A Fish Tale

Chapter 1

by

Oasis Herself

Port Royal had escaped the worst of the hurricane, but still, it had been a very long three days.

"It could have been worse," Norrington thought, stepping around the remains of what had once been one of the Navy's storage buildings. "At least we had some warning."

The locals were damned near uncanny when it came to being able to smell the storms coming. Or at least that's what they claimed. Norrington had been inclined to agree with them, and despite the skepticism of his officers, he had ordered all the ships moved to the lee side of the island.

It had turned out to be a fortunate decision. The Dauntless, to his great relief, came through the storm, bruised but intact.

The winds had been spectacular, howling in off the sea like some great wounded beast and taking out all of the docks in the harbor and much of the town. Even his own private quarters, sheltered in the hills above the town, had received some minor damage. It would be long in the rebuilding. "Worries for the morrow," he told himself firmly. His only concern now was for food and his bed.

As he made his way, the last thing he expected and the least thing he wanted was the sudden appearance of Jack Sparrow from an alleyway.

He came to an abrupt stop and studied the pirate for several moments before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing in resignation. He really was just too damned tired for this.

"Sparrow," he muttered in disgust. "Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse."

"Now that's not very nice, Commodore."

Looking up, he found Sparrow leaning against the stone wall of the alleyway, looking for all the world as if he had every right to be there. Norrington straightened to his full height and, clasping his hands behind him, backtracked to face the pirate. Closer now, he could see that the casualness of the slouch was belied by the wary alertness in the dark eyes.

"Explain to me, pirate," he demanded, "what could possibly have compelled you to return to the place where you were very nearly hanged on your last visit?"

Jack shrugged and grinned wide. "We had to hole up somewhere, Commodore. My Pearl's fast, but even she couldn't outrun that storm."

Norrington weighed his options. He could arrest the man. He was, after all a pirate. Or, he could pretend he hadn't seen him and just go home to bed.

His bed won.

Norrington turned away, dismissing him with a terse, "The storm's over, Sparrow." And he began to make his way towards home again.

Sparrow followed along behind him. "Right. You're absolutely right. The storm's over, and quite a blow it was, eh mate? Why, we just barely made harbor. Had to scurry to get cozied in before it hit."

Norrington gritted his teeth and kept walking. Sparrow caught up to his side and placed a companionable hand on his shoulder.

"Aye. I reckon that's what did it," he mused. "The storm. Washed it right up outa the sea like it were so much flotsam and jetsam."

Norrington pointedly glared at the hand on his shoulder. Sparrow didn't notice.

"Now, I've seen my share of sea creatures, Commodore, but this..."

Norrington brushed the hand from his shoulder and increased his stride.

Jack's words faltered and he studied the Commodore. "I don't feel I have yer full attention here Commodore," he complained, petulantly.

Norrington spun on his heels to confront him. "Sparrow, for God's sake...what do you want?"

"I've found something I think you need to see."

"The only thing I could possibly want to see is your backside as you leave."

"Ah... but Commodore, what if I've found something so noteworthy on your very own shore, that I'd risk life and limb...or neck, as it were, to bring it to your attention?
What say you to that, eh?" Jack leaned close, tapping his fingers lightly against Norrington's chest. "Surely it should at least warrant some curiosity... right?"

"This had better be important, Sparrow."

Norrington looked down upon the rocky shore curiously, finally spotting the shape Sparrow was pointing out. A large fish lay on the beach at the water's edge, its tail rolling lazily in the shallows with the movement of the tide.

"A dolphin," Norrington thought to himself, "washed up from the storm." Frowning then, he turned to the pirate in exasperation. "It's a fish, Sparrow and hardly an uncommon occurrence along the beach."

"Have a closer look, Commodore," Sparrow whispered, taking his arm and drawing him down to the shore.

It wasn't until he was finally standing beside the creature that his brain registered what he was actually seeing. It was a fish of sorts... but like no fish Norrington had ever seen. The tail was as he would expect, scale-covered and silver, but dulled now in death. And there, the resemblance ended. The arse (and it was clearly that) was scale-covered, but Norrington could see that the scales were smaller here, finer, and he could see where the scales faded into a softer white along the crease of the buttocks... much like the belly of a fish.

The scales covered the hips and continued up the center of the back where they supported a small but unmistakable dorsal fin. The rest of it—the shoulders, arms and head—were human. A mass of long dark hair, lank and tangled with seaweed, obscured the face. .

"A mermaid," Norrington breathed in stunned disbelief.

"Aye. Let's turn her over, mate. I want to see her face."

"Should we touch it?" Norrington asked.

Sparrow looked up at him. "She's dead, Commodore. I don't think there's much of a threat now."

They worked together to flip the animal and than stood silently for some moments as they studied it.

"Well," said Sparrow finally. "It's..." he waved a hand in the creature's direction.

"Indeed," answered Norrington.

The torso was human, bare and as normal looking as any other, as was the face. What looked like twin red gashes ran along each side of the neck. The scales continued across the arch of the hips, then curled downward to a softer skin on the lower belly. Beneath that, at the curve where skin again met scale, sat very prominent male genitals.

"Well, he's a beauty, eh mate?" Sparrow asked, squatting down on his haunches to openly admire the creature.

Norrington knelt in the sand opposite him and touched careful fingers to the red gashes on the side of its neck. "These aren't wounds, Sparrow; do you suppose they're gills?"

"I'd reckon they must be," Jack answered, running his hands over the torso. When he encountered a wet slickness beneath its arm, he lifted his fingers to find them bloody. "Here, Commodore," he said, showing his fingers. "Here's where he took the mortal blow."

