Diving 2

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
Originally Posted: 6/01/06
Archiving: Please do not archive without my permission
Note: With thanks to Lorelei for beta and encouraging comments from so many of you ♥
Warning: for everything.

Jack hammered on the door again, and almost hammered straight onto a filthy nose, which apparently had had its own share of hammering in the past. He flickered his fingers at it. "Nice nose, mate."

Jack sighed. "Is Black Connor O'Connell in there? I need to have what you might call a little talk with 'im."

"An' who want's 'im?" The man was fingering long strands of greasy greying hair away from his face, trying to peer down his own nose, going cross-eyed in an attempt to view it.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, at his service." Jack bowed. He liked bowing. He should have been on the stage really. 'cept, now he got to do all that stuff for real, even to the wearing of gold crowns and pearls and jewels. He smiled happily. Ah, the plunder from the Isla de Muerta was pretty. Next time he tried it on, he must find a nice big mirror so he could see exactly how pretty it was.

"Don't expect him to be happy though." The pirate turned, his boots crunching on broken glass. "'e's in 'ere."

Led across a wide vestibule, Jack peered around. Nice house. Still a house though.

"Cap'n?" The man knocked on a door, and slowly peered around it. There was obviously some signal from inside for he opened the door wider. "Thought you might like to know, Jack Sparrow's 'ere."

The bellow could have stripped barnacles. Pasty hurriedly backed out and ushered Jack quickly inside, bringing him into a vast room, where a big man sat in an ornately carved wooded chair. "Jack Sparrow, Cap'n."

"As houses go." O'Connell slouched deeper into his chair and sniffed. "So, you finally heard."

Jack walked towards the great chair. He took in the room, which must once have been elegant. All around the walls were couches, many with their stuffing straggling from great rips in their upholstery. Empty bottles were scattered about, and the remains of a pig's carcass lay rotting by the grate. A woman's dress was tossed into a corner, and the pale fabric was darkly stained with blood. As was the inlaid wooden floor.

He stepped over the stains and eyed the other man as he drank deep from a rum bottle. He hadn't changed much in the few years since they'd last met, except perhaps to have grown uglier. Though as he'd hardly been a beauty to begin with, it made little difference. With his huge body decked in a fine velvet coat, with lace at his collar and cuffs, the man clearly fancied himself a dandy—though he'd do just as well dressing up the pig. Silk purse, sow's ear. Jack nodded to himself. But the shaved and tattooed head was quite something, and the ink work was really very fine. Not that he wanted to have his own scalp patterned so, but, it was a piece of art in itself.

"Thought so." My, the rum smelt so good. Fingers tickling the edges of his coat, Jack stepped closer, swallowing on a parched and arid mouth. "Good rum?"

A wide grin showed blackened and broken teeth. Jack winced. One hand reached down at the side of his chair and, bringing up another bottle, tossed it to Jack. "Try it, tell me it's not shite."

Catching the bottle one-handed, Sparrow opened it and took a refreshing swig. It was indeed shite, but it was rum, and it warmed him, gave him courage and generally made the world a better place. Even standing in a ruined house with an evil bastard like Black Connor O'Connell. "Rum's always good, Connor, ye knows that, thanks."

Jack waved his hand in a gesture he hoped denoted confidence. "Like brothers we are, Connor. Brothers who live by The Code. Brothers-in-arms, though AnaMaria is in truth more a sister. Though maybe she'd rather be a brother. She don't like to be mollycoddled, or thought too girly. Nice body, mind. Though she'd kill any man who told her so." Jack paused, gave himself a little shake and then nodded sagely. "Aye, like brothers."

"Brothers." O'Connell's head sank towards the filthy lace that ruffled thickly from his shirt and he sighed theatrically. "And mine is gone, gone forever. As is the bastard who murdered him!"

Jack started, eyes widening. "What, I missed the auction? Damn it man, you could've waited!"

"I did wait. An' I'll get the bastard back, mark my words. My men are out searching and it won't take them long."

What in all of creation? Jack felt as if he was swimming in a current-torn sea, unsure of which was East and which was West. "Connor, talk to me. What's happened, did you sell him or what?"

"Fucking bastard escaped." Suddenly he was on his feet and shouting. "And I'll kill the slimy fucker who let him go!" He stood there, glowering at the room that was empty of anyone but himself and Jack. "You miserable lot hear me?"

The bellow echoed around the high-ceilinged room, but there was no answer. Jack got the feeling that those of Black O'Connell's crew not out hunting for errant naval officers were all hiding, quiet as little mice behind the panelling, peering through the cracks and staying well away.

