Diving for Pearls

Chapter 5

by

Kitty Fisher

He didn't stop, just kept on, guiding the horses through the darkening streets, until they were away from the houses, the path turning from stone to earth, and the road once again beginning to lead uphill. It grew darker as they travelled, the sun setting with tropical abruptness, and Jack had to peer to see where they were. Finally, he found what he was searching for, and slowed the horses to a stand outside what looked like an abandoned boathouse.

He jumped down, somewhat amazed to find his knees unsteady. But he opened the door, and grinned cockily into the shadows at Norrington. "Bet you never had a ride like that in London."

The Commodore had clearly been holding on for his life. As Jack hoisted himself into the carriage, Norrington slowly sat forward, his hand unlocking one finger at a time from the hanging strap.

He nodded weakly. "You would win your wager."

Jack laid a hand on his back. "I didn't kill you?"

"No." He turned slowly, his bare skin unnaturally pale in the darkness. "Nor did you kill yourself."

"No. So I didn't!" With a quick, surprised grin, he shifted, and backed out of the carriage. "Come on."

Norrington moved slowly, painfully, until he sat close to the door. He looked down to where Jack stood on the ground, and his tight-drawn features softened. "I'm glad. That you live."

Staring up, Jack nodded. "A good outcome, in the end. Come, let's get you out of there. I want to unhitch the poor beasts before they die in their harness."

Peering out into the night, Norrington asked, "Where are we?"

"We're almost at the next bay along the coast. AnaMaria will send Gibbs with a boat. We'll be off on the morning tide."

"God willing?"

"Fate willing, James. Fate and Luck and Fortune—the tricky jades who seem to like me. Well, they seem to like us both, actually." He grinned.

"Really?" Norrington sounded doubtful. Gingerly easing himself out of the carriage, he let Jack take most of his weight. As the cool air hit him, he shivered once, the breeze that lifted off the sea stirring the short locks of his hair. Held upright in Jack's arms he scented the air and shivered again. "I thought I'd never be free again."

"Nothing like hanging in ropes to take away a man's hope."

"Or being hanged." Norrington closed his eyes, leaning forward weakly. "Why don't you hate me?"

"I lived—'tis all that matters." And it was. Each day was an adventure, each one all the sweeter for knowing how close he had come to death. How many lives? By his own count he had five left. "There's no need to dwell on something done and gone."

Norrington slowly lifted his head, and opened his eyes. He looked worn and battered, his eyes painfully confused. "How can you forgive me?"

"I just do." To prove it he pressed a light kiss by Norrington's torn mouth, and then smiled gently. "Now, I need to see to the horses and then get both of us down to the beach, so... "

"You need to let me go?"

"Exactly. Come on, there's a nice bench over here, well 'tis more a plank o' wood on a couple of struts and it probably stinks of fish or worse, but it'll do fine." As he talked they were walking slowly, and when they reached the bench he lowered Norrington down.

"Thank you." Norrington sat very still, though he was breathing hard, his skin wet with sweat.

"Here, or you'll catch your death." Slipping out of his sword belt, Jack stripped off his smoke-stained frock coat. It was heavy, the hem weighted with the jewels that would have ransomed a commodore. He draped it around the same Commodore's shoulders, considering that he had never looked less like a Naval officer. As the coat went around him, Norrington glanced up in surprise.

"There, that'll help. Try not to do anything too exerting now."

"I promise. And thank you." With a tightening of his face, Norrington leant back, arms holding tight to the fabric as if to leech warmth or comfort from the fibres themselves.

Jack looked at him, hesitated, then moved away and started stripping the horses of their harness, freeing them from their traces. He smoothed his hand down one animal's sweating head, scratching at the white blaze that ended at her soft nose. She nuzzled him happily, and he whispered his thanks, for without them the escape would have been, at the very least, more difficult. If even possible at all. Whispering sweet nothings into her ear, he took her head-collar and her companion's and led both animals towards the foothills. There, one at a time, he stripped the last of the harness away. When, so used to obedience and the proximity of man, they dumbly stood their ground, he waved his hands and shouted at them until finally they danced on their hooves and, with a toss of their manes, cantered up into the dark hillside.

