded Jack, hard, across the face, and his labored breathing was ragged and painful in the deep of his chest. Jack's hand flew to the side of his face as the world tilted wildly, and once again he clumsily tried to stay afloat with the barrel, while still managing to slide Norrington a few quick glances to make certain he did not have another blow to the face coming.
"Now," Norrington growled, calm aside from his breathless, ragged speech, and yet still managed to sound perfectly murderous. He shivered, despite the sun. His wet dark hair was plastered to the side of his face. "Are we finished?"
"Yes," Jack retreated to his side of the split barrel, and shoved the canteen over as if making clear that both of them could make use of their only fresh water. Norrington nodded, and went on trying to catch his breath. He was in pain, and aside from acquiring a fresh water resource, was in no better shape than he was before. Already purple blotches were beginning to form on Jack's sharply etched face, and he didn't even want to think about how his own black eye was coming along. So far he could still see out of it, despite the expected blurring in the corner, but he took it as a good sign. "You're mighty good at fighting dirty, Commodore," Jack remarked, casually, resting his chin on his wrist as if ready to let the lazy, exhausting hours continue their shift. "If you neglected a shave once in a while, one would mistake you for a pirate."
"And you wonder why I am so keen to hang you."
"Actually I do wonder," Jack said sourly, his dark brows twisting to form a scowl, and his deep-set eyes irate as he turned directly to Norrington. "Considering the first time you arrested me I'd saved the woman you loved, and the second time you arrested me, and so passionately swore to not let my lawlessness continue I'd just got done doing it all over again."
"I don't care for repeating myself, but I cannot forgo my duty on account of one woman," Norrington responded, hotly, and coughed hoarsely into his free hand. Droplets of water began to slide down the sides of his face as his hair finally started to dry in the climbing sun. "You have chosen your path, don't put the consequences on the consciences of others, and certainly do not expect their pity when it comes to your judgment."
Jack snorted at that, and his decorations rattled noisily with the turn of his head. "I know what I do isn't exactly what you respectable folk would call…" He hesitated, keeping one elbow on the wood and holding his hand up with the forefinger twitching pointedly. "…respectable, but at least I take the initiative to improve me situation. S'better than scuttling about with the masses, wouldn't you think so?"
"Most certainly not."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Jack replied, evenly. His body language halted it's flamboyancy in the silence between them, and Jack's visage seemed to quiet as it did at times. "But I always end up paying for what I steal, mate. Comes with the business."
"You pay for nothing," Norrington said flatly. "The only justice you will come to know will be through me, Sparrow. And it is my duty to see justice is done."
"Duty."
"Now I know that at any hint of duty and obligation you tend to shrivel up and die like a demon in Holy light, so I won't press the matter, but it just so happens that I was raised to serve others, and to serve justice, and that those with no respect for such things only lead to the downfall of our society as a whole," Norrington continued to snap, and Jack deepened his frown, but politely waited for the other man to get it out of his system. "I do have something to go back to, Sparrow, and I will see you in the hand of justice if it is the last thing I do because it is my duty."
The pirate paused, considering what had just been said and what had not. He absently sucked his bottom lip between his two rows of teeth, and bared his white and gold top one, adding to the effect of his scowl. Jack snorted, and rather than arguing simply turned back to watching the shifting horizon. The sun began to climb even higher, and was beginning to cast a painful reflection on the water. "I'm finding it harder and harder to like you, mate."
Norrington did not look at him, but managed another of his condescending, nasty smiles. From the outside it seemed rather vacant. "Good." A heavy silence fell between them for the next few minutes, the sound of the rolling sea filling the gap, and the gentle brush of the waves slapping against their bodies softly echoed. Jack's mouth twisted upward at one corner with a distant half-smile.
"Nice girl, that Elizabeth," he began. "I would know, I were trapped for a day and a night with her on an island."
"Sparrow…" Norrington exhibited a dangerous warning in those two syllables.
"Just a thought," Jack remarked, lightly. "If I hadn't have been there to dive in after her, I wouldn't have ended up in this mess. You wouldn't be drilling after me, I would have taken that nice, pretty little ship of yours – the Interceptor – and be out there living again," The pirate tapped his three middle fingers once on the wood of the barrel, gave a little shrug. There was a silent undercurrent at the tail end of Jack's statement – it was not entirely true. The Captain and the Commodore could not honestly deny that the young Will Turner, and his love for the governor's daughter that had taken them across the Caribbean to save her life had restored something in the both of them. Jack gave him a sidelong glance. "But there'd be no more of the lovely Miss Swann. Who else would have gone in to get her?"
