Chapter Eleven

"Shore up that sail! Hold tight to the lines! For God's sake, Samuel, tie yourself down!"

Norrington shielded his eyes against the next wave that leapt onto the deck of the Gorgon, knocking him against the nearby foremast. He held his head, stars shining before his dazed eyes. The ship rolled beneath him, and his hand grasped a dangling line to keep from being swept overboard. Samuel did as he was instructed, rainwater pouring into his eyes as he fastened a rope around his midsection.

"Buckler! Get those men down from the masts! I want every man on deck or below!"

"Sir, the sails--"

"Damn the sails! Let them rip to ribbons, just get those sailors down here!" Norrington held tight to one of the lifelines, pulling himself across the deck as another wave pelted the Gorgon. He spat the salty water from his mouth, continuing on until he was side-by-side with Gillette, who was trying desperately to hold a hat atop his head.

"Rather convenient, isn't it?" Gillette shouted over the gale. "That we hit a storm just as we round the cape? Almost feels as if we're being conspired against." Norrington held out a hand to help Samuel join them, the stout rope still securely attached to him.

"Conspiracy or not, I need the men out of these sails," he said, peering up at the few men left trying to haul the sails up. He nodded at Gillette slightly. "Let it go, Nathan." The man gave him a slightly odd look before remembering his struggle with the hat. Shrugging, he let it fly into the wind, not able to pierce the curtain of rain to see where it might be off to.

His hand curled defensively around Samuel's arm, holding him close despite the rope tying him down. The boy had refused to go below on numerous occasions, sticking beside his captain like a barnacle. Since he had been jolted awake by the roll of the storm, finding himself curled in a cocoon in the captain's bed, the man himself fighting with every limb to keep the ship afloat, Samuel had struggled to stay at Norrington's side.

"Nathan," Norrington called, bracing against the next wave, "take Samuel to my cabin and stay there!"

"Afraid I can't do that, James," Gillette answered. "The boy is quite incapable of leaving your side and it seems as though I am as well."

Norrington gave him a stern look that was assaulted by sea water. He smiled uselessly as he wiped his eyes free of water, shaking his head at their collective stubbornness. He set his hand on Gillette's arm briefly before nodding up toward the men making their way down from the mast.

As it turned out, the rounding of the cape was slightly more eventful than he had originally planned.

The clouds had cleared and parted to show the path set new and sparkling before them: the Indian Ocean stretched forward, with no land in sight. The cape disappeared behind them as twilight closed in about the ships. The sounds of the sea echoed against the wooden hull: the waves breaking, seafoam bubbling, the occasional long-lost gull cawing against the approaching darkness, and the distinct sound of silverware clinking against a china plate.

Norrington sat at the captain's table, Gillette, Buckler, Wainscot and Samuel sitting with him in the dim candlelight. Broiled sailfish adorned their plates, the latter kindly provided by the East India Trading Company. Samuel seemed put off by the fishy taste, but the men took to it as if partaking of their last meal. They were orderly, though a relaxed attitude hung between them. Nothing was expected of them in this cabin, but through the deep respect felt for one another and especially their captain, they were civil and genial.

Norrington held the glass of wine in one hand, swirling it inconclusively. Buckler had engaged Wainscot in a conversation concerning the broken spar which had yet to be repaired, as well as the torn maintopsail, which had been shredded by the wind of the morning's storm. Samuel had been watching Norrington since the man had begun staring at his wine. The captain flicked his eyes to the boy, still lidded. Samuel gave an encouraging smile, which Norrington reflected.

"What say we find something a bit stronger?" He asked confidentially. Samuel gave a furtive look around the cabin, then shrugged with a puckish smile. Norrington stood, and Gillette, still not washed clean of his navy regimen, stood quickly to match his captain. He suddenly flushed under the combined gazes of his shipmates before sitting again and trying to look interested in Buckler and Wainscot's conversation. Samuel followed Norrington out onto deck.

Once the rum had been found and uncorked, Norrington leaned casually, elbows behind him on the railing. The stars were obscured by lingering rain clouds, but the smell of the sea was enough to comfort the man. Samuel had acquire a flask of water for himself, feeling warmth in his chest simply by being included. The boy ran a hand through his hair, wishing the breeze was stronger, before turning to his captain.

