Chapter Four
Norrington had closed his eyes in attempts to grasp any semblance of sleep, sitting on the moldy planks and leaning his weary head against the rusty steel bars of the door to his cell. He wished for many things at that point, sleep being perhaps the highest on his list.
Not the highest.
He wished that Gillette, at least, had been with him. A battered soul with companionship is far better than a soul on its own. He wished that he could offer consolation to his crewmen, innocent bystanders whose lives were now forfeit because of a madman's arrogance.
Not the highest.
Norrington fought hard against the emotions rising in his throat, screwing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. He wished that he knew of Elizabeth's fate, whether it mirrored that of Sparrow, of Turner. He wished that he could have done anything to save her.
But I could have. That is the highest.
He wished now to whatever God was watching over him that he had never taken that damned heart. He wished that he had never even set eyes upon it, or even heard its name. He wished that he had never handed it over to the fool Beckett, never betrayed those few friends that he'd had left in this world.
His injured hand unthinkingly lashed out and clanged against the rusty bars, eliciting a painful cry from Norrington, who clutched his hand to his chest.
Weak.
His fist clutched tighter and tighter in his bubbling rage.
Not enough pirate.
Not anymore.
He turned fierce eyes on an approaching figure. One of the cursed sailors was coming with a filthy tray of something in each hand. Norrington forced himself to stand, tired joints creaking. One tray was shoved under the door of his crew's cell, while the other clanged onto the floor just outside the slot under Norrington's door. He looked up from the disgusting slop to the face of the pirate, who looked something like a prawn with long, twitching feelers.
"Bilge fer th' bilge-rats, eh?" He grinned hideously before crackling off toward the deck again. Norrington's crew were still in-and-out of fickle sleep, and his only cellmate appeared to be less interested in food than dredging up memories of his only son. Norrington eyed the "food" cautiously, but it appeared to be only a dirty seafood amalgamation that, while hard on the eyes, nose and mouth, would likely ease some unrest in his stomach.
Falling straight back into old routines of piracy, Norrington took the tray, settled down beside the silent Bootstrap, and took a pinch of food between his fingers. He offered the tray to Bootstrap.
"You need to eat." It was most definitely not a request, and, on some level, it registered with Bootstrap. He acknowledged the captain with a thankful nod, then copied his primitive substitute for silverware. They dug through the meager serving together, not speaking a word between them. But each could feel the others' thoughts. Without even an introduction, Bootstrap turned to Norrington with almost a fatherly eye.
"Don't even bother. I've already tried picking the lock." Bootstrap gave a gruff sigh and stared at the bars before them in more irritation than actual anger. Norrington doubted that he could feel much of anything without his son--
"There must be something we can do beside sit around and wallow in shame." Norrington stood again, cleaning his hands on the hem of his immaculately blue uniform.
Pausing, Norrington reflected on the meaning of this uniform-- a privateer for Lord Cutler Beckett, no more, he felt, than a common slave. He inspected the gold trimming, his station as Captain a bold statement shoved in the face of the world. He let out a calm breath, and with it, slid the jacket off his shoulders. Underneath he had only his plain white shirt, and dark trousers covered by knee-high boots. It was strangely freeing, and Norrington felt his best sarcastic grin set itself on his lips. He turned to Bootstrap, checking the knot on the kerchief around his knuckles.
"I have a plan," he began. "I do not want to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You have no need for more trouble, especially not on my behalf."
"You're too kind," Bootstrap murmured with a half-grin. Norrington hung one hand on a rusted bar and hung his head.
"Not as much as I should like, I'm afraid." He met Bootstrap's eyes. "I was on the Black Pearl with your son and Jack Sparrow." Bootstrap's spine stiffened. Norrington leaned against the bars of his prison. "Sparrow was after the heart of Davy Jones to negotiate his debt. Turner--" He cut himself off, feeling the last name of his cellmate's son too cold a gesture. "William was also in search of the heart. Something about a promise."
"Oh, William..." Bootstrap muttered, his hand to his face. Then he pulled back straight. "Wait. Aboard the Black Pearl? You saw my son?" Norrington stared unblinkingly at the crustacean-infested man.
"We met on Isla Cruces," Norrington said with a raised eyebrow. Bootstrap's perpetual frown pulled back into a hopeful smile.
"The Kraken didn't take him... William could still be alive!" He stood suddenly. "What happened after Isla Cruces? Is William alive?" Norrington felt something catch in his throat. Bootstrap's enthusiasm waned slightly.