Norrington drew in his brows, and remained silent. Of course he had thought about that, countless times, since he had nearly lost Elizabeth. It was at times all he could think of: how a pirate came to her rescue when he had failed to, and whether or not it was because of that fateful day, in the end he had, indeed, lost her. Over and over Norrington ordered himself to take heart in the fact that Elizabeth was happy, and that it was all that mattered when everything boiled down, but he was naught but Human, and the pain always returned.
He cleared his throat, flexing his cheek muscle on the side of his face that had been bashed by Jack Sparrow's hard knuckles, and the tender skin pulled painfully. Without another word, Norrington surrendered to his thoughts, and the undetermined wait that stretched before them. Realizing he was to get no more responses from the other man, Jack did a variation of the same thing, and let his chin rest on his forearm again.
"Just a thought," he finished, quietly.
The next twelve hours moved like the steady flow of molasses leaving a broken jar, and they had faced the sun as best they could, by daring to flip their halves of the barrel over their heads and holding on beneath the shadow until it simply became too exhausting to support the wood any longer. They silently (and sparingly) shared the canteen, in-taking the bare minimum of required water only a few times throughout the course of the agonizingly long day.
Norrington strove to stay awake, despite his fatigue and the fact that he had gone nearly two days and a night with no sleep. When the afternoon became late, nearly dark, Norrington could no longer hold out, and the surface of the barrel practically pulled his cheek to rest on it. He promised himself it would only be a moment, and he would be on the alert again, but the sleep that fell upon him was heavy and hard. When he finally stirred again, it was near pitch black, and only the cold starlight illuminated the empty sea around them.
He groggily raised his head, frowning, and surveying their surroundings with the vain hope that perhaps something had been altered. Nothing. The sea was flat, the sky cloudless, and not even a hint that land might be near would show itself. Norrington almost wished he had stayed asleep, but the other part of him mentally cursed himself for letting the exhaustion win the battle. He ran his free hand through his hair, dry but textured with the salty air that clung to it. He glanced at Jack, and the pirate seemed to be wide awake. Jack caught Norrington's gaze.
"Lucid, are we?" He asked, but Norrington did not trouble himself with keeping his eyes on the pirate. Jack did not seem in the least offended, but instead held up a hand, as if what he had to say would most certainly catch the commodore's attention. "Well, I've been doing something thinking, Commodore, while you had your little snooze."
"I don't care what you were doing."
Jack, once again, did not take offense. "Well just hear me out…let's say that your people come sailing by, and we're picked up. I would most likely be thrown into a brig with whoever the latest prisoner is and continue on with plan A, which is to stretch my neck till I croak, am I right so far?"
"I would say so."
"But what if my people are the ones to pick us up," When Norrington turned with those skeptical blue eyes slit with critical regard, Jack's brows leapt up in further question. He gave a shrug with one of his wiry shoulders. "Where does that leave you?"
Norrington frowned (he'd never actually stopped frowning in the first place). "Unlikely, Sparrow, highly unlikely. Unless your crew somehow managed to repair that poor excuse for a vessel sometime over the last three days."
"Now, now," Jack tsked, managing somehow to fit another set of delicately positioned fingers into the air as well as the conversation. "I was not referring to the Pearl, mate. I've got some other acquaintances that tread these waters, and there's no doubt in me mind that word has gotten around of how your little crusade was accomplished, Commodore."
"And – let me see if I'm following you – you wish to come to some sort of understanding. If by some chance your 'people' come by and pull us both out of the water, you will negotiate my safe return to Port Royal, and should the Royal Navy come to our rescue, I would somehow convince them to let you return to the Kingston Bay," Norrington watched Jack steadily, his eyes and his tone never changing from that flat, unimpressed stare. "Is that what you have in mind?"
"Precisely what I have in mind."
Norrington remained deadpanned. "I have no intention, in any scenario the two of us end up in, of letting you go, Jack Sparrow. If I have to haul you there myself, you will go back to Port Royal to face the justice of the crown, as you should have when I had the chance." Jack stared back, his lips seeming to disappear between his mustache and goatee as they curled tight into his mouth with what appeared to be a fair amount of bottled frustration, and finally he threw his free hand up and made a very irritated noise in the back of his throat, staunchly turning back to face away from his chain mate. Norrington was unmoved. "Perhaps you should have considered the consequences before you decided to begin your career."