"Where is Taiwan?" He asked. Norrington met his gaze. Had the child finally stopped referring to him as "sir"? He grinned, turning his face toward the hidden heavens.

"It is an island in control of China, to its immediate southeast. It is dangerously close to Singapore, whose stories, I'm afraid, are not appropriate for your young ears." He took a small drink, knowing that Samuel was there to stop him should he begin to drink too much. Samuel smiled and took a similar drink from his flask of water.

"Is Captain Barbossa going to Taiwan, or just us?" He looked to the sky, perhaps searching for stars.

"Captain Barbossa's route," Norrington said, "is for Singapore. And we will, of course, join him." Samuel's features faltered slightly. Norrington caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. "I have studied your map many times, and each time I am left wondering what it is that is calling the two of us to that island. You see," he leaned closer to the boy, "I dreamed of a woman who handed me a map, and you dream of me handing you a map. Surely, this is not coincidence." A drink, then he continued. "This woman, whoever she is, seems to be guiding the both of us to the same location, and only by working together can we find it."

Samuel smiled widely. He matched Norrington drink-for-drink once again.

"Now, I must ask you not to speak of this to Mr. Gillette, or any of the other officers. Nathan would laugh terribly at my expense." He shook his head and took another swig. "When the time comes, you and I shall make our journey to Taiwan." He made to pat the boy on the head, but paused, feeling the gesture too condescending. So he placed his hand on Samuel's shoulder and offered a friendly grin. It was mirrored immediately.

"All I'm saying," Gillette's voice rang suddenly as the rest of his dinner party exited the captain's cabin, "is that a broken spar is really something I don't place much interest in." Apparently, he had been displeased with the table's conversations. Norrington tried not to laugh, taking one more drink before stoppering his bottle and stashing it inside a coil of rope.

"Sorry for leaving you, gentlemen," Norrington said with a straight face. "I simply needed a stronger drink for the conversation at hand." Samuel covered his mouth with his hands to keep the laughter inside. Gillette made a small, "aha!" sound and turned to Buckler.

"So my disinterest is a common factor! I am not the only one of us bored to tears with all this speak of broken spars and torn sails!"

Buckler gave a gruff laugh that Norrington was sure he wouldn't have used unless the lieutenant wasn't alone in his need for a stiff drink.

"All right, Mr. Gillette, I'll leave my broken spars for a different ear."

The men each went their seperate directions, Norrington still standing with Samuel, arms crossed in an almost father-like stance.

"You should get to your hammock, young Samuel."

"Why 'young Samuel'?" He asked, topping off his flask. "Am I to call you 'old Captain Norrington'?" In response, Norrington laughed, full-smiled and eyes closed in amusement.

"I'm not quite so old as you would like to believe. Fine, then, simply Samuel will do."

The boy bobbed excitedly, then was off for his hammock. Norrington remained, traveling to the bow, rum in hand, to stare at the lamps shining brightly from the Agrias with a not-so-latent desire burning brighter with every drink that ran down his throat.


He dreamt of the woman again. She still spoke no words to him. Her image was clearer-- bloodshot eyes, blackened teeth, natty hair and tattooed face. Yet, there was an intense charisma that surrounded her, drawing one into her despite the immediate repulsion.

This time, she beckoned him further into her dwelling, the smells of rotting animal flesh and the clean, brown earth mingling with strange spices and plants unknown to his palate. This time, she handed him a smaller roll of parchment, the picture of a man upon it. An asian man stared back at him through the parchment, with the bold words "WANTED-- PIRATE" printed beneath it.

Suddenly, the man was beside him, real as life, sword drawn. As Norrington drew his own sword to counter the attack, Lord Cutler Beckett sliced them both through with the barnacle-encrusted sword of Davy Jones.

Norrington woke, feeling the perviously searing pain through his shoulder where Beckett had shoved Jones' sword. He knew that no scar would show, nor would he feel the pain again. He dressed, looking out the wide windows at the dark sea beyond. The sun had barely risen, and thus the outline of a parrot sitting outside his window had gone largely unnoticed until the moment he had buttoned his shirt halfway.

He strode out on deck, forgetting the rest of his shirt, and called to Cotton's parrot. No, he corrected himself, Christopher Parrot. He still smiled at the name.

