It had taken longer than he'd expected, but Norrington did not let his impatience show. "Leave the irons on him," he directed the Marines.

"Sir, the prisoner—"

The prisoner looked at Norrington steadily. He had been allowed to wash, and he had made some attempt to groom himself: Norrington had refused to interview anyone who had come straight from the brig of the Dauntless. Somehow he had renewed the blacking around his eyes. His clothes were still ragged and stinking, but he had brushed the worst of the filth from them.

"I feel certain that I can defend myself against an unarmed pirate, especially if his hands are chained," Norrington told the Marine. "I'll call for help if I need it. There will, I trust, be a guard on duty?"

"Sir!"

"Meanwhile, I wish to interview the prisoner in private. Is that understood?" He looked from one Marine to the other.

"Sir!"

"Yes, sir!"

"You may go. Leave the key with me," he added as an afterthought, holding out his hand. The Marine could not disobey a direct order; he dropped the key into Norrington's hand, and Norrington turned and placed it on the desk behind him. The pirate's dark eyes followed every movement.

Only when the door had closed behind the two did Norrington return his gaze to his prisoner.

"I could give you my word," said Jack Sparrow, smiling. "Not to try to escape." He rattled the irons suggestively.

"We both know how much a pirate's word is worth," said Norrington. "Besides, I've seen you escape too many times."

"From a heavily-guarded room in the heart of the Fort, with the Navy's finest between meself and freedom, and no ship to take me away?" Sparrow laughed. "I think you're starting to believe the stories about me."

"From what I've heard recently," said Norrington calmly, leaning back against the edge of the desk, "you're starting to believe them yourself. 'A man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out,' wasn't it? You've drunk too much rum to recall which are truth and which invention."

Jack Sparrow shrugged and smiled. Norrington smiled back.

"Miss Swann believed your stories," he said. "Of course, the whole dreadful business with Barbossa has affected her more deeply than any of us can know. I intend to see to it that she has a quiet, peaceful life once we're married."

"I'm sure you'll be very happy together," said Sparrow. "There's no use, I take it, in begging for a stay of execution? I'd hate to miss the wedding."

"The Governor was inclined towards clemency," said Norrington dryly, "but he seems to have spent the impulse on pardoning Mr Turner."

"Will's to go free?" Sparrow tilted his head back, and his gold teeth glinted in the lamplight. "That's excellent news."

"Friendship with you has proved not to be a capital offence after all," said Norrington. "You'll hang alone."

"Every man dies alone, Commodore."

"And yet," said the Commodore thoughtfully, raising his eyes again, "you don't seem afraid."

Jack Sparrow shrugged. Norrington set his teeth against the discordant jangle of the shackles.

"I know I'll not be bound for Hell," said Jack Sparrow softly. "Not this time."

"You persist—" Norrington took a deep breath. "Never mind."

"The crimes that damned me were worse by far than those you're going to hang me for." Sparrow's habitual half-smile was gone.

"Then I'm surprised you weren't hanged years ago."

"Morally worse, not legally worse," Sparrow said. "And I was a gentleman, then. Gentlemen aren't hanged."

"I'm not interested in your morals, Sparrow," said Norrington, fingers drumming on the desk, "or in your claims to good breeding." There was a definite stress on the word 'claims'.

"But something interests you, Commodore, or you'd not have called me here for a ... private ... interview." Sparrow gestured abortively. His gaze flickered down to the rattling chain.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Norrington. He picked up the key and advanced on Jack Sparrow. "Give me your hands."

"Just like when we first met, Commodore," said Sparrow, offering his shackled wrists and looking up at Norrington from half-lidded eyes. "Are you sure you should be letting me loose? They seemed to think I was a terrible threat."

Norrington snorted. He took hold of the chain that joined Jack Sparrow's wrists, and Jack swayed towards him, face upturned, smiling sunnily.

The Commodore flinched. "Are you trying to—to seduce me?" he demanded.

"I might be," said Sparrow, grinning. "Is it working?"