Jack impatiently tapped his hard nails on the metal binding of the barrel, exhaling hard through his nose before steering another scowl towards Norrington. "I could quite literally drag you and the entire crew of the Dauntless from a raging hellfire inferno, save each of your lives, and manage to avoid any soot smudges on your nicely pressed uniforms on the way out –" He snapped, with a testy little swivel of his lazily tilted head, "and you would still insist on me swinging from your gallows."
"Indeed."
Jack's ever expressive right hand remained in the night air as he tried to find words to properly convey his argument at the moment, but Norrington did not even give him so much as a glance. He wasn't exactly looking at anything, as there was naught but sea and a black sky, but he certainly did not want to give Jack the satisfaction of his attention. Jack finally spoke again, his voice turning into that low gruff he used when he had the time to calm a bit. Out on the sea, they had all the time in the world. "Did a pirate drop you on your head as a boy, mate?"
Norrington's even face twisted into a scowl. "What?"
"What if you didn't look at me so much as a pirate, but as a fellow man down on his luck," Jack tried to reason. "I've meself a few character flaws, but I'm certainly not an enemy of the people. I just enjoy the luxuries of fine belongings, a warm bed, and, well, you know. Food on the table."
Norrington flicked him another disinterested glance. "You are wasting your breath, sir."
"Bloody stubborn, you are," Jack grumbled, and lowered his head back onto his wrist that rested on the barrel, once again retiring to himself. "And bloody obsessed."
Norrington snorted, but said no more on the subject either. He rather shifted his position in the water, letting it move about him to make sure it wasn't actually a frozen ice block he was floating around in, and followed Jack's example. He kept his eyes open until his lids would no longer tolerate their own weight, and he fell into sleep once more. Norrington woke again when the sun was nearly in the high middle of the sky, and Jack gave his shoulder another shove.
"Look at that, mate," he whispered harshly, and Norrington groaned, rubbing the sleep from his sore eyes and turning once again to the direction of Jack Sparrow's jauntily gestured hand. Something swayed on the horizon, a far dark speck. A vessel. Norrington quickly glanced over at Jack, incredulous. The pirate only grinned at him. "I knew you'd like it."
"What is it?"
Jack cupped his hand horizontally over his dark eyes and squinted, pursing his lips so that his mustache curved downward. "I'd say a massive whale, somehow gliding on the surface of the water."
"Sparrow," Norrington warned, mirroring Jack's position and leaning forward to try and get a better view. The dark shape moved towards them, slowly but surely. It was too far off to actually see the flag billowing atop the distant mast. Norrington frowned, giving an uneasy grimace. "It could be absolutely any ship."
"Including our dear friend, the esteemed Fantana."
"Which falls under the category of any, I should think," Norrington said with a little glance of disgust over at his neighbor, and Jack gave a little shrug. "There is nothing to do but wait it out, then, and hope to God and the angels that it's English."
"My fingers are crossed for scallywags."
"Considering how far we actually are out in this God forsaken body of water, any pirate ship we meet will most likely sell us to the Spanish for six shillings each rather than return a menace like you to Kingston, Sparrow," Norrington had a point, enough to give Sparrow a perplexed expression of consideration, and the pirate uncrossed his calloused brown fingers. Norrington smirked, and turned back to watching the distant shape on the horizon.
Jack's gaze lingered on the side of Norrington's face a moment, brows furrowed with morbid curiosity as he observed the new bruises on the commodore's face. He didn't have a good view of the swollen purple thing that now surrounded Norrington's left eye, but the trailing black and blue from his cheekbone made for quite a sight. Jack could not resist the urge. He reached and gently pressed a round fingertip against the bruise, earning a bit of a yelp and jump from Norrington, who immediately jerked back in disgust.
"What do you think you're doing," Norrington snarled, his white teeth contrasting against his newly tanned skin. Jack raised his brows innocently, and turned his right palm up to the sky. Norrington just scowled and gingerly prodded the bruise, as if checking it for any sort of horrid pathogen that might have leapt from Jack's finger and onto his face. "I told you not to touch me."
"I never thought to see you this banged up, Commodore," Jack replied indirectly, catching another indignant scowl from Norrington. "And on my account."
Norrington never bothered with a reply, despite how he would have liked to point out the new bruises that marred the pirate's face as well as his. The fight of the previous day had certainly lead to moments of awkward silence throughout their hours of floating alone together, but part of Norrington did not regret the fist he had smashed into Jack Sparrow's rakish face. No doubt, it was something he deserved, and yet in turn Norrington had received a near equivalent beating from the pirate. A thought surfaced, that made his scowl deepen. Perhaps he had deserved what Jack had served him back. He dismissed it as the heat doing his thinking for him.