The bird whistled familiarly as it perched on Norrington's shoulder and appeared to read William's scratchy handwriting. They were nearing China, so said Barbossa. Once in Singapore, they would replenish their supplies and head out into the sea to find Davy Jones' Locker. Will sent his word to Samuel that he had found a sword to fit his stature, and would hand it to him when they landed in Singapore. Elizabeth sent her well-wishes to everyone aboard, and Norrington embarrassedly felt his heart turn over.

Norrington began to write a reply, when an idea suddenly seized him. He scribbled the note on the back of Will's short notice, and moved to reattach it to Christopher Parrot's leg. It squawked unnecessarily.

"Take this straight to Elizabeth. No one else is to receive this, is that clear?"

"Wind in yer sails!"

With that, he allowed the parrot to fly off back to the Agrias.

The note came back, a dark, feminine handwriting bold directly below Norrington's own words.

I'd love to.

The sun was more than halfway through the sky when Singapore appeared in their sights. It was foreign, and almost frighteningly so. The ships were smaller, and seemingly made of paper. It was a wonder they managed to float, Norrington thought with a shudder. A myriad of voices in languages he didn't know shouted back and forth between the tiny ships, throwing lines here and there, nets dragging behind, and even men jumping from boat to boat as they crowded the water was a common sight. Smells, mostly of fish and seafood, filled the air. Foreign spices, foreign wood and oil, foreign everything. He felt suddenly ill at ease, knowing he didn't belong.

Samuel didn't feel the same way. He was leaning over the edge of the ship, watching everything as it went by the hull. He pointed at the gleaming fish caught in the nets, men cooking aboard the paper boats, and chains of boats held together by strong lines of rope to form something of a barrier. He pointed and smiled, turning to Norrington, asking what this and that was. Norrington smiled weakly in return, rarely able to provide an answer.

Gillette knew more than the captain did, explaining what the small boats were for, what types of fish were caught in the nets, and sometimes even able to identify the smells that puzzled Norrington's brain. He leaned, child-like, on the railing to match Samuel. They made a pair, that was for sure.

As they neared the dock, Norrington could see a wall of bodies coming to meet them. Merchants, beggars, and children of every age were present to see the English boats tie up. Apparently, they were rare in these waters, save for the East India Trading Company. Lines were thrown down and were met with a mixture of languages. While the ships were tied down, the whole lines of dialogue between men were garbled by the barrier of language. The gangplank was lowered, and Gillette, Buckler and Wainscot left immediately, following captain's orders. They were followed by a handful of midshipmen who were to help with delivery and perhaps to put more heads together for translation. Samuel and Norrington stayed aboard until the sea of humans had ebbed.

The two stood at the edge of the dock, staring out at the lapping sea as the yellow sun began to sink further, turning the water orange in its descent. Samuel sat eventually, dangling his bare feet into the water. They were content to wait in silence, letting the strange sights, sounds and smells assault them separately. Norrington turned when there was a sudden but expected hand on his shoulder. Elizabeth met his gaze with a smile.

"Are you gents ready?" She asked, dolled up in full pirate regalia. She had tucked her hair under a hat, just as she had done when she'd found Norrington in Tortuga. Her shirt was loose and jacket sufficiently torn, boots sufficiently tatty. He smiled vaguely, memories and current images clashing and mingling. Elizabeth shifted her eyes to Samuel when Norrington found he couldn't look away. The boy was standing, shoes mysteriously on his feet again.

"Yes," Norrington said at last, cursing himself for not finding his voice sooner. "The only matter now is renting the boat. I do hope they accept our currency."

The three of them walked as nonchalantly as possible across the wharf, looking for a boat that might possibly be chartered. Elizabeth was the one to find it and, thank God, the man piloting spoke English, though it was broken and heavily accented. Norrington held out a coin purse that felt strangely heavy in his hands. The last of the pay Beckett had given him for his final shipment.

"Take us to Taiwan."


AN: I know it's short: please forgive me! It took me forever to write this, and now I must break the sad news. I'll be on vacation in Canada from Aug. 2 to Aug. 13. Since the internet does not exist in Canada, I'll be unable to post a new chapter for a while. BUT! I intend to write chapters while I'm gone, so expect an update as soon as I get back, one if not two chapters! So, good and bad news. I hope you like this one even though it's miserably short and I should die for posting it, but OH WELL. It's late and I'm tired. Love to everyone, and I wish you the best in my absence. Happy reading!