Waiting until the horses were nothing but shadows, he turned and walked back to his Commodore. His boots were soft on the stony path, but Norrington still opened his eyes as Jack approached. "Done?"

"Aye, they'll be fine." Crouching on the ground by his feet, one hand going to rest lightly on James' knee, he looked up intently. The moon was playing in the narrow clouds, and there was light enough to see the exhaustion on the pale, bruised face. "What about you?"

"Fine enough, thank you."

"D'ye think King George knows about this tendency you have towards untruths?"

Almost laughing, the sound soft and painful, Norrington shook his head. "I'm alive, Jack. That's fine enough."

"Will you make it to the Pearl?"

Norrington hesitated. "Would you leave me if I couldn't?"

"No! Foolish Commodore, I'd pick you up and carry you."

"Ah."

"So, can you walk?"

"To get away from this pestilential island? Yes, Jack, I can walk." Slowly Norrington leant forward. Suddenly frowning he reached out and touched his fingers to one of Jack's braids, then across to his cheek, the touch hardly more than a whisper of skin on skin, then once more back to the mass of hair and braids, locks and beads. "Your hair... I think you lost a few of these in the fire."

"No matter."

"Matter enough." He tugged one lock and it broke off in his hand. "See?" Holding the singed hair in his palm, he closed his hand about it. "Thank you. For everything. That you got us out of there at all... " He shivered.

The moonlight suddenly spilled more brightly from the sky, and Jack met the pain-narrowed eyes. "James, I wasn't leaving you." It was a fact, simply stated, but the emotions it raised, the possibilities his failure might have allowed? It was beyond all measure distressing. Briskly rising to his feet, he stared out to sea. "And I'm not leaving you here either, so come along James, we've a nice moonlit walk to make."

All business, he slid one arm around Norrington's back and eased him upright. The Commodore's breath caught sharply as he stood.

"You've stiffened up?"

"Yes... "

"We'll go slow." Jack picked up his sword, neatly wrapped in its belt, and held it in his hand as they walked.

The ground became sandier as they made their way down the half-formed path to the beach. The sea grass and the weeds that grew in salt-bitter air were all close to the ground. They walked around them, Jack careful of Norrington's bare feet as some of the plants had spines that could stab you well as any knife. Norrington seemingly coped well enough, though gradually he allowed more of his weight to rest on Jack's shoulders, and Jack took it willingly. Despite being the taller, the other man was half starved.

At the edge of the dunes they paused, and Jack turned to his companion. "D'ye want to rest here?"

A shake of Norrington's head said no, and so they walked on, the sand heavy under their feet. By the time they reached the water's edge, the moon was once again passing through deep cloud, and in the strange, luminescent darkness, surrounded by the soft swirl of the waves, Jack lowered them both onto the sand, carefully tugging his coat more securely around the bare shoulders. He was quite breathless himself. Norrington was almost spent, his eyes closing as Jack drew him close, letting him rest in the curve of his arm.

The Pearl was out there. He could scent her, feel her in the way the sea spoke to him. For a long time he sat, quite content to listen and watch, to feel the night and the tides that ran as slaves to the moon. When it was close to dawn, he found a song slipping through his thoughts and he hummed it softly, the tune dug from deep in his memory, the words long gone. It was a lovely, melancholy air, but full of hope for all the sadness. Watching the horizon he sang alone, though maybe the mermaids heard him, for the salt spume danced nearer, and the night seemed to still to listen.

When soft, murmured words drifted up to him, at first he wasn't sure from whence they came:

"There is a ship, that sails the sea, that's loaded deep, as deep can be... "

But then he recognised the slightly slurred voice that spoke so quietly, and he smiled, rubbing his chin over his Commodore's short hair, holding him closer as the sea played at their feet. "How does it go on?"

He felt Norrington gasp brokenly against his shoulder, then the voice continued, so hushed that the world seemed to pause: "But not as deep, as the love I am in, I care not if I sink or swim... "

"James. Oh, Jamie... "

"The words..." As if only half awake Norrington stopped there, and his shoulders shifted in a slight gesture of helplessness. "I don't know."

"I do. The words are like jewels, or treasure." Better than gold. Truly. Jack lifted his head to the morning and scented the Pearl close by. Soon they'd be away, and all the future was there for their taking. And that was more treasure.

