Chapter Six
They docked the Bennett at Tortuga and the crew split up, agreeing to meet there in the morning with any information they attained overnight.
Norrington was not exactly glad to be back at Tortuga, and the faintest smell of pigs made him shudder. He had definitely taken note that this was not the place to get drunk and start a fight. It never ended well for people like him.
He remembered with emotional hurt, Elizabeth clonking him on the head with his bottle and the comment she made as he lost consciousness.
He shook his head to clear the thoughts and entered the nearest pub, ordered something to drink, and got down to business.
.x.
"Have you ever heard of Davey Jones?" he tried, for about the five hundredth time that night.
"Davey Jones LOCKER! Walk the Plank. The Plank, Plank, Plank!" the man replied in a sing-song voice.
"I am getting no where with this." Norrington sighed, feeling very annoyed with his lack of progress.
.x.
"Are you stressed my good sir?" asked a stunning redhead. Norrington rubbed his eyes in annoyance as the word whore ran through his mind.
"Do I look stressed, my good lady?" he replied.
"Yes, I think you do, don't you girls?" she asked the blondes standing behind her.
"Terribly stressed." one agreed and crossed behind him and began massaging his back.
"We can help you with that." the second blonde added.
"But, not without a small fee." the redhead interjected.
"So whaddya say?"
"I say, come back when you can give me two pages worth on where to find Davey Jones and the Flying Dutchman." he retorted, irritated.
"Ew, he's stuffy and likes books. Let's go girls." the red head said, and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
.x.
Norrington was only moments away from smashing the table with his head.
"Thank you for your help sir." he said sarcastically and stood up. He wasn't half as drunk as he should be for this kind of work, and the ale here might as well have been pirate piss. He ordered the most expensive rum, and sat at the bar, rubbing his temples.
As soon as it arrived, he raised it to his lips, but stopped, noticing a man slide into the seat next to him.
"I hear you're looking for information regarding Davey Jones's whereabouts." he said, dragging out his s's, and sounding quite frankly, a good bit like a snake.
"Yes, do you have any useful information. Because if you're going to ramble on like a drunkard about the heart that I already delivered to Lord Bennett, then you just shoo." he said irritably.
"I know absolutely nothing about Davey Jones, but this woman will." the man answered, and slipped Norrington a piece of paper. Before Norrington could thank him, he was gone.
He sipped at his rum as he studied the piece of paper, trying to figure out what exactly this woman was.
He stumbled through the streets, trying to find the scribbled address. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't particularly trust the directions he could from a drunkard sitting outside the man pub.
By now he was a ways into the city, and in the middle is where it calmed down. This had to be where the families lived, because there was very little commotion, and almost no drunks littering the streets.
There was a couple, the man pressing the woman against the side of the building. They were kissing and the woman had her skirts all up, eliciting moans every once and a while. Norrington scoffed at their openness, and moved on.
Eventually, he came upon an old rickety house in center of the square, and there was a woman outside on a rocking chair. She was wearing a very nice dress, and her long white hair was flowing down. He imagined it would reach past her waist, had she been standing. Her eyes were closed and she hummed in rhythm with the rocking of the chair. She looked so serene and fragile, Norrington was almost afraid to approach her.
"Come here, darling, it's alright." the woman said, never opening her eyes.
"I-I am Commodore James Norrington, and I would really appreciate your help in finding the Flying Dutchman. I just have no idea where to look." he explained.
"Ahh…I'm afraid I can't help you much here, son." she said, and he turned to go. "But wait…come sit with me. Keep an old lady company. I would love to do a palm reading. I won't charge, I just need to keep in practice."
Norrington sighed, but he hadn't made any progress all night, and soon people would be retiring to their homes. He might as well keep the old woman company.
He took a seat in the rocking chair next to her.
"Give me your palm, son." she said and held out her hands. He held out his hand and she grasped it with her own leathery hands. Her eyes opened for the first time, and he almost drew back at the sight of the milky white orbs. She was blind.
He fought back a shudder and watched as she traced over every single line in his hand. He didn't quite understand how she could see them, and stared transfixed with curiosity.
"You are very power-hungry. And willing to do anything you can to get what you want…Lord Norrington."
His eyes widened at the mention of the title 'Lord'.
"T-the sun is coming up, and I must meet the crew. I-It was good to meet you ma'am." he stuttered, jerking away. He stumbled down the street, glancing back at the woman every few steps.
She watched him go with a menacingly haunting smile, and he almost tripped and fell a few times. When she was finally out of view, he collapsed against the wall of a house, cold and clammy. He focused his breathing and straightened his clothing, determined to be the first back to the Bennett.
.x.
"So absolutely no one had any luck?" Norrington asked desperately. Most of the crew was vomiting over the deck, and about a third of them were passed out. Too much rum, Norrington thought in disgust.
"I say we stay a second night, and after that we move on." one of the crew members suggested. Norrington agreed, for lack of better idea, and went into his cabin to rest. He would definitely need it.