He wasn't that glad to be here himself. Especially as his quarry appeared to have escaped. Bloody good for him, too. If he could stay escaped and not end up back here, where his chances seemed to have plummeted from dire to hopeless. A thought suddenly seized him. What if this escapee wasn't Norrington?

"Connor, just 'cos I'm not very bright." He waved a hand deprecatingly. "We are talking about the same item here? One commodore, recently expired to all his nearest and dearest, but actually held by you as a dainty little morsel of revenge until he managed to slip away?" O'Connell growled an objection. "Beg pardon, recently your prisoner, and soon to be again?"

O'Connell nodded, the patterns on his scalp shifting as he ground his teeth. "Aye, Christ alone knows where he thought he was heading."

"There's nowhere. The town is mine. I give him a few hours at most." O'Connell finished his drink in one long gulp, stood for a moment and belched loudly before wiping his sleeve across his beard.

"'An' I don't suppose he was in what you might call peak condition?" Jack glanced doubtfully at the stains by his feet.

The big pirate appeared almost embarrassed. "You know how it is—I got a tickle at a big catch. A merchantman out of Bristol, headed for Virginia laden with gold and silks. I sailed after it and left 'im 'ere. Only got back a few days ago, hardly had time to start planning his lack of a future when I get a nasty surprise and find my little treat has flown the fuckin' coop. Knew I shoud've taken 'im with me, but I didn't. I left him here and look what happened! Pasty!"

The shout made Jack flinch, but a door opened and the man with the nose appeared, visibly trembling. "Cap'n?"

"Blast ye, this crate's empty. Bring more rum. And make sure there's enough for two!"

"It was damned well empty. I had to settle for selling the crew to some Corsairs." He sighed self-pityingly. "I need cheering up. Jack, sit yerself down and tell me the news from Tortuga."

Boots soft on the pale wood floor, Jack walked to a couch and sat himself down in a swirl of hair, coat-tails and beads. Crossing his legs, his foot tapping out the rhythm of an unheard song, he shrugged. "Same as ever, mate. Rum, wenching and plenty o' pilfering."

Jack ignored the none-too-idle question. "So e's just flown then? Not long gone?"

Sighing, Jack gave in. He fluttered his hands by way of explanation. "Off on a little cruise."

"Without you?" O'Connell was smiling in a very unpleasant way. "Jack, for sure they've abandoned you again."

"Around and about." He looked about, then stage-whispered: "Can't be too careful you know, there's pirates in these waters... "

After a hesitation that lasted longer than made Jack comfortable, O'Connell laughed. He was still laughing when Pasty returned with the rum.

Jack winked at him and took a bottle gleefully. The cork was out and he'd drunk deep even before the man was gone and the door closed. "Ah, that's good."

"Thanks, mate, but all the same, I've a nice little berth in town—know what I mean?" He leered successfully and grinned when O'Connell lifted his bottle in a toast. "An', if it's all right with you, I'll be off there now." He stood up. "Pretty little thing, doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"And I still get to buy 'im? Connor, I have my own, um, little disagreement with the Commodore. I'd hate to go away empty handed."

Jack simply attempted to look modest. And poor. "Well enough—but you know how tales grow in the telling. I even heard tell that I'm meant to have a mountain of gold hid away somewheres!"

"Sorry to disappoint, mate, if I had that, d'ye think I'd still be around? I'd have me own little island, a fleet of pirate boats and every woman in the whole damn Caribbees."

"Tell me about it! But, I do 'ave enough to buy Norrington from you. I think plunder used to get revenge is plunder well spent, don't ye?"

"A half pound of uncut emeralds, with a few diamonds thrown in for good measure?"

Jack raised an eyebrow and smiled sweetly, letting his gold teeth gleam. "All things considered, are you sure you'll have 'im by then? I mean, really, how likely is it?"

"A certainty." O'Connell grinned, the sight as fearsome as any Jack had seen in many a long day. "Either that or I'll start shooting my own men."

Hardly flinching, Jack knew his welcome had been outstayed. He bowed, making his beads dance, and bade his host a congenial farewell and stepped lightly out of the pirate's lair as if he hadn't a care in all the whole glorious world.

A falsehood that lasted to about half way down the long, winding road back into town. The rum itself sustained him through a small herd of goats, conversation with one slave, two goatherds and the strange vision of dog and a cat fornicating on a doorstep. That sight alone made him drain the bottle. Dourly, he tossed the empty into an acanthus bush and considered the problem of where a nice English naval officer would most likely be found.

Stopping dead in the middle of the track, he frowned hard and pondered: If I were an officer in His Majesty's Navy, where would I hide?