"You seem so mad sometimes, but you're not really, are you?"

"Me?" Startled, Jack answered with what he thought Norrington wanted to hear. "Of course not."

"Knew it... "

As Norrington slipped back into a half-sleep, Jack stared blindly out into the distance. He could hear the mermaids laughing, their tail fins teasing the waves into bright points of white spray as they dipped, diving back to the depths where there were no men. And no men's lies to shame them.

In the half-gloaming he saw the boat being lowered, Cotton's parrot darting above it, her green plumage the only colour in the world apart from the morning sky.

As the boat slowly neared, he squeezed Norrington's shoulder gently. "Hey... " Muscles tensed under his hand. "Shush, it's only the boat come for us."

When he straightened, Jack let his arm slide away, though he watched as Norrington rubbed his hands clumsily over his eyes and peered out to sea, his face white and strained. "Yours?"

"Aye." Grunting at the stiffness of his joints, Jack stood up, stretching with various mutterings and groans. "Damp sand, bloody stuff hates me."

"And me." Norrington had gathered himself to stand, but with one hand wrapped about his middle had paused, seemingly breathless.

"It's all worse for being still so long."

"So it seems." His head bowed, he half sat, one fist clutching hard at the sand.

Wincing in sympathy, Jack crouched by his side. "Here, let me help." Holding out a blistered hand, he waited for Norrington to take it and, managing successfully not to wince, pulled him slowly to his feet.

The boat was almost upon them. Gibbs was waving, grinning like a monkey. One arm around Norrington's waist, Jack led them both out into the shallows, the surf breaking around them, climbing their legs, the sea wrapping itself around them, cold as a whore's heart.

"Jack, good to see ye!"

"And you, Mister Gibbs." Jack tossed his sword to the waiting man. "Give the Commodore a hand, will ye?"

With Jack hoisting him up and Gibbs pulling him in, Norrington landed in the boat. In an instant Jack was beside him, dripping water everywhere as he settled at his side, one arm around his shoulders to hold him up, though it was clear he was hardly aware of what was going on around him. Gibbs was staring doubtfully. "Norrington. 'e were a lieutenant last time we met. Looks a bit diff'rent now. Is 'e alright?"

"Nothing a few weeks at sea won't cure."

"That'll do it, though ye knows it be bad luck to have a navy man on board." Gibbs nodded. He took a flask from his pocket and offered it to Jack. "Though I won't be holdin' it agin ye, an' I also thought ye might be a needin' o' this."

"You are without doubt a wonderful man." Jack took the flask as if it were heaven encapsulated. Sitting next to Norrington as the rowers turned the boat, he uncapped it and sniffed the heady contents blissfully. "Jamie, this'll warm ye up."

But Norrington was only half aware, and as Jack watched his eyes slid closed and his body went limp. Holding him more tightly, Jack cursed and pulled the coat more closely about his shoulders. "Gibbs, row faster man!"

"Come on, boys, put yer heathen backs into it!" The small boat surged forward, and very slowly the Pearl grew larger, until quite suddenly they were up against her side.

A net ladder was cast down to them. Sighing, Jack slapped his sword and hat into Gibbs hands, and simply lifted the unconscious man over his shoulder. Steadying him, Jack took hold of the rope and began to climb, hand over hand, rung by rung. When the Commodore's weight was at last lifted from his shoulder, he held quite still, breathing hard as a prize-fighter after ten rounds. Gathering himself he managed another rung, then blessedly someone took pity on him and he was hauled up and over the side, landing in an ungainly heap at AnaMaria's feet.

"Welcome back, Captain."

"AnaMaria."

He patted the planks under his hands, whispering a greeting to his other love. She pranced on the waves and he knew she was glad he was home.

"Exciting trip?"

"You 'ave no idea."

She looked him up and down, her lip curling. "Aye. At least ye got your Commodore. He should make a fine lot o' ransom."

"Oh, yes." He smiled sweetly, and crawled to his feet. "Absolutely, aye, I agree. And so that he don't lose any value, as it were, I think we should look after him, don't you?"

"I was thinking of puttin' 'im in the brig. Do the bastard good... "

"AnaMaria, 'e's been locked up for three months!"