"I took the heart straight from under them." He shook his head, filled to the brim with self-loathing. "I took the heart for my own selfish advancement. I traded the heart to Lord Cutler Beckett for a pardon--" he took a breath, facing the man beside him, "--that should have been your son's. I do not know what happened to them after Isla Cruces. I drew off the sailors of the Dutchman so that they might escape... but to what end? I had Davy Jones' heart..." He trailed off miserably, staring at the sadness now taking over Bootstrap's eyes. "... and I intend to have it back."
"What would you do with the heart?" Bootstrap asked, hovering between relief at news of his son's escape with death and sudden mistrust of his secretive cellmate. Norrington nodded knowingly.
"I myself have no need for it. But I know of a man who deserves to plunge a knife straight through it." He met Bootstrap's steady gaze. "Before I can attempt to take the heart back from Beckett, however, I need the help of Jack Sparrow."
Bootstrap's almost hopeful gaze fell again.
"You've not heard, then." Bootstrap sat again on the filthy planks beside Norrington's abandoned jacket. "Davy Jones' Kraken took down the Black Pearl along with Captain Jack Sparrow. Only one longboat escaped."
Sparrow dead-- but Turner and Elizabeth...?
Norrington set his eyes on the crumpled blue jacket at his feet, then set one hand on the empty scabbard at his side.
"Then I believe I have a need to find your son."
The prawn-faced pirate came down the stairs again when the sun shone through the cracks on the deck. Norrington guessed that it was nearly noon. His shipmates were all awake, save for the young lad that had rowed him to the Valor four days previous. He was still knocked cold in a dread-induced stupor.
The prawn moved to throw a tray down for the Gorgon's crew, grinning still at his joke from that morning. "Bilge for bilge-rats," he muttered gigglingly to himself
The words caught dangerously in his throat as a strong arm reached through the bars behind him and wrapped around his throat. Captain James Norrington pulled the creature violently back against the cell bars and tightened his arm's grip on it's throat. The prawn-man gasped for breath, his feelers twitching and hands clawing uselessly at Norrington's arm.
"The keys, if you don't mind," Norrington growled pleasantly into what he supposed was the thing's ear. He shook his grotesque head, which caused Norrington to increase the pressure around it's throat. "It was not what I would call a request."
The keys shook in the creature's hand as they were taken from his belt loop and fell to the floor just outside the slot in the bottom of the door. Norrington reached them with his foot and kicked them to his side of the door. Once there, he hissed quietly in the creature's ear: "Give me a reason not to snap your neck."
It gave no reason, only a shuddering movement. Norrington held his arm over the creature's windpipe only a few moments longer before his air gave out and he collapsed. Norrington let him flop to the ground and retrieved the keys. Bootstrap gave a dry laugh.
"Now, why hadn't I thought of that?"
Norrington clicked the key in his lock before turning his head over his shoulder. "You have nowhere to go." He stood in the open doorway for only a moment. "Are you sure--?"
"Go. You're right," he gave a low chuckle, "I have nowhere to go." He nodded his head toward the unconscious prawn-creature. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Norrington caught his eye.
"If your son is alive, I will find him."
Bootstrap smiled in what might be deemed a warm way. "Good luck redeeming yourself, pirate."
Norrington's mouth hung slightly ajar, until he shut it tightly. He could find nothing to say. So he locked Bootstrap in his cell and proceeded to unlock his comrades from the cell across from him. They thankfully remained quiet so as not to arouse suspicions. The scar-faced man was carrying the young lad over one shoulder, shaking Norrington's hand generously.
"Thank you, Captain Norrington," he said in a rough voice.
"We're not out of this yet," he muttered in return. "What I need is to know where our weapons are stored."
Suddenly, the boy woke from where he was situated on the scarred man's shoulder.
"Sir," he said, wiggling his way free of the man's grip. Norrington assessed his age to be around ten. The lad pulled a dagger from a small sheath around his ankle. "They didn't take this." His childish eyes were filled with a burning hope. Norrington took the offering, turning it over in his hands. Looking up, he inspected the two.
"What are your names, sailors?" He asked. The lad looked at the elder man, then spoke first.
"I'm Samuel McCormick, and his name is Harry Buckler." The boy was eager for a fight. So much like myself at his age. Norrington shook the thought from his head and stood again.
"Samuel, when the time for danger comes, you are to stay with me no matter the consequences that befall our actions."
"Aye!" Samuel said enthusiastically. Norrington grinned as he stood over the prawn sailor once again.
"I have a need to speak with our friend again."
The prawn sailor awoke to Norrington's grinning eyes and a gleaming dagger. He backed against the cell door but the dagger followed his progress. On the captain's face was half a grin, and determined eyes.
