I'm back! And after only /checks/ a little over four months! A record!
Governor Swann retired to his study directly after the conversation with Sir Philip and Lord Huntingdon. He was faced with a problem here, a political dilemma of the first magnitude. Weatherby Swann was nothing if not politically savvy and he knew that to displease the wrong person could result in highly unpleasant consequences for both him and his daughter. So who did he choose?
Lord Buffington's father had been one of the King's Advisors and the new Lord had every right to wish to see his father's murderer hanged. On the other hand, Sir Philip had a point; the evidence was just a little too perfect. And his friend, Lord Huntingdon, was an Earl, a lesser rank than the Marquis (for so Buffington was), but no less powerful in Court circles. Yet he could not ignore Buffington's demand for justice. Swann turned to the page, his decision made. When in doubt, compromise.
"Please inform Captain Gillette that I wish to see him immediately in my study," he said.
The former Lieutenant reported with admirable speed to the Governor's house.
"You wished to see me, my lord?" he asked. The Governor frowned. He did not like Gillette; the difference between him and Norrington was like the difference between bad champagne and a good brandy; while one was annoyingly bubbly and left a bad taste in the mouth, the other was smooth and sophisticated. The Captain's manner made up his mind once and for all; he would get Norrington back if at all possible.
"You are to take the Harrier and go after Commodore Norrington. If and when you find him, I want him brought back here for trial. Listen very closely, Captain; do not even think of taking the law into your own hands. I want him alive and in one piece." Gillette gaped for a moment before, with a flustered shake of his head, he bowed and left the room.
Gillette hastened to Lord Buffington's chambers almost as soon as the Captain had left the Governor's presence. He knocked twice before entering.
"Yes, Gillette, what is it?" Frederick's sharp voice issued from the chair in front of the fireplace.
"My lord… I am to bring Commodore Norrington back to Port Royal on the Governor's orders. He is to be tried."
"What?"
"I am to leave at once my lord." For a brief moment, Gillette wondered if he might have done better to stay silent, so malevolent was the look Buffington sent his way. His fears were assuaged as Buffington turned away; the young man began to pace restlessly.
"My lord?" Gillette asked diffidently, not wanting to provoke Buffington's temper any further. Buffington stopped pacing and faced Gillette.
"You have been sent to go after Norrington. You are looking for the Black Pearl; he will have gone with the pirate if anyone. When you find them, they will put up a fight; there will be bloodshed, count on it. If Norrington were to be a casualty…." Gillette's eyes widened in understanding. "He cannot be allowed to come back to Jamaica to stand trial." Gillette blanched at the thought of outright murder, but he swallowed hard and nodded. He had already committed himself when he had provided Buffington with (he cringed away from the word stolen) Norrington's sword from his office; he could not back out now.
"Yes my lord."
"You are dismissed." Gillette bowed and gratefully excused himself from Buffington's presence.
"Oi, Ramrod! We could use some help over here!" The cry came from across the ship; Norrington gave a barely audible sigh. The request for help was not unwelcome; he was doing nothing urgent at the moment. The hated nickname, a legacy of his days as an over-stringent Lieutenant, however, was fast becoming a point of annoyance.
"James!" he called in exasperation, straightening. "How many times must I say it?"
"At least another hundred, and you still sound like a bleedin' courtier," Jack Sparrow's voice said teasingly behind him. The pirate captain stepped up beside him, making his presence known. "Do it yerselves, you lazy sods!" Jack shouted at the two who had yelled for help. "Like a word with you in my cabin," he said more quietly. James looked startled for a moment and then nodded.
The decision to hide him among Jack's crew had been reached on the second day of the voyage; as Jack put it "they'll never look twice at another scruffy pirate." James was not having much luck; he had frozen the first time someone asked his name, and only Gibbs's quick thinking had prevented the whole story coming out. Norrington was not sure whether to thank or curse the man; on the one hand, no one was suspicious and on the other he was now stuck with the ridiculous moniker of "Ramrod" and the dubious distinction of having been, according to Gibbs's story, "one o' me old shipmates back in the Navy. Good lad." Annamaria was the only one who did not seem taken in by the fiction. She did not say anything, certainly, but neither did she trust him; she watched with wary eyes and one hand uncomfortably close to her pistol.
Jack's cabin was not what Norrington had expected. Books lined the walls; maps lay spread across the desk, all marked in what had to be Jack's own hand. The titles on the bookshelves were not frivolous reading either; there were some serious scholarly works to be found there. James regarded the pirate captain with surprise and a little puzzlement. Every time he thought he had the man figured out, something else challenged his perceptions.
Jack seemed to know what Norrington was thinking; he smiled crookedly. "Wasn't always a pirate, mate," he said with a wave of the hand. James raised an eyebrow, but Jack did not elaborate. His expression grew suddenly serious as he regarded his reluctant crewman.
"Got a bit of a problem, Jim," he said, getting to the point. "We're headed to a place that no Navy man is ever s'posed to see, let alone set foot in, and being as you're going to end up Commodore again at some point…" he let the sentence hang and shrugged, letting Norrington draw the obvious conclusion. "You've got two options. Either I lock you below deck for the next two weeks so that you can't tell even if you want to, or you give me your word, on whatever you believe in, that you'll never breathe a word of it to a living soul." Norrington frowned; Jack shook his head. "I've promised the crew a week in port; can't deny it to 'em. It's one or the other." James looked up startled; that made a second time that Jack had taken the words out of his mouth.
He turned away, thinking. To be locked below-decks might blow his cover, but to give his word was to turn his back on the duty that he had striven to fulfill for so long. Running away to sea to save his life was one thing, but to turn a blind eye to criminals… no. He could not -
"And where has duty gotten you?" a malicious little voice inside his head, the more pragmatic part of him, asked. "Fifteen years of diligence and duty and what it got you was a cold cell in Port Royal's gaols. If it weren't for Sparrow and the Turners you would have hung the following morning! Fifteen years without so much as a smudge on your record, and the Governor –" He stopped that voice before it could go any further. He was not going to think about that particular aspect of it right now, but nonetheless it was true. All his concern for duty had gotten him nowhere; maybe, just maybe, it was time to try things another way. He took a deep breathe and turned back.
"You have my word," he said, almost ashamed of himself as soon as he'd said it. Jack grinned crookedly.
"I knew you could be reasonable," he said. James looked up; he thought he could see a hint of sympathy on the pirate's lean face as he sensed James's misery.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "You can't go back if you're dead." James nodded, still troubled. Jack shook his head. Clearly, it would take more persuading than he'd thought.
"There're women and children there, mate. You're protecting them as much as anyone else." Norrington visibly relaxed. There was something that he could condone; he allowed himself a small, grateful smile in the pirate's direction.
"Dismissed." Norrington turned to go; he stopped at the door.
"Sparrow - "
"Captain," Jack corrected absently.
"Where are we headed?" Jack grinned even wider.
"Tortuga."