Fathoms 10

Feints and Distractions

by

Manic Intent

With the arrival of one of the pillars of the East India Trading Company, Port Royal was fast becoming more than just a primarily Naval base. The reemergence of commerce, albeit restrained, was showing in the rather busier atmosphere of the town, despite its proximity to Kingston. The relative safety that merchants felt Norrington's and Beckett's names provided, it seemed, was conducive to trade. Already, new buildings were under construction—shops, warehouses, even slightly temporary-looking housing, in a terribly British grid pattern.

Jack himself booked rooms with an old friend at a quiet inn off the main thoroughfare, now crowded with animal-drawn carts and the shouts and curses of merchants—the stink of the fish market and the leavings of horses. The thing about 'any port in a storm', Jack knew, extended far better towards making friends with select innkeepers and tipping generously, as compared to having lovers, who tended to get jealous at long absences. And so, at nearly every important town in Jamaica, Jack was sure to have at least one innkeeper who would put up with him for a couple of nights, nice and quiet, in return for big tips and being left alone during any raids that Jack may care to stage. More importantly, innkeepers tended to be very up to date with any local gossip.

The Devil's Flute had been used before by himself, Bootstrap and Barbossa on one of their brief stopovers to check out a tip in the area as to the latest merchant trends, and (perhaps out of habit) had been left untouched during even the raid to extract Elizabeth. The grocery and the carpenter beside it hadn't been so lucky.

Jack bought a tankard of rum, and sat at the bar, encouraging Evans to talk by sliding some shiny coins over the polished wood.

"Don't know what ye be back 'ere in these parts fer, Jack, but ye be best-advised t'move on," the stout man said as he industriously polished a tankard. "Even if ye got that Letter, it's a smart man, pirate or not, who'd give those two sharks a wide berth. An' Mister Turner, he ain't back from his vacation wi' Miss Swann t'help ye out now."

"That what they're callin' it? Vacation?" Jack asked curiously.

"Yeh, m'heard soldiers sayin', t'was some sort o' mix up, the arrest. Wrong evidence or summat. To soothe their... heh... 'frayed nerves', the two o' them 'ave booked up on a cruise to England." Evans leaned closer, the natural curiosity of the innkeeper aroused. "T'aint that right, Jack?"

"M' going t'tell ye what happened, but ye better not let word o' it out 'till m'gone," Jack said, looking about him with comic caution. "'Cos, m'here fer a quiet visit, an' don't want t'leave wi' trouble." And he launched into an extended version of the story with Davy Jones (even more so than the one he had provided to Anamaria), inserting some clever repartee here and there that could have happened, and a lot of action and dazzling sword play that had not. He left out Elizabeth tricking him, instead making up a scene of tearful feminine farewell. He also left out the entire issue of Norrington, instead concocting a very unlikely story involving harnessing dolphins, seaweed and much rum regarding his rescue, and making up an entirely fictional crewmember for the rest of his part in stealing the heart. "An' that's that. M'don't know where they are now, probably tryin' t'save Turner's da', but I'd be findin' out."

Evans obviously didn't know whether or not to believe him or not, but that was the way of innkeepers. Jack had no doubt that within a day of his leaving Port Royal, there would be an even more fantastical version of the tale circulating around. "What happened to th'heart?"

"Mm?" Jack drained his tankard, and then watched as Evans refilled it without asking. "Oh. That. Well, m'lost it, didn't I. Traitor in me crew."

"An' that's a real pity," Evans nodded thoughtfully. "Though, I 'eard tales that the Flying Dutchman been seen lately protecting East India Trading Company ships from privateers o' other countries, but 'as been hangin' about the ships o' it's bigger competitors. Scarin' them off. An' it's been sinkin' other ships carryin' opium to Canton. An' it all started when Norrington came back."

"Did it now," Jack said thoughtfully, tapping at his cheek absently with grubby fingers. Beckett was obviously very amused with his new toy, but it didn't put Jack any closer to finding out why he wanted the compass.

"So I'm thinkin', yer crewmate, he must 'ave run afoul o' the Hunter, who brought it back 'ere. Must be why, seems, 'e's so friendly wi' Beckett, now," the innkeeper said slowly. "So the heart is in Port Royal. Is that why yer here, Jack?"

