Chapter Ten
Norrington sat at the stern, the rudder creaking behind him. They had turned their two-ship fleet south as they neared Africa, and as such the weather had turned more foul. Norrington had his longcoat pulled tight around him, as well as a scarf dangling loosely around his neck. He had a sea chart in one hand, Samuel's handmade map in the other. He had studied both numerous times, and that day was no exception. The brisk wind was blowing from starboard, and the Agrias was sailing brightly away, more than a shot from the long nines. He brushed an arrant strand of hair from his face, then returned to his work.
He compared the small parchment to the full map in his other hand, finding each landmark on Samuel's map and adding it to his more detailed sea chart. He had circled Taiwan on his sea chart, just as the young midshipman had on the small reproduction. He measured out the distances carefully, making every significant mark he discovered.
Gillette arrived midday with steaming coffee for the both of them, something borrowed from the hold of the Agrias. Norrington rolled up the charts and allowed the man to sit beside him. Each held the drink between two hands, warming themselves against the relentlessly biting coastal wind. They could barely make out the grey outline of land to port.
"We're coming to the Cape of Good Hope," Norrington said quietly, his voice almost carried away by the wind. "Maybe later today, maybe tomorrow, depending on whether the winds favor us or not." Gillette took a warm drink, smiling in the direction of land.
"I feel sooner rather than later," he said, grinning like a child. Norrington had found it strange that a man could change so much with the simple motion of tossing a wig overboard. He had become suddenly friendly, genial, and-- just perhaps, Norrington thought-- a bit more like a pirate. No, he hadn't dipped into the rum or flogged a sailor within inches of life. But something about Gillette suddenly screamed "reckless abandon." Norrington smiled into his mug.
"We'll stop in Cape Town to restock our water supply and take on more food and such. Perhaps acquire more of this coffee from our dear friend Captain Barbossa." Norrington had a way of referring to the captain as "our dear friend" or "that darling man." Playful pirate rivalry?
"Speaking of your pirate compatriot," Gillette said after taking a drink of the thick coffee, "have you received anything new?"
"Just this morning," Norrington replied, pulling out a small roll of paper. "Elizabeth sends her best. It seems William has taken to lying in his hammock, worrying himself about his father. I replied that he need not fret, and he should get to work before I board the ship and make him work." He grinned, re-reading the note. "Captain Barbossa seems edgy that we should put in at such a populated port, and I returned something to the effect of the Gorgon putting in while the Agrias stays to sea."
"How are we to get the supplies for his ship to him? Float them over?"
Norrington shrugged, leaning back and watching his scarf flutter slightly. "I wait impatiently for his reply."
Gillette had gone back to the main deck, and Samuel had decided to sit beside the captain when Cotton's parrot returned with a scrap of paper attached to his leg. Samuel looked up in amazement at the bright bird. He ruffled his feathers and flapped his wings as Norrington removed the message.
"Any port in a storm!" The parrot cackled, bobbing his head toward Samuel, who grinned. As Norrington read the scribbled note, Cotton's parrot sidestepped on the railing toward Samuel, both cocking their heads at one another.
"Does he have a name, Captain Norrington?" Samuel asked, prodding a finger toward the bird. It shied back, squawking, "Man overboard!" Norrington glanced sideways, pretending to read as he watched the two of them with a guarded smile.
"I believe he is simply 'Cotton's Parrot.'"
"Hard a-starboard!" Cotton's parrot replied.
"I think he needs a name." The bird finally allowed Samuel to stroke its colorful feathers, cooing softly.
"By all means, name him then," Norrington said, running his eyes over Elizabeth's hurried scrawl.
Samuel squinted and cocked his head again in thought. "I think he looks like a Christopher Parrot to me." Norrington closed his eyes.
"It's a fine name," he said. Christopher had been his father's name. He quickly wrote a reply-- short and sweet-- on the back of Elizabeth's message and reattached it to the parrot's leg. It seemed annoyed that Norrington was interrupting his time with Samuel's affections.
"Drop anchor, ahoy!" He screeched. Norrington fixed the parrot with a deadly glare.
"Deliver this back to Elizabeth," he commanded. The parrot whistled and took off. Samuel watched its departure with sad eyes. He turned back to his captain, who had pulled out the small map of Taiwan again.
"What did Miss Elizabeth have to say, sir?" He asked, settling again into his seat beside Norrington. The elder raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Well, ever-inquisitive Samuel, she returned that Captain Barbossa would not join us at Cape Town but would pull into a secluded cove not far from port." He paused for a moment. "Would you care to come ashore with Mr. Gillette, Mr. Buckler and myself to purchase supplies?" The boy's eyes lit up.
"Really?" His voice was high with glee, but he returned to himself and quickly added, "--sir?" Norrington laughed, and was glad for the sound.
"Yes, really." He ruffled the boy's hair. "In fact, I wouldn't dream of making the trip without you." The boy's wide smile only brought a larger grin to his own face. "Now--" He stood, wincing at the pain in his back, "--I need to inform the coxswain of this new development. Care to take the air with me?"