She sniffed. "Not on this ship 'e ain't."

"An' 'e won't be now. He can sleep in my cabin—he'll be no bother!" Another winning smile. Jack waved his hands at her, then jumped as Gibbs walked past, slamming his hat and sword into his arms.

"Mark my words, 'e'll be bad luck. Navy man on a pirate ship..." Changing tack, Gibbs tutted ominously.

AnaMaria glared at him. "Aye, an' you think the same o' me, you old fool!"

"Aye." Gibbs sniffed loudly. "Can I 'ave me flask back, Cap'n?"

"Oh, yes." Jack relinquished it. "Right. I'll be in my cabin. With James—er, the Commodore."

"James, is it?" Sharp as a whip, AnaMaria pounced on the slip. "I see... "

Sighing, Jack decided the best way was just to ignore them all. "Gibbs, give me hand to get him below. AnaMaria, get us underway soon as you can. There might be someone after us... "

"Oh good." She bared her teeth at him. "Just what I wanted, another enemy."

Gibbs walked back. "Another enemy? That's bad luck too."

"Now, old man, for once I agree with ye." AnaMaria nodded firmly.

"It'll be worse than bad luck if he catches us, so look lively."

"Aye, Cap'n!" She screwed her hat more securely on her head, and went off, shouting orders.

He gestured to a crew member. "Take these." He passed over his effects. "Bring them down when we're done, right?" The thin, cropped head nodded.

Gibbs was staring down with mild curiosity at where Norrington lay sprawled on the deck. "Ye think e'll live?"

"Gibbs, if he don't, then I'm going back there and mark my words, Black O'Connell will be very unhappy."

"Oh, so that's how the land lies... Either that or the ransom is a very big one." He leered happily.

Jack sighed. "Just shut up and take his legs."

"Just thinkin' out loud, Cap'n."

"Don't." He grunted as they lifted Norrington off the deck. "And don't drop 'im either."

"Rules, rules and more bloody rules. I could've stayed in the Navy, ye knows that?"

"Yeah, and a likely story." They passed through the doors to the stateroom, easing the limp body past the ornate furniture, Jack walking backwards, head twisted around to see where he was going, heading past another curtained doorway into his bedroom. He pushed the door open and backed inside, walking to the bed and carefully laying the dead-weight down upon it.

His back spiked at him as he straightened, and he rubbed it hard to ease the ache. "Gibbs, thanks."

The gnarled face creased with pleasure. "For ye, Jack, anything that don't involve women, ye knows that."

"Or Navy men, I thought."

"Well, I'll be reconsidering that one. Besides, Cap'n, you can always prove me wrong. Or he can, when he wakes up, though I reckon 'e won't be happy for a while." He whistled, soundlessly. "What did they do to 'im?"

"Too much, Gibbs, too much."

The old man sighed. "What can I bring ye?"

"Hot water. Lots of it. I've all I'll need otherwise in here."

The ship moved suddenly, and Gibbs looked up. "We'll be out at sea soon enough. I'll be back, quick as I can." He paused in the door way and taking Jack's effects and coat from the boy, he laid it all on the floor before closing the door in his wake.

The cabin was home. Jack blessed the person who had put candles and water at the bedside. He poured a cupful out and drank it down, gasping as his thirst was quenched. Slowly placing the cup back, he stood for a moment, looking at his commodore. The moment held, drew out, then brisk and efficient he prepared, stripping off his belt and unwinding his sash, stowing various pouches and packets in a high chest as he did so. Folding the long length of fabric over a chair, he went back to the bed.

For a long moment he just stood there, pausing again, looking down at the still figure. Then he pulled off his waistcoat and, tossing it onto the chair, rolled back his sleeves. His hands were stiff, but not too bad, considering. With a shrug he peeled the wrist guards off along with the scraps of singed fabric that were still wound around his palms and fingers, dropping it all on the floor.

Norrington's soaked breeches were tough to undo, and just as difficult to remove. Jack was half way through tugging them off narrow hips when Norrington coughed and, as he came to, jerked to one side in alarm.

Hands not quite touching the tense shoulders, Jack spoke reassuringly: "James, it's all right. We're safe!"