Jack had actually had no intention whatsoever of acquiring the heart, having been more preoccupied with the Beckett Question, Norrington and his newly fitted Pearl, but he smiled slowly, showing gold teeth. Admittedly, it wasn't that bad an idea, even if he hadn't been the one to come up with it. Although Davy Jones was no longer on his tail, just having possession of the heart could be useful.

Evans laughed, shaking his head slowly. "Yer right mad, ye are. 'e probably 'as it in his office, up in th'fort. Where Norrington's office was. There was a wee bit o' confusion when the Hunter came back an' got back to Commodorin', but 'e's taken another office, somewhere in th'building, it seems. So ye got the two biggest sharks in Jamaica guardin' yer prize." Another laugh. "M'look forward t' the tale o' how ye manage to lift it from under their noses. If ye spread it 'round Tortuga, no doubt it'd come here, sooner or later."

The rum helped. Jack now had another Plan.

Jack didn't know whether or not to be relieved or annoyed that he hadn't been recognized so far. Or it could be that all that celebrity business just tended to have a transient shelf life. It hurt his ego. Jack reassured himself, however, knowing that if he managed to pull off this caper, he'd be the toast of the street, again. And had to stop from cackling.

To be safe, in case he was searched, he rowed back to his Pearl, hidden offshore, and had Anamaria hide the real compass on her person at all times, also storing the new supplies in his cabin. She had given him a long-suffering look, and demanded to know what he was doing (replied with a wicked grin) and how long more it would take (a vague answer).

Jack then purchased some picklocks from an acquaintance of Evans (and miscellaneous other burglary equipment—it was far harder to rob a fellow thief, so he'd had to pay), a small knife that could be hidden up his sleeve, and a small, (and terribly expensive) ladies' dog with a runestone-studded collar, printed with the Governor's address. The dog would have been much harder to 'borrow', sadly enough, and he knew it would be missed, so Jack (grudgingly) paid up, making a mental note to come back and rob the cashier some other time. He'd even had to muzzle it when it wouldn't stop its yapping. It didn't hurt to be prepared, even if by Elizabeth's accounts she had gotten in and out of the office easily enough, in a dress, at that. But then, it was entirely possible that by now the guard would have been improved.

With the dog in the hands of some urchins who were eager to be paid for mischief, Jack clambered up, via a 'borrowed' grappling hook (people were so generous, leaving things here and there for the light-fingered), over the wall of the fort. The sentry was knocked unconscious, tied and gagged, and hidden behind a rain bucket. Now, by Elizabeth's description, Beckett's office had looked out toward the harbor...

Looking for a big office with a balcony, even at nightfall, was relatively easy. Jack watched the shadows until he was sure there was no guard, then he sidled in, keeping his ears alert for the beat that would show him where the heart was. For a brief moment, he thought that Beckett might have the heart on his person, but then there it was—the rhythmic thumps, from the desk drawer.

Jack picked the lock with the accomplished ease of a thorough scoundrel, and drew out the felt bag. Then blinked, when he looked up, to see a rather ascetic-looking man pointing a pistol at him, from over at the door. He hadn't heard anybody come in, nor seen anyone hiding.

Right. Norrington had mentioned something about an assassin-secretary. Jack swallowed, and raised his hands, smiling in as friendly a manner as he could manage. "So, this ain't th'bathroom?"

"Jack Sparrow," the door opened, and Jack heard the voice of one of the few people in the world whom he had cause to hate. Lord Beckett stepped in, and closed it behind him, hands behind his back, shaking his head. "Couldn't keep your hands out of trouble, could you?"

"Sorry mate. Character flaw," Jack said, with a wicked, cold smile. "'ow's the shoulder?"

"Aches something terrible at night," Beckett replied evenly, "Thanks to you, Sparrow, pain is now an old friend."

"Glad t'hear it. That ye be makin' friends, that is," Jack knew he shouldn't be trying to annoy a man who had all the cards, but he couldn't help it, and he loved bluffing.

"And I, you. Though I am surprised that you managed to charm the so-called Pirate Hunter into affirming that you had accepted the Letter of Marque," Beckett smiled, and Jack was reminded of his viper-quick intelligence. He knew he immediately had to divert the course of speculation, for Norrington's sake. "I rather thought you'd never accept it if it came from me."