Samuel was unsure of what "take the air" meant, but he gladly joined the captain as they visited Mr. Wainscot and his position at the helm.
The weather held, allowing them to make an easy journey to Cape Town. The wind had lost most of its chill as they neared land, and Norrington had given his scarf to the boy when he had spoken embarrassedly of shivers. The captain had retrieved his three-pointed hat from his cabin, remembering bitterly that he had no mirror in which to check its position on his head. While ashore at a respectable colony city, he wanted to attract as little attention as possible. If the East India Trading Company held as close a hold on the African colonies as it did the Caribbean, then Beckett may be looking for him. Or, he thought with much gritting of his teeth, more likely he had put a watch out for the more valuable possession: the Gorgon.
The Agrias left them as soon as the city came into view. The sun was being pulled low across the horizon, the sky more pink and yellow than blue. Norrington trusted those aboard the Agrias would not sail off without him. But, he thought, if they did, we still have Samuel's map. He straightened his spine and walked out onto the deck again to face the four men coming ashore with him.
Nathaniel Gillette, his dark hair tamed and pulled into a queue behind his head to match his own, suppressing a somewhat mischievous grin. Harry Buckler, scar obscuring his right eye completely, but the other shining with pride and trust in his captain. Frank Wainscot, coxswain and loyal sailor aboard the Gorgon as long as she had been afloat in the Caribbean. Finally, Samuel McCormick, much shorter than the other three, but boasting such rousing spirit and bold enthusiasm that spoke beyond his years and stature.
Norrington grinned at his choices, then turned to the rest of the crew.
"I hope that you lot follow closely the orders of Mr. Jamison while we are ashore. Should I hear of any misbehavior, it shall be desk-swabbing for the responsible party." A confidant look was exchanged here and there, knowing the threat to be little more than just that.
A rousing, "Aye, sir!" followed his remarks, and an odd pride swelled in his chest.
Twilight was falling as men rushed out on the wharf to grab the lines thrown from the Gorgon. She was quickly and effectively tied down, and the gangplank was lowered without a hitch. The five of them made their way down, and Norrington dug into his pockets to pay the man before him for allowing them to tie up. Three silver coins plinked into his hand-- a generous offering, and the man did not forget it.
"Captain Harris," Norrington told the man, with lowered eyebrows. He took the hint, and the bribe, effectively. They strolled confidently off the wharf and into the marketplace. The lanterns were either already lit or were in the process of being so. A fort loomed to the west, reminding him much of Port Royal. He shook off the memories.
"Mr. Wainscot," he said, drawing the man to attention. "You are to supply both ships with adequate amounts of water. I am sure the fellow selling it to you will be more than happy to carry our portion to the Gorgon, while you take the other out to the Agrias. The cove should not be more than a mile down the coastline." He turned to Buckler. "Mr. Buckler, if you be so kind as to appropriate the food supplies for both ships as well? Should you need assistance?"
"No, Captain," Buckler replied with a grin. "I figure I should be able to manage."
"Should either of you need me, seek me out immediately. I will not leave the market until--" He pulled out his pocket watch, "--nine o' clock."
"Aye, sir," Buckler and Wainscot said, the latter saluting as he left. Norrington, Gillette and Samuel were left in the bustling street heading straight through the middle of town. They watched a carriage go slowly by, headed for what was undoubtedly the Governor's house. Norrington watched it go with a raised eyebrow.
"What's our job, sir?" Samuel asked. Norrington grinned.
"Ours is the most important. What we seek is information."
So it was that the three of them separated amongst the buyers. Samuel spoke to the merchants, laying on the sweetness and receiving valuable information in return. Gillette sought his answers near the fort, using his time among such men to gain trust as well as some interesting knowledge. Norrington, of course, sauntered into the tavern.
It was lively, thought not as much as a certain Tortuga tavern Norrington wished very much to forget. There were no brawls in this tavern. It was filled mostly with privateers, looking as tired and haggard as he apparently did, for no one looked up when he entered. He nonchalantly sidled up to the bar and ordered something light. He didn't have to wait long for the single man beside him to get slobbering drunk.
"That sounds terrible," Norrington said as he refilled his glass as well as the man's glass.
"Damn right, it's terrible," the man coughed in a strange mix of English accent and Southern American accent. "Goddamned tariffs, goddamned East India Company, chargin' me more'n my fair share." He pointed a severe finger at Norrington, who backed away slightly. "I'll tell y' what, son, that company's gonna put us hard-workin' privateers out'a business."
"I feel your pain," Norrington said behind a false smile. "I don't suppose, then, you've heard anything about a certain Lord Beckett?" It was a stab in the dark, but the man beside him furrowed his brows in concentration.