"What?" Bewildered, wide-eyed, Norrington stared up at him, then slowly relaxed into the pillows. "Jack."

"Aye."

"Where are we?"

"In my cabin." Jack took Norrington's reaching hand and held it. The skin was cold, though his face was already beginning to show signs of fever. "We need to get those wet clothes off you."

"We're on your ship?" He frowned in confusion.

"And she's taking us out to sea."

"So we are safe."

"We're away from Hispaniola. The Pearl will look after us now." Jack reached for the cup. "Here, drink this." Shifting, he knelt on the floor and helped Norrington to sit forward, holding the cup to his mouth. He drank thirstily, water escaping his mouth and trickling down his chest.

Jack replaced the beaker. "Your breeches are soaked, they need to come off." Patiently, Jack waited until Norrington nodded. Then he climbed back to his feet. "Lift your hips." It was far easier with the sick man's co-operation. As the wet fabric peeled away from cold skin, Jack took stock of the fresh injuries. More bruises, some clearly those where fingers had dug deep into flesh. A series of lacerations down his left thigh, more on his belly. Anger burned in him. Anger at the men who had abused Norrington so, and also at himself, at his failure to find a way out before all this new damage had been inflicted.

A knock sounded loudly at the door, startling them both. "Hang on." Quickly, Jack pulled a sheet over Norrington's nudity, and went to the outside door. He opened it just long enough to take in a bucket of steaming water and a jug of fresh, before closing it back, not letting Gibbs inside.

All his equipment for physicing was in a box. He dragged it out and pulled it into the smaller cabin, setting it next to the water, opening the polished wood lid and hoping there was enough of use inside. Taking a deep breath, he smiled at Norrington with a confidence he deeply wished was more than a mask, and pulled the bucket near.

The water stung his hands, and he washed them first, before taking up a clean rag and soaking it thoroughly. "I seem to be cleaning you up a lot of late."

Norrington nodded, hissing softly as the cloth soaked dried blood from his face. "I am most grateful."

Jack winced in sympathy. "I know. Now be quiet." He worked the cloth around the cracked and battered mouth, working up to clean a deep gash over one swelling-narrowed eye. Seeing the damage so close made his belly clench tightly. Norrington had been lucky not to lose the eye. Somehow his nose had remained unbroken too. Under the bruises and grime Norrington had a fine face. There, better to be distracted by that than to think on what had happened. A fine face and fine body. He'd look forward to it all being in good health. Which it would be. He brought a pot of salve from his physic box and opened it up, taking some on his finger and smearing it into open cuts and grazes. Norrington's eyes flickered open and a frown set two lines between his dark brows.

"What... ?"

"It'll help you heal." Leaning over the still man, Jack let his fingers sooth. "One of the Islanders told me about it. It works, I promise ye."

The frown cleared, and he nodded slightly, his eyes falling shut almost immediately.

"I'll get ye a nice bath in a day or so." Touching the prone man, Jack felt the shiver that racked through him. "Nice, eh?"

"God, yes. I would be most deeply in your debt." Norrington swallowed, his head turning to one side, his over-bright eyes just focussing. "More than I am already."

"No debt, Jamie. Just an accord, remember?"

"Yes. I remember." He spoke softly, slowly, sounding drugged by exhaustion and pain.

"Good, now be quiet."

While the Pearl sang around him and they headed deep out to sea, Jack worked on. After a little while he paused to light fresh candles on the bedside, and with their illumination set to again. Constantly rinsing the cloth, working fast so as to keep the water warm as possible, he cleaned salt stains and blood, dirt and worse, using a sheet to dry the areas he had done. He was very careful around the deeply bruised belly, careful not to touch too hard, or press too deep as he swept the cloth over the warming skin. Further down he was careful too. Norrington's sac was swollen, from being kicked or twisted maybe, there was no way of telling, but his own balls lifted in appalled sympathy.

Muttering softly he eased Norrington onto his side and cleaned the weals that wrapped his back and ribs and arse. Shivering himself, biting his lip, he washed into the cleft. No blood. Though would that extra pain have mattered now? He wasn't sure, and was just glad as damage there could kill. But then so could the fever that was visibly taking hold. For by the time Jack was wiping the long feet dry, James was almost insensible, his skin flushed and patchy.