"Certainly not," snapped Norrington. He unlocked the fetters from Sparrow's wrists, squinting at the stiff lock, and turned to lay them atop a pile of papers on the desk. "You, Mr Sparrow, are an affront to common decency. And a damned poor excuse for a pirate," he added, seating himself behind the desk and opening a drawer, "if I can turn my back on you even for a moment."

"Maybe I'm still hoping for an invitation to your wedding?" said Jack Sparrow, with a courtly half-bow from the waist. He straightened, flexing his hands. "I'm sure Elizabeth—"

"Miss Swann," corrected Norrington, not looking up. "Will you sit down?" he added, as Sparrow turned towards the bookshelf.

Jack Sparrow halted in mid-stride, swaying, eyebrows raised. He swung himself around and all but fell into the chair that Norrington indicated, stretching out his legs under the desk.

"I'm sure that Miss Swann would want me there. I did save her life, after all." He made a show of counting, slowly, on his fingers. "Twice. At least twice."

"She speaks highly of you," said Norrington. He had extracted a pistol from the desk drawer, and was checking the chamber for shot. "And of your conduct while marooned on that island."

"Really?" said Jack, eyeing the pistol.

"She claims that you behaved as a gentleman would," Norrington went on. "That makes two people who think you're a gentleman. Yourself included, of course," he added, laying the pistol down and looking back at Sparrow.

"I was a gentleman," Jack Sparrow corrected politely, leaning forward. "Once. At least, I was raised as one. All that breeding and education and what-have-you."

"Of course," said Norrington, with a cynical smile. "What went wrong?"

"The usual," said Sparrow cheerfully. "Too much money, not enough scruples. A taste for low company. Or perhaps the moral philosophy simply didn't take."

"What was your name?" Norrington snapped. "Where did you study?"

Sparrow shrugged. "I ... don't remember."

"How convenient," said Norrington coldly. "Then there is nothing to substantiate your tale, Mr Sparrow."

"I could invent a name," offered Sparrow. "If it would make you happy."

Norrington began to speak: then he scowled, and closed his mouth. After a moment he said, "For a man who claims to have lost everything, you don't seem especially concerned."

"It's one of the things I left behind," said Jack Sparrow. "My name. Some things aren't worth keeping. All I brought with me out of Hell was a good pair of boots and Cortez' compass."

"Cortez was in Hell?" said Norrington sharply.

"Where else?" said Jack Sparrow, spreading his hands. "Now, you can believe me, or you can disbelieve me. I can't offer you any proof you'll credit. Why did you want to talk to me?"

"I've heard your story from Will and Elizabeth," said Norrington. "Murder and rape and the like. It's hard to square with the list of charges I've drawn up against you. I wanted to hear your side of the story."

"Story-telling's dry work," said Jack Sparrow.

Norrington took a flask from inside his coat and held it out. "This will have to do for now. Navy rum, Mr Sparrow. Perhaps it will compare favourably with the brew you usually drink."

"Thank you kindly. And that's Captain Sparrow," said Sparrow amiably, tilting his head back and inverting the flask.

Norrington snorted. "It's not as though that's your real name."

"I have many names, Commodore. Comes in handy in my line of work. But you can call me Jack."

"I'm honoured," said Norrington. "Which came first? Your tattoo, or the name?"

"This tattoo," said Sparrow, leaning forward earnestly and pushing back his sleeve, "was drawn by a toothless, imbecilic mountebank. It's supposed to be a phoenix, savvy? But the idiot was out of his head on opium. Instead of flames, he put the sun and the sea; instead of a phoenix, a sparrow." He shrugged. "Could be worse. But it's a mistake I'll be looking at for the rest of me life. Brief though that might be."

He set down the flask, and Norrington could hear that it was empty. For a moment neither man spoke.

"Why a phoenix?" said Norrington eventually.

"I thought the needle might let out the fire, where it burned," said Sparrow slowly, looking down at the tattoo. "And I'd come out of Hell, see? Out of the flames. With a couple of scars that needed covering." He looked up, brightening. "You can feel it, Commodore. The hand of the ... the hand that dragged me down to Hell."

Norrington stayed where he was. A muscle at the corner of his eye was twitching. "No, thank you. I'll take your word for it."

Jack beamed at him. "That's nice."