"Beckett, eh?" He scratched the half-shaven stubble on his chin. "Beckett... Beckett... Short chap, got a bit of a stink-eye about him?" Norrington wondered if, indeed, this fit the description of his former employer. "What I heard he's pitchin' a right fit over losin' a ship of his. Somethin' Greek-- Medusa? Nah..."
Norrington smiled, imagining Beckett curled into a fetal position, kicking his feet and demanding the return of his beloved Gorgon.
"I met him not five days ago, somewhere off the coast 'o Brazil, methinks." He shook his head, taking another drink. "No, wasn't him. One of his lieutenants or somesuch... I had a bone t' pick with him, but they told me I couldn't see him. Bloody coward..." He gulped the drink down his throat, finishing it. "Somethin' about some git named Norri-something. Norrison, yeah, that's the chap. Ran away with his boat. Mumbled some nonsense about the Flying Dutchman and had me kicked off the ship. The nerve, am I right?"
"Right." Norrington's face had gone pale. He placed the money on the bar and walked away without thanking the man or saying goodbye.
Norrington was sitting on an unmarked crate left unattended on the wharf, elbows on his knees, clutched hands at his mouth in thought. Samuel was the first to arrive back, a length of rope supported on his shoulders. He was grinning from ear to ear as he sat on the ground directly in front of Norrington.
"I asked what you told me, sir, and I also got this rope!" His smile faded when he noticed Norrington's worried brow and slumped posture. "Sir? Captain Norrington? What happened?"
"Nothing," he responded uselessly. "I think... Lord Beckett may be after us."
"Impossible," came an amiable voice from behind. A hand was slapped on each of the captain's shoulder as Gillette came up behind Norrington. He jumped, not expecting the attack. "Dear old Beckett is camped in Port Royal as we speak, sucking his proverbial thumb." He patted Norrington on the shoulder then took a seat on the crate next to his. "Apparently, he is afraid to take on the open ocean. I wonder what could have given him that fear?" Both of their eyes turned to Samuel as he stood.
"No one's heard anything about Davy Jones," he said quickly, wanting to input his own findings. "I think he's afraid of taking on the Navy, just like you said, Captain Norrington." Finally, Norrington pulled a smirk.
"Davy Jones, taking my advice?" He looked up to see the two of them watching him with encouraging eyes. "Well, I suppose I should be flattered."
The Agrias had not left them after all. Once both ships had been safely loaded down, Wainscot and Buckler returned to the Gorgon and captain finally aboard, they were untied from the wharf. Samuel and Gillette sat in Norrington's cabin into the dead of night as the three of them reviewed what they had learned in Cape Town that evening.
Samuel had kept to the subject of Davy Jones as well as he could around superstitious merchants and privateers. He learned little more than he had related to his captain. Those who did believe in the mysterious sailor simply stated that they knew nothing about him. One old seadog had offered information tangible to the boy's efforts: rumors had been circulating about a sudden cowardice taking ahold of the captain of the Flying Dutchman. No mysterious disappearances, no attacks from the famed Kraken, and certainly no news that he planned any full-on attack on the British Royal Navy. Norrington rewarded the boy's efforts with warm tea and a comfortable blanket. He was soon asleep, curled against Norrington's chest as they sat side by side on his bed.
Gillette had more to offer from his trip to the fort. Cracking into a biscuit, he told of his fortuitous stumbling upon an old friend shipped out through the army, one David Burnside. He was able to gather a small group of redcoats together to speak of the injustices done to the sea by the East India Trading Company. Most granted that the company was not so much the problem as was its proprietors. When Gillette had mentioned the name Beckett, a flame of argument went up amongst the men. Apparently, it was an army soft-spot. He got numerous takes on the cowardly Beckett, holed up in the Caribbean with the entire navy surrounding him, cannons pointed seaward. Gillette had promised to write Burniside, now that he had found him.
"At least we know Beckett isn't after us with that armada," Norrington said, quietly aware of the sleeping boy leaning against him.
"Have you ever been to India?" Gillette asked, seeming to ignore the conversation of the previous hours. Norrington shook his head.
"No. I've never left the Atlantic. I suppose I shall be useless in the Indian Ocean."
"At the very least, we can say we won't be making the trip in summer," Gillette said as he took another bite of his biscuit. "I've heard the Indian sun drives even men such as yourself mad."
"I'll be sure to take that into account, Nathan."
The first lieutenant left after minute conversation, and Norrington settled Samuel onto the bed rather than leaning against him. He moved to his desk, taking his seat and pulling out his sea charts again. Studying them into the morning, when he finally laid his head down and fell into dreamless sleep.
AN: Really, this is more of an intermediate chapter before the action starts up again. I lied to someone, saying that a new character would show up in this chapter. I'M SORRY! Anyway, hope I'm not boring everyone to death with all this exposition. But I do love it so. Oh my goodness... I realized that there are no narrative breaks in this chapter either! Woo! ANYway, like to thank every single one of my reviewers (love you all! beautiful! stupendous!) and hope I don't get crucified for holding off the action for another chapter! Happy reading!