"Fair was fair, th'heart fer th'paper. M' needed t'buy time fer repairs. Me Pearl an' I thank ye though," Jack said mockingly. "We would'a charged it t'ye if we could, but Tortuga don't accept East India Company credit."

Beckett's eyes were on the compass at Jack's hip. "I suppose you've realized that the heart wasn't what I was after, though it's been an interesting tool."

"That's why I'm 'ere t'parley," Jack said, reaching down slowly to remove the compass, and put it on the desk. "Th'compass."

"What terms?" Beckett was watching him from the large, painted map on the wall.

"Ye leave Jamaica, and I get out o' Port Royal wi'out interference," Jack said shortly. "Though...I be a wee bit curious as t'what other chest in th'sea ye be after, mate."

Beckett smirked, thinking this over. "All right, Sparrow. I agree. The compass, for my leaving Jamaica and you leaving Port Royal without any problems. I'd even satisfy your curiosity." He turned to look at the map, for a moment. "More than one chest out in the sea—I hadn't thought Miss Swann would take that literally. You see, Sparrow, after you gave me a wound with permanent effect in my shoulder, and all the medical problems associated with that, I have been wondering—what is the point of power, without health? Without longevity, youth?" Another pause, as his eyes wandered over the intricately painted map. "And then there's your compass, which would point me to my heart's desire."

And men thought he was mad. Jack smiled, as if he understood, and thought on the spur of the moment, saved by the Classical education that Norrington had realized he had and some unlikely tales he had heard. "So ye be talkin' 'bout the Garden o' th'Hesperides. Ye be lookin' fer th'Golden Apples. Didn't think ye 'ad it in yer, mate, lookin' fer that sort o' thing, an' all by yer ownsies—the treasure o' the Greek Gods, or the Norse 'uns, if ye prefer t'believe their version o' th'apples o' youth an' long life."

Beckett blinked, then frowned at him, struggling to follow the convoluted sentence when he had been in his own reverie. "What are you talking about, Sparrow?"

"Immortality, y'know? Eternal youth?" Jack fluttered his fingers as he swayed on his feet, doing his impression of a harmless, slightly drunken rogue to the hilt. "Since Sirens be real, m'don't see why th'apples wouldn't be. Though, not me taste, mate, immortality. A fast ship an' freedom, that be better."

"You're a small thief, Sparrow, with small dreams," Beckett said pityingly, obviously beginning to lose his patience. "But like an idiot savant, you do occasionally come up with such curiosities. Put the heart down, leave the compass, and get out the way you came. If you're caught, I'd make sure you escape."

Heads turned, as suddenly there were shouts from the Fort gate, the excited barking of a small dog and the screams of thwarted and frightened children. Jack took advantage, as it were, of the opportune moment by throwing the knife hidden in his sleeve. Not a great throw, but it served its purpose—burying itself in the knee of the assassin-secretary. In the confusion that followed, Jack ran for it, scaling back up to the wall, thanking any God that may be listening and Lady Luck in particular for bored sentries who were all clustered up at a corner watching the disturbance with the dog and the urchins over the parapet. No shots behind him, only Beckett's sharp tones in the room he'd left behind, and the snap of the compass lid. Jack moved as stealthily as he could to the grappling rope, and let himself down. Where he then melted back into the shadows of the streets, whistling to himself in satisfaction of a job well done.

Unfortunately, as much as Jack really wanted to walk in, slide into Norrington's lap, and kiss him silly, he knew that Beckett could find out he had been tricked at any moment, so it was best that the both of them were leaving.

He whistled. Norrington's head came up sharply, and green eyes widened in shock. "Jack!"

"Look what I've got," Jack said merrily, and grinned, pulling the felt bag with the heart out of his coat. The pulse was evident behind the thin cloth.

Pretty eyes were now round like saucers. "Oh, God. What have you done?"