Before much longer, the ship moved closer in the range of their view, and ended the anticipation of what exactly the approaching vessel was. It turned out, as the astonished Jack Sparrow and Commodore Norrington discovered as they dumbly watched it sail by, not to be an English or pirate ship – but something too big to be a boat, and yet too small to be a real war ship. It did not even appear to have any weapons.
"Well I'll be damned to Hell," Jack Sparrow murmured, seeming as relieved and tense as the man beside him. He craned his neck to read the boldly painted black letters on the side of the little ship. They reflected the bright glare of the sun: the Okabojee.
~~~
"The Okabojee?"
Norrington cleared his throat, uncomfortably reaching back to scratch the back of his neck. "The Okabojee."
"The Notorious Okabojee that Jack Sparrow claims in the beginning of his testimony to have spontaneously burst into flames, leading to his capture?" Admiral Hawk demanded, leaning back in his chair and staring Norrington down, concernedly. "It gives me no pleasure to blatantly not trust your word, sir, but I must ask, does this ship truly exist?"
The commodore nodded, a little more enthusiastically than he would have liked to. "Yes – what could make it any less real than the Dauntless or the Black Pearl?" Admiral Hawk's brows arched again, and he pointedly held up the diary of Jack Sparrow's testimony. Norrington made a face. "Oh."
"Oh." Hawk pursed his lips and watched Norrington once again get that utterly bewildered expression on his face, and sink low into his chair. It was amusing, to say the least, but the admiral admitted to feeling a bit of sympathy for the extremely strung-out young man. If indeed he was the commodore he claimed to be, enough proof lay in his physical appearance for his story to be true. Initially he had mistaken Norrington for a drunken, blundering pirate. He cleared his throat, and Norrington regarded him through the corner of his blood shot eyes. Hawk waved the diary once. "Hn?"
"Hn," Was Norrington's noncommittal reply, and he buried his face back into the hand that shaded his brow. Admiral Hawk took it as a yes, however pained, and inhaled to read.
"I quote, 'The ship that eventually came to our rescue was not a pirate ship, nor an English one, but rather the Notorious Okabojee had by chance been sailing by once again amidst our disaster. The Notorious Okabojee seemed untouched by the earlier flames spread by the Pearl (as you can see, he contradicts himself), and I later found her to be both crewed and captained by a single man going by the name of Lord Fredric Von Kronenburg. A china man.'" Admiral Hawk glanced up to observe Norrington's reaction. He got another hesitant glance. "Well?"
"It's true." The two words came out more as a mumble.
Hawk's brows hiked even further up his forehead, if such a feat was possible. "It's true?"
Norrington tried uncrossing his legs and re-crossing them again. "Yes."
"It's been some years since I was anywhere near the China sea, but…" He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "…Fredric Von Kronenburg is not – at all – Chinese. Very German, actually." Norrington just shifted his eyes from one side to the other before reluctantly going back to look at Admiral Hawk, and the young man sat up straight again, still managing that sense of dignity even in the face of such ridiculous material. The old man sighed resignedly, and waved a dismissing hand. "Nevertheless, there you are, sticking to your word."
"It's difficult to explain."
"That I will believe," Admiral Hawk said with a note of wry amusement, and sat back comfortably in his seat. "So. This Von Kronenburg. He was hospitable?"
Norrington nodded. "He threw a rope over the side of his ship without even asking our nationalities," he continued. "We did not quite take the accepted offer right away, however. It seemed far too convenient, and we were still thinking with half a brain each."
Admiral Hawk cracked a dry half-smile.
--- --- ---
"It's rather far-fetched, I'll give you, that we should trust a completely strange ship that had quite literally wandered out of the middle of nowhere," Jack mumbled for only Norrington's ears, both hands curled around one of the ropes the China man in the little ship had tossed over without so much as a word. Norrington held his tight as well, looking back from Jack to the silent China man leaning over the railing of the deck. Jack snorted. "But I've got more chances of surviving with a stranger of a China man than with the likes of you, or the whim of the sea."
Norrington grimaced. "I fear you just might be right," The commodore twisted the rope around his wrist to secure his grip, and breathed out. "Well?"
Jack Sparrow gave a rakish grin. "Might as well give it a go, eh?" With a firm tug on each rope, the two abandoned prisoners were hauled out of the sea and onto the blessedly dry deck of the Notorious Okabojee.
