Chapter Nine

Somewhere far off, a woman was screaming.

A man pushed him backwards, gently but firmly. "Get below, James!" A gruff voice, stern, overbearing, shockingly familiar. Dangerous green eyes bore into his own, and the wooden door was slammed in his face. He threw himself against it, frustrated, calling out after the man.

"Father!" He cried desperately, crashing his fists against the door. Behind him, the smallest midshipmen had shied into a corner, crying. Outside the door, the clang of swords and the dull thud of cannon fire filled the air. Growling, he pulled the sword out of his scabbard, the uniform draping his thin frame signifying his rank as midshipman.

Another charge at the door, and the lock splintered under his weight. He tumbled slightly, fighting to regain his footing.

The bosun fell dead across his path, spattering blood across his face. His frightened eyes looked up at the dark man standing above him, cutlass dripping with gore and a wide captain's hat shading his eyes. Flames lit the entire deck, outlining the killer in a Hell-like blaze. He stared up from his position on the planks, and he was afraid.

Someone put out the fire.

"Don' worry, lad," the hollow voice from the man overhead came in a low rumble. "We'll kill ye nice and quick-like."

He stabbed upwards with his sword just as the other man's came plunging down at him. The opposing sword slashed through his shoulder. His own was fixed deep in the man's chest. One fell over dead while the other desperately scrambled to his feet.

Screaming. Fire. Smoke. Death. Blood.

For the love of God, someone put out the fire!

"James!"

His eyes met those of his father, rushing toward him.

"Damn your eyes, James, I told you--"

A shot, fatal, ripped through his father's chest, killing him on the instant. The boy caught his father in his arms, falling to his knees with the body's momentum. The blood seeped through his white shirt, staining him through and through. Admiral Norrington lay dead in his arms. Hot, harsh tears rolled down his face, the sword useless at his side.

A rough hand grabbed him, pulling him away from his father toward the longboat. The other survivors were hurrying off the drowning ship. He struggled against the grip.

"No!" He cried, lashing out at his savior. "NO! I won't go!" He reached out for the body of his father. The dark shadows of men dashed about the deck, pockets full of stolen goods. "I won't go! Father!" Sobs caught dry in his chest. "FATHER!"

He was thrown bodily into the longboat, the familiar lieutenant holding him tight to keep him from leaping back onto the ship. He was shouting such nonsense as, "He's dead, James!" and "Let him go!" They lowered away, the boy frantically beating at his shipmates, watching his father's dead body disappear as the boat was lowered into the bloody waters below. The second ship loomed over them, the skull and crossbones clearly defined against the fire and the smoke.

"James!"

His eyes opened, and immediately, everything was blurred. Elizabeth's concerned eyes were hanging over him, and he felt a cool hand on his warm cheek. He was aware that the hard planks, not the soft hammock, were supporting him. He also realized that his vision was blurred not by rum, but by the tears from his dream. Something caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes tightly, feeling them spill down his face. No, not in front of Elizabeth...

"Oh, James..."

She held him tightly in her kneeled embrace. He never allowed a sob to wrack his chest, as he so longed to do. No, only the silence and the tears. He buried his face against her shoulder, holding her tight in comfort. He was vaguely aware of her voice in his ear, her hands holding him like a child awoke from a nightmare. He fought back everything fighting to escape, and soon his lapse had ended.

He extracted himself from her arms against his will and turned his eyes to the ground their knees lay upon. He didn't need to see her eyes to know the questions hidden there.

"Pirates destroyed the ship under my father's command." His voice was low, flat, lifeless. "He was killed in the struggle. Only seven of us escaped." He allowed no more on the subject, as if he had not let a single tear escape.

"Will... Will you be all right?" Elizabeth asked. Norrington hung his head, not wanting to look at her, lest he make a rash decision in his weakness.

"Yes," he answered at last. He wondered vaguely how he had come to rest outside his hammock, but did not question the matter. He stood, compensating for the roll of the ship, and she matched him. In the hammock beside his, Samuel was fast asleep and snoring. It brought the smallest smile to his lips.

"He's a bright boy," Elizabeth said, catching his gaze.

"That he is," Norrington responded flatly. He sighed, body and soul aching, as he turned to Elizabeth. "Get some rest. Do not resist on my behalf."

For a moment, it seemed as if she would not comply, but at last she nodded. Before moving away, she squeezed his hand, saying without words: "I'm here, should you need me." She moved away into darkness, Norrington's eyes following her despite his better judgement.

Leaning back in his hammock, he closed his eyes to forget. But he could only remember. Remember the feel of her in his arms, her hand holding tightly to his own.

He needed a drink.

Perhaps only minutes later-- perhaps longer, he had no way of knowing-- he was stowed at the lowest point in the ship, where the rum was stored. His back was against the hull, a bottle in his hand as he dazed in and out of rum-induced sleep. He was humming an inane tune to himself, not noticing the shadow that was slowly approaching in the darkness. Another drink from the bottle, and he was sure that he was finally going to sleep.