Norrington would receive no help from the townsfolk, that was for certain. And despite the dubious respite of O'Connell's hunt for the merchantman, it was unlikely that he was going to be feeling sprightly or adventurous. Jack tapped a finger against his teeth.

If I was a commodore, he wondered, (which he wasn't, but the Commodore was. Jack frowned and batted away a small but irritating fly) in Santo Domingo—which the said commodore had most likely never set foot on before—where would I be?

On a rise just above the lower levels of the town he stopped again, to survey the view. Church (abandoned, surely), taverns (heaving), brothels (Jenny in that one. Carmen in that. He flinched.), houses of the rich, houses of the poor, shops, stables, warehouses, inns, alleys and beyond, the gloriousness of the sea and the sun setting over it all. And out there, somewhere hidden, was his quarry. The cat turned mouse, so the cat can save the day. Jack grinned suddenly, the scenario appealing in more ways than one. So, where? Somewhere not too far—nor too difficult to find, but not too obvious. Somewhere close to the water maybe?

Water and the possibility of a ship out to sea. Jack smiled, and as the shadows lengthened and deepened, he wandered on, careful to appear guileless as a dandelion clock, for all his actual purposefulness.

Darkness had fallen, and the narrow streets were lit only intermittently by the lamps of businesses plying their trades. Up and down, Jack walked. Wearing out his boot-leather and pining more for rum as he went, he purchased a flambeau from a linkboy and headed into the mass of houses just behind the quay. He wandered through the mass of alleys, traipsing through the squalor, distaste making him pick his way through the muck that layered the cobbles. Finally the dark buildings opened into a wide square, and there in the centre was a church. The door was broken off and the Spanish-style arch above it was crumbling. It looked less than likely, but he was running out of options. Shrugging, Jack took the steps two at a time and stepped over the rubble that half-blocked the doorway.

Inside it was dark, and smelt equally of ancient incense, mildew and dirt. The interior had been stripped out of anything remotely valuable. The walls were hacked in places where precious marble had been removed, and empty niches spoke of statues gone or destroyed. He walked up the nave and headed for where the altar would have been, had it not been hacked into pieces. Threading the torch in a sconce set into a pillar, he looked up at the high windows that showed the paler darkness of the sky beyond through a hundred shattered panes. And stopped, quite still.

Breath held tight in his lungs, he turned, shadows and light twisting together as a breeze caught the torch's flame.

A noise. Something had shifted. Close by. He turned in a circle, peering into shadows.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" It could be rats, or a cat out hunting. But Jack knew sounds in darkness, and this was no animal or vermin. Unless the vermin was human. His knife was in his hand, and he turned, wary. "I'm no easy mark, I'll warn ye!"

His voice echoed around the high, domed roof, and a bat flittered into the night.

He listened again. And this time the sound was closer. Jack turned fast, and caught sight of a sudden difference in the shadows. "There you be. Show yerself!"

As Jack watched, the darkness coalesced into a shape, and the shape into the tall, shadowy figure of a man. A voice, dry and laden with irony accompanied him. "As I live and breathe, Captain Jack Sparrow... "

The figure slowly came closer, until he was close enough for Jack to see him properly, to take in the ragged breeches, bare feet and torn shirt. "I was looking for ye."

"Probably, but I'm not 'ere for that. I'm 'ere to help you get out of it." Norrington didn't exactly look convinced. Jack sighed. "Look, Will and Elizabeth were worried. So I said I'd 'ave a looksee." A few steps nearer and he could see the Commodore's face. He winced in sympathy. "But you got yourself free, so that's all right then."

"I did." He coughed, one hand tight to his side. "Well, Sparrow, now you've found me, what are you going to do with me?"

There was a moment's silence, then Commodore James Norrington laughed, the sound soft but unmistakable. Jack was almost grinning too, though as he watched the amusement fled slowly from the pale, bruised face.

"Ah, you think I'm teasing ye. Well, I'm not. Odd as it may seem I'm 'ere to save your hide and I don't care if you believe me or not."

"I must be more unwell than I thought, because I actually think I do believe you." He sounded astounded. "And much as I'd like to be able to refuse your kind offer of rescue, I think, in fact, that it would be most agreeable. Thank you." And with that, before anything else could be said, he slowly folded like a puppet with its strings cut and hit the floor hard, gasping as his knees cracked onto broken marble, one outstretched hand just keeping him from sprawling full length.

Another of those dry, weary laughs. "Captain, believe me, if you really are here to help me, I am more than pleased." Norrington looked up at him uncertainly. "But are you?"

"It's no trick, Commodore. Come, let's get you on your feet. Where're you hiding?"