"Hello, old friend," Norrington said in a droll voice. "I am in need of your assistance once more."
"I-I'd die first," he replied in a gurgling voice. The dagger danced in front of his eyes, and he immediately changed his mind. "All right! What do you want!"
"I would like my sword back. As well as the weapons of all of my sailors. Take me there." He turned to Harry Buckler, and threw him the keys. "Should trouble arrive, the cells should keep you safe." He eyed Samuel. "I expect you to keep my crew safe, sailor."
"Aye aye, sir!"
"Now," Norrington spat as he roughly pulled the half-prawn, half-man to his feet, "we go on a little expedition."
The dagger was pressed firmly but not dangerously against the prawn as Norrington led the way according to the creature's directions. Norrington's arms were behind his back, held there by the pirate that was leading him. It was a difficult relationship, and Norrington knew better than to push his luck. This cowardly thing would lead him to the weapons and then--
And then?
He would think of something.
The creature behind him snapped to attention as a higher-ranked sailor walked past, glaring a fishy glare into the eyes of the both of them.
"Where ye off to, eh?" He asked the prawn. He tremblingly replied, and I tried my best to play the struggling prisoner.
"Takin' the prisoner t' Cap'n Jones, that's where. We still need our headin' and the like." The creature, thankfully, had followed the commands Norrington had set in order before they'd set out on their little adventure. The second pirate gave them another stinking look before stalking away down the passage. Obviously, Norrington's companion was not well-liked, even among the crew.
Then again, it is pirates we are talking about.
Oh, James, don't you see? It's no longer "them" and "they."
Us.
We are pirates.
"Here," the prawn creature whispered and steered Norrington into a room. As soon as the door had been shut behind them, Norrington removed himself from the creature's grasp and pointed the dagger at him. Norrington blocked the door, the numbing words that had formed in his mind driving him.
"Retrieve my sword." Norrington punctuated every word, teeth clenched. His captive quickly dashed into the room, which appeared to be a type of armory. Swords, axes, guns-- so many weapons, many rusted and useless, lay on every shelf, cluttered into dusty, moldy corners, spilling onto the floor. Norrington almost pierced his foot straight through with a rusty arrowhead discarded on the ground. He skirted around it, keeping a wary eye and his dagger trained on the shuffling prawn. The room was deeper than it originally seemed, many racks containing newer swords and long rifles filling the center of the room. Still, the creature moved deeper. Norrington followed, allowing his eyes to scan the rows upon rows of swords fresh for the picking.
He quickly banished the thought from his mind. Focus on the task at hand.
Finally, at the very back of the room stood the familiar weapons, all leaning against the wall in military fashion. Norrington's own sword shone like a beacon, and he felt a wave of relief. The prawn handed the sword to Norrington. He shoved the dagger into his belt and pulled his sword from its sheath with the beautiful, almost mesmerizing sound of metal. He smiled at it, greeting an old friend he hadn't known he'd missed. Quickly, he shifted his attention back to the pirate before him, the now more powerful weapon dancing gracefully just before his nose, or what substituted for it.
"Bundle those swords and guns up for me," he demanded. The prawn hesitated, and Norrington feigned an attack. The creature flinched backwards and began bundling the said weapons in an old sailcloth. Norrington removed the hair from his eyes with a quick sweep of his hand, keeping his weapon trained on his newfound lackey. The desire becoming too great, Norrington reached for a small derringer on the nearby rack and stuffed it into his belt along with the dagger, looping an unidentifiable animal skin pouch full of fresh powder over his shoulder. Pirate, he murmured to himself.
The prawn had finished his handiwork. He knelt on the floor beside the bundle, as if asking Norrington for his approval. In response, the captain cracked the butt of a rifle at his side against the hard skull of the creature. It was out before it had a chance to register what had happened. Norrington quickly, picked up the bundle, held it against his shoulder and made for the door. He could never have made the journey back with the prawn. It would have been just as suspicious as Norrington himself dashing for the brig, a bundle of weapons in hand. The sword and sheath were quickly reattached to his belt, and he instead reached for the derringer. One shot was not much of a reassurance, and he was reminded suddenly of his first encounter with Sparrow. He shook his head and opened the door.
Standing directly before him stood the hulking half-shark, half-man eyes burning and set to kill.
AN: This chapter took a little longer to put up seeing as FF.n decided to go all wonky on me. But I'm glad it's finally up! I'm actually pretty pleased with this chapter-- more action and some major decisions with Norry's character. Hope I haven't gone too far... Happy reading, friends, and I thank every single one of my reviewers with a kiss! -hands everyone a Hershey's Kiss-