Norrington leaned forward and examined the wound carefully. "I think you're right. Dashed against the rocks, from the look of it." He lifted his own blood-tipped fingers and tilted them to catch the moonlight, studying the blood curiously. "It appears that he bleeds like a man," he said finally, wiping his fingers clean in the sand.

"And look here, Commodore."

Norrington looked up, then quickly away in embarrassment. "Sparrow, for God's sake, must you molest the creature in death?"

"He's got a pocket."

"Sparrow!"

"I'm serious, Commodore. He's got a pocket and his privities fit right inside it."

Despite himself, Norrington was fascinated and hunkered down for a better look. "What do you think it's for?"

"Not sure mate," Jack replied thoughtfully. "I've seen female creatures with pouches like this for carrying their young, but he's no need for that."

"Perhaps for modesty's sake," Norrington murmured.

"Protection more likely," Sparrow answered, straightening up. "So then, the next order o' business is—what do we do with him?"

"With this heat I dare say the body will be impossible to preserve long enough to get it back to England for study." He looked up to find Sparrow scowling at him. "What?" he demanded.

Jack sat back on his haunches, still scowling and reached for one of the creature's lifeless hands. He took its measure against his own hand and then gently traced the thumb and each of the fingers in turn before laying it carefully back down on the sand. Then he lifted his own hand, turning it this way and that and finally touched thumb to each finger... thumb to index then to middle and ring and pinkie... and back again, pinkie to index. Back and forth and back and forth like he was drumming his fingers against his own thumb.

Norrington watched curiously for several moments.

"Mr. Sparrow?" He finally prodded.

The hand stilled and Jack swiveled his head sharply to look at him.

"That's Captain Sparrow, mate," he said, then slapped his knees and stood. "Right then. Seems only fitting that we return him to the sea."

"Really Sparrow," Norrington answered, scrambling to his feet, "I hardly think it matters what we do with the body. It's not as if there is a Christian soul to it. Why... look at it; it's some kind of animal."

"Bollocks," Sparrow answered, shortly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's got hands, Commodore." Jack scuffed the toe of his boot in the sand and pulled his face into a pout. "Just don't seem right is all." He shrugged.

Norrington sighed heavily and scrubbed tiredly at his face. "You seriously mean for me to help you take a fish—a dead fish, I might add—out onto the ocean, in the middle of the night, for a sea burial."

Jack brightened immediately. "I knew you'd come round, Commodore! Kind of ye to offer." He turned and headed off down the beach. "It so happens I noticed a small boat just down here in the sand. Likely tossed up in the storm. Shouldn't be too much trouble for a coupla strong lads like ourselves to get it back here, eh mate?"

"Now see here, Sparrow..."

"Scurry now," Jack called over his shoulder, "before the moon sets."

"Steady on, Sparrow. We've almost cleared the harbor."

It was in that deepened darkness they heard the cry.

It was an oddly mournful sound, lower in pitch but not unlike the hiss of water slapping water as breakers folded in on themselves, and both men heard it at the same moment. Jack stilled the oars and tipped his head, listening carefully.

"I've heard that cry before," he whispered softly.

"As have I," Norrington answered, scanning the waves. "I've always thought it to be some sort of night bird." It was difficult to see until the cloud completed its path across the moon, but finally... "There," he said, pointing. "Fins, Sparrow. Can you make out the fins?"

"Aye, and headed this way."

They surfaced together a small distance from the boat; eight of them and mostly males, though two of them were clearly female. They kept their distance warily for a time before cautiously approaching.

One of the males held back, watching, his distress clear in the agitation of the water around him and the rapid fluttering of his gills.

As they approached, Sparrow and Norrington gently lifted the creature and handed the body down to them and they returned with it to the waiting male.

He met them halfway; gathered the body close to himself and lifting his face, keened his anguish to the night sky as the rest of the pod encircled him... petting and stroking and offering what comfort was theirs to give.

They stayed like that for some time as he had cried out his grief and then as if to some unheard signal, they simply sank slowly beneath the waves.

But one of the creatures remained; an old one, gray and grizzled. He studied Sparrow and Norrington silently before swimming closer to the boat and reaching up to grasp Norrington's hand.

"His hand is warm," Norrington thought, but before he could speak, the creature gave his hand a quick squeeze, and slipped beneath the water to join his brethren.

They drifted in silence for a while and Norrington could feel Jack watching him as he gazed out across the sea, stricken. Shaking himself finally he looked over to Jack. "I... I don't quite know what to say."

Jack reached across the boat and clasped his shoulder. "Best make our way back to shore then."

When they finally stood again on the beach, Norrington held his hand out. "Jack," he said quietly. Jack looked at the hand suspiciously and clutched his own to his chest. "My name is James," Norrington told him.

Grinning, Jack grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously. "James," he said. "A fine name, James."

"Off with you now, you scallywag," James said, pulling away and adjusting the cuffs of his coat, "and no more adventures for awhile, if you please."

Jack touched the brim of his hat in a short salute, and with a quick wink, turned to saunter up the beach, humming softly under his breath.

James sat for a while in the sand, watching the sea, until weariness drove him finally to his own home and bed.

Beside him, Gibbs sighed loudly. "I told ya 'twas mortal bad luck to touch one of the merfolk, Jack!"

Jack turned back to face himself in the mirror. "We'll be making a change in bearings, Mr. Gibbs."

"What's on yer mind Jack?"

"Make for Port Royal. I think we best see how Commodore Norrington's faring."

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