Jack waved after making the bag disappear with graceful sleight-of-hand, intending to take a step back and bow mockingly, but instead overbalanced in his swagger and fell off the balcony. Thankfully, an unsuspecting shrubbery cushioned his fall, though there was a hiss of alarm from above, and he saw the wigged head of his Jamie looking anxiously over the rail. Jack waved, blew a kiss, and started to climb over the wall where he had come. There was a curse from upstairs, and Norrington disappeared, the sound of clattering boots suggesting that he was about to give chase.

Good, good. The Hunter had taken the bait. Jack made sure he stood in sight of the gate when Norrington emerged, fully dressed for battle, in that great big hat, Turner sword at his side, Jack's pistol in his belt, and the pirate made a great show of running away. Another curse behind him suggested that he was indeed being chased, and by a younger man with longer legs, but Jack had a lot of speed in him when he needed it, fleeing with pinwheeling arms all the way down to the jolly boat he had hidden at the shore. The Black Pearl waited for him, having been brought close by Anamaria at his orders, majestic in the moonlight and the mist over the sea.

"Jack. You're insane," Norrington said, breathless from the run as he caught up and grabbed Jack's wrists. "Give it back. Then you leave, as fast as you can."

"What 'bout no?" Jack asked innocently, and then he pouted when Norrington was unmoved. "T'aint right, this, greetin' yer lover wi' shouts an' demands, an' after all th'absence, too."

Norrington groaned, exasperated. "Why couldn't you just listen to instructions?"

"'Tis a mean trick ye pulled, tryin' t'manipulate old Jack wi' that letter, an' then resortin' t'bribery," Jack said playfully, wiggling his hips suggestively as he took a step into Norrington's personal space. "But I 'ad some debts t'settle."

"You're... you're insane," Norrington seemed to have run out of anything else to say, even letting Jack's wrists go, rubbing the bridge of his nose, heaving for breath. "What am I to do with you?" Another groan, and a glare out over the water at the waiting ship. "No suggestions from you accepted."

Jack thanked Lady Luck for feeding him an inordinate number of opportune moments tonight, as he took advantage of Norrington's distraction to knock the man unconscious with a well-placed punch. Shaking the pain out of his fists, he dragged his Jamie into the boat, where Anamaria, with a deep sigh, directed the crew to help bring up the added cargo.

And not a moment too soon—shouts from the beach informed him that a patrol of redcoats were just in time to see him load their unconscious commander aboard. For good measure, Jack blew them a kiss, as the Black Pearl weighed anchor and raced for open seas.

"Jack." Another growl. Jack had been ignoring his Jamie for a short while since he had regained consciousness, instead charting their next course on the map. He refused to talk to an angry-mad Jamie, and could wait for a more reasonable, calm one. "Let me go, Jack."

"M'sorry that I can't be doin' that, Jamie-luv," Jack finally said, placing the instruments down on the heavy desk that had once occupied the captain's cabin of the ship Tia. "'Cos then ye'd be makin' a right nuisance o' yerself, wantin' t'go back to Port Royal, an' terrorisin' th'new crew, no doubt."

"Why in the name of all that is holy, did you have to... to... steal that from Beckett, and kidnap me from Port Royal?"

"Debts t'be settled, mate," Jack smiled, sidling closer, watching as Norrington forgot to breathe momentarily. "From him t'me, an' from me t'ye."

"You don't owe me anything," Norrington's voice seemed a little higher now in pitch, and he hissed when Jack straddled his lap, resting elbows on the new, brocade coat, smudging the white breeches. "Jack. Stop this, Jack."

Further protests were muffled as Jack proceeded to, as he previously had intended to do, sit on Norrington's lap and kiss the man silly. The response was at first cool, but melted quickly into sweet, desperate passion, the longer frame all but trembling under him. So he'd been missed quite terribly, after all. He wriggled experimentally on Norrington's lap, and smiled into the next kiss. Definitely very missed.

"Change anythin'?" Jack queried, when he pulled back, admiring the flushed cheeks and the heavy panting. As an afterthought, he removed his own tricorn hat, and placed it on the table behind him.

Green eyes, however, still flashed with ire, though were now also clouded with lust. With need. "No. I demand you put me back at Port Royal."

"Sorry, mate, I stole ye fair an' square," Jack informed him, as he pushed Norrington's coat partially off, working with the cravat. "Finders keepers."