"So Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the Spanish Main, has repented. The Royal Navy can withdraw to less pestilent climes, the insurers at Lloyd's need bankrupt themselves no longer, and the ladies of Port Royal may sleep safely in their beds."

"Reformed, not penitent," Sparrow corrected him. "Though the ladies may sleep safe, for all that."

"I'm prepared to believe that you were a gentleman once," said Norrington. "And that you've suffered a reverse of fortune. Did you never repent of your crimes and wish to be a gentleman again?"

Jack Sparrow stared at him. "I'd had enough of being a gentleman before Hell ever took me," he said. "I'd rather be free." There was no laughter at all in his voice.

"You're going to the gallows at dawn! What sort of freedom is that?"

"More freedom than you'll ever have," said Sparrow. "Careful, Commodore. I might begin to think you cared."

"Perhaps I—"

"Would there be any more of that rum?" Sparrow interrupted.

"So you intend to stagger to the noose like a common drunkard?" Norrington bent to retrieve a half-full bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk.

"Think of it as comfort for the condemned," said Jack Sparrow lightly. He was playing with the pistol that Norrington had left lying on the desk, spinning it noisily so that the barrel pointed at himself, then at Norrington, then at himself again. He glanced up at the Commodore with a smile that was almost wistful.

Norrington raised his eyebrows, and did not move. "I don't know what you're planning, Sparrow, but there's an entire Fort between you and freedom. Otherwise—"

"Freedom's all up here, mate," said Jack Sparrow, finger tapping lightly against his faded red bandana. The pistol spun slowly to a halt, barrel pointing at Jack again, and Jack waved a long-fingered hand, casual and elegant, as though he'd just lost at dice.

"Here's your comfort, pirate," said Norrington. He put the rum bottle down on the desk next to the pistol.

"Not joining me, Commodore?" Sparrow invited, swigging from the bottle like any sailor in a dockside tavern.

"I'm on duty," said Norrington. He walked slowly around the end of the desk, halting beside Jack. "Stand up."

"I—"

"Stand up!"

Jack Sparrow stood, slowly, and his gaze never left Norrington. "Does your duty extend to comforting prisoners?" he said softly.

"Do you need comforting?"

"Depends," said Jack. "If I'm to be hanged tomorrow, I'd best make the most of the time I have left."

Norrington smiled tightly. "It's not my decision," he said. "I'm sorry."

"That's the easy answer, mate," said Jack.

"In all conscience—"

Jack Sparrow kissed Norrington, hand on his neck and tongue insinuating itself into his mouth. After a minute or so, Norrington's hands came up to push Jack away. The Commodore's fairer skin was flushed.

"May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," Jack said, head tilted back so he could look Norrington in the eye. He was grinning again.

"Is this why you treated Elizabeth with such respect, pirate?" Norrington said breathlessly. "Because you don't, after all, care for women any more?"

"I treated her as a good man would," replied Jack.

Norrington inclined his head. "And how would a good man treat you?"

Jack ran his tongue over his lower lip, and there was pure wickedness in his eyes. "I reckon you know that," he said.

"I can't let you go."

"What you mean is, you can't see your way to it," said Jack Sparrow. He raised the bottle to his lips and drank again, eyes never leaving Norrington's. "You're not free to decide."

"That's right," said Norrington slowly.

"If you were free, would I go free?"

James Norrington dropped his gaze, and smiled to himself. "Yes," he admitted.

"You're nearly there, mate," said Sparrow jovially. He stepped closer, but Norrington did not look up.

The lamplight flickered, and outside the guard called the hour.

"I can see I've given you a lot to think about," said Jack Sparrow, almost gently. "Best leave it there for now, wouldn't you say?"

Norrington looked up at last. Jack was standing very close to him, that half-smile back in place. He reeked of rum and unwashed clothes. Norrington nodded, once, and went to the door.

After the Marines had led Jack Sparrow away again, the Commodore sat at his desk for a long time. He stared at the pistol, the irons, and the empty bottle, and tried to make an epitaph for Jack Sparrow.

Something about freedom.


-end-


Read the other two:
From Hell: Flames
From Hell: Down Below