That is, if not for the small blue eyes peeking out from behind the nearest wooden pole. Norrington glanced their way, then sighed sadly to himself.

"Reveal yourself, Samuel," he bade. The boy did as he was told, nervously moving to stand over the man with the nearly empty rum bottle. They stared for a long moment before Samuel moved to sit beside him.

"Captain Norrington, sir," he began, his voice trying to be bold. "Why are you drinking all by yourself?" Norrington gave the boy a bewildered look, then set the bottle aside with something of embarrassment.

"Well, Samuel," he said with studied slowness, "adults sometimes find comfort in alcohol, particularly when they want to forget something."

"Why would you want to forget Miss Elizabeth?" The question was as innocent as could be, Norrington still felt the ache in his heart. So the boy had been awake for the whole ordeal. He wondered vaguely if he had cried out and woken the two of them during his sleep.

"Did you know that quite some time ago, Miss Elizabeth and I were engaged to be married?" He itched to take another drink, but refrained while in the presence of the boy. Samuel's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"No, sir, I didn't." Samuel looked around, as if to check if Elizabeth were listening in. "What happened to make you not engaged, sir?"

"A blacksmith happened," Norrington answered dully. He sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose that I was not the man Elizabeth wanted to spend the rest of her life with."

I could have spent it with her...

His hand moved for the bottle, but he stayed it. Samuel was a very effective deterrent.

"I'm sorry, sir," Samuel said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Norrington stoppered the rum bottle and let it roll away into darkness.

"No need to worry yourself about it, young Samuel. There is nothing that can be done in that respect." He moved to stand, but the rum clouded his vision and he stumbled. Samuel caught the man to balance him, and helped him stand to his full height. Norrington smiled at the helplessness of the situation, help from a ten-year-old midshipman to stand on his own.

"Sir, you need air," Samuel shifted Norrington's weight, one of the captain's long arms draped over his young shoulders. "Come on, let's get up to the deck."

Through some minor struggles, Samuel managed to help Norrington up to the fresh air of the deck. The storm had washed over them and had ended only three hours ago. The sails had been pulled out again, and were now flapping in the sea-flavored wind. Samuel propped Norrington up against the mast and pulled back to inspect his drunken captain.

"Even if it helps you forget Miss Elizabeth," he said as he sat on the nearby capstan, "I think this drinking business is dangerous, Captain Norrington." The man smiled, meeting the boy's eyes.

"Yes," he admitted. "But then again, so is piracy." He waved a general hand at the ship, the sea, and the Gorgon following behind. "Yet here we are."

They allowed the sound of the sea to wash over them as they stood in silent reverence of her power and grace. Samuel shifted uncomfortably again, as if speaking to a captain were something he'd been told never to do.

"Sir, if I might ask..." He furrowed his brows in concentration. "Who exactly is this Jack Sparrow fellow, and why are we trying to find him?" Norrington grinned.

"Jack Sparrow is a pirate." He knew this wasn't enough, but it felt like a good starting place. "He came to Port Royal upon my ascension to Commodore, and I believe everything fell apart from that point. He is the worst pirate I've ever known, and he single-handedly ruined my career and my livelihood." Samuel cocked his head. This wasn't exactly what he'd expected. "But, as it turns out, Sparrow is also the only man to take the heart of Davy Jones out from under Beckett's nose. He is a master of deceit and trickery, turning against his own friends if he finds it beneficial to his own well-being."

"Sir, I don't think you've answered my question," Samuel said. "If Mr. Sparrow is as bad as you say he is, why is it that all of these people-- Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Turner, Captain Barbossa and yourself-- are trying to rescue him?"

"There are those who say Mr. Sparrow, under his rogue exterior, is a good man after all. Elizabeth is one of those people-- she sees the good in those who, perhaps, do not deserve it." His face fell. "She saw it in me."

Samuel gave the man a confused, concerned look. He said nothing, probably for the better. Norrington slumped down to the deck, sleep finally taking him.

He woke when six bells was rung, Samuel nestled protectively under his arm and fast asleep.


The boy was already lowered into the longboat, and Norrington was soon to follow after. Will and Elizabeth had come to see them off. Barbossa was standing moodily aside, miffed that their progress had to be halted in order to allow Norrington and Samuel back to the Gorgon. Elizabeth caught him in a chaste embrace, having already placed a kiss on Samuel's brow.

"We'll send any news through Cotton's parrot," Elizabeth told him. She smiled at his odd look. "Seems somewhere in his family tree there was a nest of messenger birds." Norrington raised an eyebrow, but did not question the logic. He moved to Will, shaking the man's hand generously.

"Take care," he told the blacksmith, and was surprised to find he meant it. Will nodded in reply.