"That is an... oh God, Jack... inappropriate analogy, and you know it." A wild cast to the eyes now, as Jack finally managed to peel away all the layers of Naval finery to reveal a bare chest. More ineffective yanks at the restraints.

"Too many fancy words, mate," Jack got off his Jamie's lap to half-sprawl into it, kneeling at the side of the chair, and pressed his cheek over Norrington's heart for a moment, breathing in the scent of soap that overlapped the musk of his skin, then put his tongue to work. From the gasping moans uttered somewhere above his head, he could tell that his Jamie's body, at least, wasn't objecting, although the man kept making determined attempts to express his refusal to engage in debauchery.

"Jack, I won't do this. I can't. You don't know what it's like... oh God... back at Port Royal. Beckett is a tyrant, and he... Jack, please... has Governor Swann under some sort of hold. He's... Jack, are you listening?"

"M'all ears," Jack's reply was muffled as he nuzzled the dip into the navel, now on his knees between Norrington's legs, his fingers stroking the very obvious bulge, making the other man suck in his breath sharply, and choke. "Ye were sayin' that Beckett was bein' his usual charmin' self, an' 'e in effect now rules Port Royal, hmm? An' there be much sufferin' o' th'common folk, an' killin' on th'street? Put Elizabeth's old man in th'locker?"

"No," Norrington made a game effort of concentration despite the kisses being pressed to his clothed arousal, in those ridiculously tight Navy breeches. "No, that's not it."

"Since old Jack took a look 'round Port Royal, an' asked a few questions, seems the town is actually doin' better, Governor Swann is still in residence, an' 'cept fer th'power imbalance now between th' East India Tradin' Company and yer Navy, everythin's normal. Mebbe even better." Jack squeezed. Norrington arched against the chair with what was definitely a whine, booted toes pushing into the deck at either side. "Could be that ye found, what wi' all th'pirates now runnin' scared out o' Jamaica, that there was nowt that really needed yer attention, 'cept fer lots o' paper."

"That's not it, either, damnit!" Norrington managed to say, caught between struggling and pushing into Jack's grasp.

"Or ye didn't want yer da's company based so close t'home, after ye spent so long tryin' t'escape it?" Jack had managed to unlace the breeches, and he purred at the sight of the freed, flushed shaft, unable to help licking his lips. Norrington bit out a moan, edged in desperation, trying and failing to fix his gaze on the rosewood desk, the mahogany shelves, the cabin door, anywhere but Jack's expression of salacious hunger.

"N-no, that's... Jack, you're... distracting..." the rest of the protest was lost in a sweet cry as Jack swallowed him, hands keeping a hold of bucking hips. Boots kicked at the deck. Moans, the wounded-animal sounds, a pulse, and then a hoarse, "Jack." White heat in his throat. Jack lapped the shaft clean, then fingers, swiping at his chin. He rested his cheek on one thigh, beaded braids scattering over taut white cloth. And smirked upwards, ignoring his own visible need in the face of the opportunity to gloat. Norrington growled. "Let me go. Now."

"'Tis still 'no', mate," Jack sat back on his heels, head against the edge of the rosewood table, silver inlay a bright contrast against dark dreadlocks. "Go on."

"Some of what you said is true, but I also wished to keep an eye on his use of the heart," Norrington snapped, tried beyond his patience, struggling most prettily with the bonds, but unable to look threatening in his state of undress. "And find a way to keep his attention off you until you were out of Jamaica. He doesn't want the heart, Jack. He wants your compass. That Letter of Marque isn't worth the paper it's printed on, now. Especially since you just stole from him and kidnapped me."

"I knows that," Jack said, with his irrepressible grin. "Didn't want it anyway, 'ad to find an impressive enough way t'get out o' it. An' now I 'ave ship, you, an' freedom."

"Unwillingly, as a captive," Norrington snarled, jerking at the ropes, refusing to acknowledge that he had just, at least for this round, been conclusively beaten by Jack Sparrow.

"Details, details."