The bed was wide enough for two and, though a tall man, James looked small in its depths. Jack pulled the covers over him, and smoothed the crimson blankets. He stared wearily at the flushed, insensible face, then with hands that hardly obeyed him, he clumsily stripped off his own clothes.

Lastly, with a frown, he remembered to put the bucket of fouled water outside. Someone would deal with it. AnaMaria was in charge of everything now.

With a weary sigh he peered out at the sky. In the time he'd been working it had become full morning. No wonder he was weary. Closing the doors he locked them fast. Light-headed, he walked back to his cabin. Light was spilling in through the high, mullioned windows. He snuffed the guttering candles, pinching the wicks between finger and thumb. Feeling old as Methuselah and far more tired, he drank some water, then carefully slipped between the sheets, gasping as his own warmth met Norrington's chilled flesh.

With a deep sigh, he wrapped himself gently around the sleeping man, and in less than a second was deeply asleep.

Distantly he could hear voices arguing.

"Bad luck... "

"Get him off the boat. They'll do more than hang us if 'e dies here."

"No."

"He is dyin'—face it!"

"No!"

"You'll not save 'im. Slip 'im over the side and no one will know the better, Cap'n."

"No, I tell ye!"

A pause.

"James, Jamie, can you hear me?"

He could, but somehow he had no voice. The wish was there, to reply, to reassure, but it was as if he was wrapped in wool, muffled and still.

"Come along, darlin', just a sip."

Something cold. He gasped and the cold thing trickled into his throat.

"Yes! Good, now a little more."

It slid down, the cold a line that traced from his mouth to his belly, burning as it ran.

"There."

Something—a hand?—stroked his face, sweetly comforting. Through the morass of his thoughts came an image. A man, dressed in tattered velvet and stained linen, coins woven in his hair and a mad glint in his beautiful eyes.

Jack Sparrow.

"Jack... "

"Ah, gods, he knows me. Jamie, please... "

But the colour and sound faded back to grey, and he didn't know who Jamie was, or what he was being begged for.

Darkness. Then:

The water was warm as a hot spring. He dived down, swimming hard, the water streaming past his face and hair, sliding along the naked length of his body. There was something ahead. Someone. He kicked toward it. Laughter, trapped in the current, drifted back to him and he swum on. A fish? No. Something else. He laughed too, water bubbling from his mouth as he darted around coral and reef, to see...

A tail and fins, long arms and long hair weaving patterns in the water. A mermaid. He laughed again and swam closer through the heat, and as he swam she turned, and he saw it was not a maid, but a man, his tail long and scaled purple and gold, his eyes dark as obsidian. A man indeed. Slim, supple as water-born seaweed, beguiling as the sweetest night. He swam onward, to the beckoning arms. One touched him, and he lifted his eyes. Seeing. Seeing the wicked smile and dark invitation. Seeing the coins and jewels that were strung in the skeined and plaited hair.

Jack.

The merman smiled and, the sea like silver around him, leaned in for a kiss.

Pain!

He knew he screamed, and was sorry. He'd vowed to be silent, whatever crimes they committed on his body. Shuddering, he felt himself pushed under water and knew this for a new torture. Cold. Colder than he'd ever been. He shuddered, striking out blindly, amazed he was not tethered.

"Hold him!"

No, they wouldn't... He fought, gasping as he broke the surface and found air.

"James, stop, please!"

That voice.

"James, we need to get your fever down, please, please don't fight!"

He stilled, worn into nothingness by the sudden absence of fear. After a little time, when he felt hands holding him, soothing him, he opened his eyes. "Jack... "

There was water on the thin, lovely face.

"I'm James." It was a surprise, but it felt right.

"Aye." Jack was laughing. Norrington frowned. Or was he crying? "That you are." His hands were like brands, so hot on his frozen skin, a kiss like fire on his mouth. Suddenly he was shivering again. "Gibbs, help me lift 'im."

The world turned. Lifted, lowered, he lay and watched the rigging play against the sky as he was wrapped in something soft. He'd had a fever. The merman wasn't real.

Or maybe he was. Norrington felt himself being raised up, and knew he was held in Jack's arms. The merman smiled at him. And not all the water was tears.

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