"Up ye gets." And Jack slipped one hand under Norrington's arm and stood, bringing them both upright. He felt the shudder that rippled through the other man. "O'Connell was a teensy bit unkind, I'm guessing."

"Your guess is, I believe, quite right." Norrington stood still, his breath catching in his lungs and his eyes half closed.

The eyes opened fully. "Mister Sparrow, I can run if I have to. I just hope... " He shivered again. "... not to have to."

"We'll try and do this with no running then. Maybe just a little canter, or a trot. Though as you're not a horse, maybe a jog?"

Another soft sound of amusement. "I appear to have missed you, Mister Sparrow. I am at a loss to understand why."

Jack put an arm around him, this close his eyes appeared the green of deepest water, their clarity dulled but not broken. Jack hoisted him more securely. "We'll work it out, Commodore. I'm sure we will. Now where's this tower o' yours?"

It was a longish walk through a side chapel. That Norrington had made it across the wide expanse of floor, over the broken stones and smashed wood—all without alerting him—amazed Jack. The return journey was awkward and clumsy. Norrington was the taller man, and he leant hard on Jack as they negotiated the hazards. The door creaked as Jack pushed it open. Inside, a narrow stair curled upward into darkness. Side by side, they took the steps one at a time. It was a hot, painful business, but after a fashion they managed, until there was nothing but a door that swung open under Jack's touch.

There was nothing of comfort inside. Light filtered in through a series of windows, showing a bare room, foursquare, with another door closed on its other side. Slowly, Jack lowered Norrington onto the bare, dust covered floorboards and watched him lean back, panting. He was almost breathless himself as he straightened. "I'll go and extinguish the torch."

"Don't let them see!" The command was sudden, sharp; fear, inadequately hidden, echoed through the words.

He walked cautiously back into the church. There was only silence there now. He checked around, and then doused the dying flame in a puddle of foul water. The darkness cloyed around him. After a while his eyes slowly adjusted, and he went, sure-footed as a cat, back up to the tower.

Norrington was leant back against the wall, legs outstretched. He was watching the door, a shaft of bright moonlight spearing down from the window. He nodded as Jack walked in.

"Commodore, I am honestly and truthfully not going to betray you—least of all to a blackguard like O'Connell."

"I may be a pirate, Commodore, but I do 'ave standards, so please don't be confusing me with the likes of Black O'Connell. Ever."

"No problems there!" He sighed as Norrington's expression slipped from sneering to confused. "Look, I'm teasin' ye!"

Jack paused consideringly. "You know, I try not to. I may be a dirty weasely pirate with a taste for shiny gold and sparkly jewels—and I may not care who those nice bright things belong to as long as they end up being mine—but I don't murder for 'em. I've killed—same as yourself, Commodore—and I will again, but I take no pleasure in it, and those who've died at my hand 'ave all deserved it, one way or another."

In the silence that followed, Jack knelt at Norrington's side and gave him a careful inspection from head to toe. "What's up with your ribs?"

Norrington took a long, shallow breath. "You really are most determined, aren't you?"

"Good, strong character trait! Now, tell me—what's that miserable excuse for a shirt hiding?"

"Aye, and I think you might not be seeing things that well right now." Three months in the care of none too kind gaolers—the knowledge itself was painfully woven through with memories. "How often did they beat you?"

Norrington glared, his shoulders pushed tight against the rough plaster wall. "Too bloody often. Why, you want details?"

The tone of voice was as much a warning as the slight tremor that ran though it. Jack shook his head, knowing there were secrets he himself would never give up. "No. No details, if you don't want to tell me."

Norrington swallowed, and then looked up, his expression bleak. "He was inventive."

The shadowed eyes closed, and he leant his head back, his cracked lips tight-closed. "God help me, I know."

After that he stayed silent. Jack hesitated for a moment, and then stood up. "You need water, something to eat as well. I'll be back as soon as I can, and then we can work out a plan to get ye out of here."

The lips pressed more tightly together, until the dry skin gave and dark red blood flowered, trickling thinly downward. Norrington lifted a hand to wipe it away. He seemed quite resigned. "Mister Sparrow, if you do intend on betraying me, please, I would count it a favour if you'd just run me through now."

"Stop!" Jack put his hand on a thin shoulder and squeezed gently. "I will be back. Pirate's honour."

Suddenly pain-filled green eyes were staring at him. Norrington hesitated, then spoke very softly. "In a nutshell. All my concerns in a nutshell."

Jack met his gaze, and some intangible thing passed between them. Something that hurt. Taking a deep breath, Jack shook his head. "Go to sleep, James. I'll be back, soon as I can."

And he went, conscious that curious, hollow eyes followed him all the way out of sight.

Diving for Pearls

Chapter 2