Rather sulkily (Jack thought), Norrington had finally agreed to behave. Jack had played his other card—Will and 'Lizabeth likely at this moment needed him a lot more than people in Port Royal, now that his Jamie already had a sufficient gander at the situation down there, as it were. Governor Swann had been a wreck over the loss of his daughter, Norrington said, and it was likely that to remove the political foothold that Beckett had at the moment in this corner of Jamaica, so close to Kingston, it was imperative to get the couple back safe and sound. Before Beckett used the proximity of Port Royal and his effective control of it to gain mastery over both Port Royal and Kingston, and hence, trade in Jamaica.

Jack frankly didn't care all that much about that, and he wasn't sure why Norrington did, but he would have agreed to just about anything that could have made the other man stop his demands that they deliver him back to Port Royal, or any attempts to escape. And he definitely would have agreed to (likely) anything that meant that he could kiss his Jamie silly without having to tie him to a chair. It had, after all, only seemed fitting that Norrington be included in his current madcap adventure towards the Worlds' End. The Pearl had rather wholeheartedly agreed.

So there was a compromise. Norrington would behave, and help, up until Will and Elizabeth were safe and sound back at Port Royal. He would be returned there with them, if he wanted, after everything. Unfortunately, at the moment, any attempts to insinuate mention of that letter, and the declaration of love, were quickly and brutally shot down with cutting wit. Jack resigned himself to giving it some time, first.

Norrington had agreed to shed wig (which now sat on Jack's desk), but not hat, due to the hot sun, but consequently also refused to remove his coat (odd, that). Jack could tell the crew was feeling nervous, watching him walk around the deck, but Anamaria had been quick to silence any muttered complaints. Jack himself stood at the helm, humming in tune to the ship (though tuneless to anybody else not privy to her song), swaying and occasionally checking his compass. It wheeled, but now, occasionally pointed at Norrington.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Jack watched as the other man stalked up to him (still rather huffy from being outmaneuvered—a poor loser, his Jamie). "Where to, Sparrow?"

It was Sparrow, and not Jack, at the moment, at least when they were outside his cabin. Either Norrington was attempting to get his own back in this rather mundane manner, or he was still leery of openly proclaiming their relationship in front of the rest of the crew. Despite, heh, being very vocal previously while being pleasured. Possibly the former, then. Jack decided that two could play at that game, and ignored him, looking over to where Anamaria was scaling the rigging with the grace and surefootedness of a cat.

Finally, "Captain." A pause, then much more softly, and with far more ill-grace, "Jack."

Jack turned his most winning smile on the scowling Commodore, and flailed his hands vaguely eastward. "We be payin' another visit to Tia, Norrington. Since I don't want th'heart, an' all, an' she be best placed t'take care o' it."

Norrington looked startled, and even forgot to scowl. "What? I thought you'd be all for using it. To delay pursuit from the Navy, from Beckett."

"Oh? An' ye think old Jack will 'appily, like Beckett, sink all manner o' ships that be inconveniencin' him, from far away, an' not think a whit 'bout all th'lives wot be blown t'bits or drown in th'doin' o' that? When me Pearl be th'fastest ship on th'water, an' no other can catch her? All I ever wanted from th'damned thing was t'call 'im off me tail." He may indeed be a small thief, with small dreams, but he was no monster.

"It would delay pursuit," Norrington said slowly, but a smile was twitching at his lips. Affectionate. Tender. "Perhaps even curtail it. And maybe even help us, wherever we're going."

"T'aint nothin' Captain Jack Sparrow 'as found that wit an' 'is Pearl couldn'a pull 'im out of," Jack smirked, feeling his ship purr under his hand in agreement. "The heart be safer wi' Tia, an' that's the end o' it. In case anybody 'ere suddenly 'as th'powerful temptation t'use it to nefarious ends, savvy." He had a sudden mental image of a burning mansion in Kingston, swarming with fish-men-things, and Anamaria laughing evilly at the gate. Perhaps not a nefarious end, that, but Jack had always abhorred the (unnecessary) loss of life, profit or not. Besides, Anamaria already, sometimes, scared the bejeezus out of him. No need to arm her with effective Naval control of the sea.

"I savvy, Jack," Norrington murmured, thoughtfully. Then, wryly, "You've surprised me again, I'm afraid. I can't take too much of this, you know."

"Keeps ye on yer toes, love," Jack waggled a finger at him, and coaxed his Pearl to greater speed.

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