Chapter Nine
"Okay, men, tonight is the final night here. Try not to get piss drunk again, and make some real progress. I don't want to have to return to Port Royal empty handed because of you fools." Norrington lectured before the crew left.
Tonight he decided on a smaller pub. Maybe if he was lucky, there would be fewer drunks. He sighed and pushed the door open. Yes, it did seem nicer there. There were almost no whores, and the few that were there were restricted to a corner. With people that actually did want women throwing themselves all over them while they were trying to do important work.
He rolled his eyes and sat down at the bar, once again ordering something he hoped would taste half decent. He chatted a little with the bartender, then found himself eavesdropping in on a conversation.
"Dead? JACK SPARROW? I never thought the day would come." one of the men said.
"But he'll be back. They rounded up a crew and they'll bring him back." another man argued.
"And how exactly do they think they're going to bring him back?" the first man asked.
"Tia-Dalma. She knows all." the second man nodded.
.x.
Norrington spent most of the night pondering the conversation he overheard. Firstly, who was this Tia-Dalma woman, and could she help him. Second, was Jack Sparrow really dead? And third, how can anyone come back from the dead?
The third topic didn't stay in his mind very long, as he remembered the old crew of the Black Pearl. All skeletons.
"I must say, I didn't think I would ever see that." hegrumbled as he finished off his rum.
.x.
"Bartender, what can you tell me about a woman called Tia-Dalma." he asked finally, not wanting to leave the bar without any leads.
"Oh, yeh don't want to go near the likes of her. Witchcraft and voodoo." he shook his head.
"Well, if I were to go to her, she wouldn't….hang my head from her door would she?" Norrington persisted.
"If yeh don't pay her some type of, erm, tribute she just might do that. But if yeh need to know something. Yer future or the whereabouts of yer love, she's the one to go to."
"Tribute?" he asked.
"Aye. Not money, she doesn't take that. She needs something special. Something, ehh, unique."
"Thank you for your help, sir." Norrington said, and rose from the barstool, "It is greatly appreciated."
"Don't go after 'er mate! She be bad news!" the bartender called after him.
.x.
"Yes, I need some sort of substance that one would use to keep something wet." Norrington told the shopkeeper.
"Wet? Wet like a frog, or wet like a whore?" the grimy man laughed. Norrington sighed in disgust as he tried to think of an answer.
"Wet like someone's eye." he said retorted.
"Plannin' on rippin' out yer eyes and keeping them as pets?" the shopkeeper asked.
"I don't have time for this nonsense." Norrington said firmly.
"I got what yer lookin fer. Come back in an hour and twill be ready." he said, downtrodden that the man hadn't laughed at any of his jokes.
"Thank you sir." Norrington replied stiffly.
.x.
Norrington kept to the shadows, disgusted with what he had just done.
"This Tia-Dalma better accept her tribute. I'll be scared for life because of this." he mused, as he clutched tightly to the slimy object in his hand. He returned to the shop and got his…substance, unsure of what it was.
He paid for it and dropped the 'tribute' into the jar before shoving it in his pocket.
"You tell anyone what you've seen, and I'll make it my personal business to carve out both of your eyes." he hissed to the shopkeeper, before disappearing into the night.
.x.
"Commodore Norrington, do we have our heading?" one of the crew members asked.
"Yes we do." he announced, looking at the crew. Most of them were there, just one or two missing. They would be left behind. "The home of Tia-Dalma."
.x.
"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me!" Jack concluded. Singing above the sound of the organ was hard work, and he had quite the sore throat when he finished.
He was growing quite bored of the Flying Dutchman, and had run out of ways to annoy the crew.
He went about as quickly as he could, and pulled every single hat-wielding crewmember's hat over their eyes before popping himself up to the crows nest and announcing,
"This is the day you will always remember as the day you wish you hadn't killed CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW!"
.x.
Norrington and two of the strongest men boarded a long boat and went through the swampy land towards Tia-Dalma's house. The rickety building was set a little ways above the water, like its own miniature dock.
Norrington let one of the men knock the door in, and they grasped the woman by the arms, bringing her over to Norrington.
"Don't manhandle her!" he ordered. The men let go of her, and she watched the three of them suspiciously.
"What fine men like yourselves have business here?" she asked.
"I need help finding the Flying Dutchman." Norrington said.
"And why does that be?" she asked, returning to her table. She sat down and put her hands together, almost as if she was praying. She looked up at him curiously.
"I have something of his." he explained.
"And if I help you, what do I get in return?"
"You get to keep your head, lady." one of the men threatened.
"Stop it, or I'll leave you in the next pirate town we come across." Norrington scolded. He returned his eyes to Tia-Dalma, who was glaring at the men.
"The eye of a psychic." he brought out the jar from his pocket. Tia-Dalma stood, and took the jar from him, inspecting it thoroughly.
"Twill do." she agreed, and placed the jar on her table. "Now here is what you'll be needin to do."