Commodore James Norrington sat at his desk, charts and quills organized neatly across it. His quill moved fiercely as he signed off the hanging of a caught pirate, due to die at dawn the next day.
He set down the quill, blew on his seal and rolled up the parchment before handing it to the uniformed man next to him. Norrington straightened his hat, resting on top of his white powdered wig and reached for the next parchment almost mechanically... but was interrupted.
"Sir!" a tall, bulky man in a red uniform entered the room. Norrington looked up, annoyed at the interruption of his routine.
"Yes?" he asked curtly.
"One of the Ricci household maids is here, Commodore. She has some... well disturbing news sir. She's in near hysterics."
"The Ricci household?" Norrington's brow creased, "show her in." the red uniformed soldier nodded curtly before stepping out of a woman's way. Norrington stood to greet the tear filled maid.
"How ca I be o-"
"James and Anabelle!" the maid, dressed in a long red gown with a white apron and cap. She spoke with a heavy Spanish accent. "James and Anabelle, Commodore!" Norrington stood, taken aback as the soldier helped the hysterical maid into a chair. "James and Anabelle, Commodore, please! Por favor! They are both dead!" At this point the woman had Norrington's full attention.
"Dead?" he asked incredulously.
"Si, dead!" the maid choked, "And the Master and Miss are gone!"
"Madam, please calm down and start at the beginning." Norrington said slowly and clearly. The Spanish servant sniffled and struggled to take a deep breath before talking rapidly again.
"I came back to the Ricci manor after Sunday because the Ricci's give us the day off. James and Anabelle are the only two servants that stay because they have nowhere else to go and live at the manor. Anyways, when I went in I realized that the house was very quiet and had a funny smell to it." She choked through her tears, "so I went upstairs to sinorita Ricci's room to find that someone had written 'ye've been warned' on the wall. I hurried into Signor Ricci's chambers and found James." She began to cry, "He's been shot. There was a horrible smell in the room and blood on the Master's sheets. Anabelle was in the lavatory... dead too... and the Master and Miss are gone!" Norrington rose from his chair quickly as the woman buried her face into her small hands again, her brown hair falling down as her shoulders racked with sobs.
"Take the maid back to her home." Norrington ordered the soldier, "I'll go to the Ricci house." Then, before gesturing to two blue uniformed men, guns over their shoulders to follow him, they set off towards the coast... towards the Ricci manor, dread piercing Norrington's heart.
The maid was right. In the upstairs Master bedroom blood was splattered across the sheets and two bodies lay dead on the floors, both covered in sheets, the dry blood caked to their faces. They had both been shot in the forehead. Norrington had the bodies removed, though that did not eradicate the overwhelming scent of rotting flesh with them.
Norrington covered his nose slightly with his hand and breathed through his mouth, instead tasting what he could not smell.
A large thick knife lay on the floor, dried blood staining it. Norrington picked it up and studied it, his eyebrows wrinkled before leaving the room, the scent and taste beginning to nauseate him.
He crossed down the hall and into Christina's room where someone had painted in black paint, a half empty paint can on the ground, spilling onto the wooden floor.
YEVE BEEN WARNED
Norrington's frown deepened as e walked around this room as well.
Odd... he noted as he opened the closet. All the large dresses with long, poofing skirts had been thrown aside and many hangers stood empty. Norrington had never inspected the wealthy daughter's closet before but it did not take a genius to see that it had been gone through. Who was in her closet?/ Norrington thought, Why
Norrington climbed down the stairs light footed and entered the sitting room.
"Sir?" one officer pointed to the painting on the wall, no doubt Christina's mother... but it was not the painting that disturbed Norrington... it was the way it was hung... lopsided. Quickly, the Commodore took down the painting and nodded... just as he thought.
Behind the painting of Gina Ricci was a safe. It was closed, to Norrington's dismay for he couldn't inspect it. Sighing, he replaced the portrait and left the sitting room, finding nothing else but the arrangement of pillows on the couch disturbed... nothing of value.