Norrington climbed down into the longboat, taking a seat beside Samuel and facing the oarsmen-- the wooden-eyed pirate and his balding friend. Norrington had never taken the time to find out, nor cared what their names were. He knew that they were a bit thicker than the rest of the pirates aboard the Black Pearl had been. He shrugged it off as they pushed off into the open water between the Agrias and the Gorgon. The two pirates began talking amongst themselves, arguing about one thing or another.

"First we's under Cap'n Jack," the balding pirate began, not even giving notice to Norrington and Samuel, "then Cap'n Barbossa goes an' takes over the ship, then Cap'n Jack gets 'er back again, now we're back under Cap'n Barbossa. Y'think we'll ever get a new captain or we'll keep switchin' back an' forth like such?"

"Well, way I sees it," his companion with a wooden eye said, waxing philosophically, "we're smack in th' middle o' Cap'ns Jack and Barbossa's eternal struggle 'twixt one another, an' there's no way gettin' out of it 'less both of 'em dies." He paused to scratch at his unruly stubble. "Tragically, o' course."

"Tragically," his companion echoed, nodding his head.

Norrington and Samuel exchanged a raised eyebrow, and the younger of which tried not to laugh.

They were pulled aboard by Buckler and Gillette, who greeted them warmly. Gillette held half a smile on his lips as he shook his captain's hand.

"Almost thought we'd lost you to the sirens, James," Gillette said amiably. Norrington clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, glad to hear the man fallen into familiarity so quickly.

"I'll not be so quickly deterred," he answered with a grin of his own. He was glad to see that his own crew had not fallen into the begrimed state of that of the Agrias, a little bit of the Navy still flowing in their veins. The structure remained, yet is seemed more lax. They were slowly turning into pirates.

As they began to walk down the deck, Norrington placed his arms behind his back. "Tell me, Nathan, what I have missed in my small detour aboard the Agrias?"

"Not much," he said honestly, surveying the deck. "Harry Buckler has been doing an admirable job as second lieutenant, but the crew seems so much more attentive when you are on deck." Norrington nodded, sweeping his eyes across the beaming faces that met his.

"There is only one thing I can find to correct aboard this ship, lieutenant," he said with a stiffened spine. Gillette shifted almost nervously.

"Sir?" He fell back into routine slightly. That ended when Norrington reached up and snatched the wig off Gillette's head and tossed it into the sea. He stood in shock for a moment, which gave Norrington time to say:

"We're pirates now, Nathan." A wide grin. "Time to start acting like one."

Gillette stood, unsure of what to think, as if his anchor had been cut and he was drifting helplessly at sea. Norrington inspected him worriedly, but Gillette quickly shook his head, loosing some of the dark hair only previously glimpsed.

"Right," he said quickly, finding something to tie his hair back with. He glanced once more at the wig slowly floating away on the waves.

"Captain Norrington," came Samuel's small voice suddenly beside them. Norrington looked down with fondness.

"Yes, sailor?"

"I finished the map from my dream..." He dug into his midshipman's jacket, giving Gillette enough time to shoot Norrington an incredulous glance. When the parchment was in Norrington's hand, he gave it a strange glance. "It's exactly what I remember, sir, but it just suddenly stops."

It had been carefully reproduced, painstaking details filled in. But, as the boy said, it seemed as if cut straight in half, though it didn't take up more than half the parchment. An invisible line stopped the drawing's progress across the page.

"It's like the end of the world, or something," Samuel said ominously. Norrington's brow furrowed slightly.

"We're t' sail for the ends of the earth t' save that ol' seadog's soul."

Gibbs' words hung in his mind, unable to be dislodged. Trying to forget his apprehension, he ruffled Samuel's hair.

"You could be a mapmaker, young Samuel. You have quite a talent."

The boy beamed. "Thank you, sir." He then rushed off to help in the duties of the other crew members. Both men watched him go, then turned their attentions to the reproduced dream map. The circle of blood Samuel had mentioned had also been reproduced, though in ink, thankfully. It circled a named island, just before the invisible line ended the illustration.

Taiwan.

Gillette and Norrington glanced at each other, eyebrows raised at equal length. What on earth was Norrington doing in Samuel's dream, handing him a map to Taiwan, and asking him to memorize it on "her" behalf?

Questions unanswered, Norrington rolled up the parchment, stuck it in the inside pocket of his brown longcoat and ordered another sail run out to keep up with the Agrias.


AN: Ahoy, mateys! I think I'm just gonna go ahead and say this: Ahead, there may be PotC 3 spoilers. I know next to nothing about the 3rd film, but what I do know may have influenced my opinions slightly. So, certain stuff may have a hint of spoiler to 'em. But I don't suspect they will be completely prevailent. I also don't know if Taiwan was called Taiwan when PotC takes place... But is PotC itself entirely historically accurate? No, and we love it that way. :D Hope things are still up to par, and hope no one minded Sappy!James there in the beginning. Huzzah, and happy reading!