Finally, he entered the guest room where, again, the closet had been disturbed and the vanity gone through.
Norrington frowned, his brain whirring with confusion as he made his way out of the house and into Port Royal, through the streets.
"Don't you find it curious," he said to the red coated soldier next to him though more to himself, "That there is no sign of a struggle, that both Edward and Christina Ricci are gone, leaving blood everywhere nonetheless, and that the only places disturbed are Miss Ricci's closet, vanity, and a safe that doesn't appear to have been tried to be broken into?" The officer nodded... "We need to find Christina Ricci... and we'll start at the opera house."
The Port Royal opera house stood as tall as thirty grown men and as wide as a thousand, its tall, domed entrance, paneled letting the little sun, peeking through the clouds, in. Large, oak paneled doors opened into a large entry room, documents lying on tables and staircases leading to the seemingly millions of rooms of the opera house.
Commodore James Norrington was led through the halls by a stiff backed butler with charcoal grey hair and a wrinkled face, small eyes, proving to be impossible to tell the color, and a less than cheerful face, displaying one sense of absolute boredom.
As the Commodore, soldiers, and tailor-suited butler made their way into the theatre room, they couldn't help but marvel at the architecture, as music filled their ears. Along the sides of the seating, closest to the sage were boxes, four velvet seats in each and under the foot railing was a single number, numbering off the boxes that were surrounded by beautiful gold designs.
Above them was another floor of seating, exactly the same as the one beside them, each chair of the finest red velvet, and the railings of mahogany. A lavish brown carpet covered the entire floor, halting at the orchestra's seating place on the left side, where twenty people sat, conducted by a middle aged man, waving a small rod gracefully, his head inclining every so often.
Norrington's eyes traveled to the stage where a long, red haired woman stood in a green dress, spanning out like an upside down Japanese fan. She was raising her voice to a ridiculously high and appalling sound. Norrington tried to hide his displeasure but failed horribly, ending up in closing his eyes.
Finally, the note ended and two men stepped forward. Norrington stole his chance.
"Monsieur Chapal!" (Sha-pal) he called to a little man, rushing out of the side stage, his black hair, pulled back and covered in grease to hold it in place. The green-eyed French opera director turned, startled at the sudden interruption.
"Bonjour Monsieur Norrington." He said, "to what do I owe this pleasure?" he was uneasy, stressed.
"I'm looking for Christina Ricci." Chapal frowned.
"Christina's not here Commodore." He said, "For a shame for our performance because she is the main attraction. She needs to be here for rehearsals. We're planning to perform 'The Phantom of the O-"
"Opera." Norrington finished for him, "Based off the novel. Yes, I have my tickets." There was a pause, "Where is Miss Ricci at the moment?" the opera director shrugged.
"Somewhere in Italy I gather." he said, "A blacksmith brought me in a note from her, explaining that she was going there with her father to tend to an ill family member."
"A blacksmith?"
"Oui." The French man replied, "Tall man, black hair..." Norringotn nodded distractedly, but his suspicious thoughts were interrupted.
"Monsier Chapal?" An Englishman's voice echoed through the theatre as another man entered the stage, buttoning the top of his loose fitting white, cotton shirt, his sandy blonde hair falling straight on either side of his face, making his features appear to be long and lean. His olive green eyes widened as he halted, his next words hushed.
"Oh..." he said, "I'm sorry I didn't realize" he was boyish, but there was a sense of dignity in the man, making his aura more masculine, differing from his charm.
"No, no John." Chapal interrupted, "the Commodore here is looking for Christina." A strange look crossed "John's" face as he frowned.
"Christina?" he asked, "Why, is she alright? I thought she was perhaps taking time off for her father. I intended to call on her tonight." The Commodore smiled slightly.
"I merely wanted to have a few words with her father," Norrington lied, "but I see that they have left for Italy."
"Christina did not go to Italy." John interrupted, "I would know."
"And why would you know that?"
"Because," John Walked stated matter-of-factly, "Christina Ricci is my fiance."