Guardian Angel 12

Conversations with Jack Sparrow

by

Manic Intent

The guests had somehow managed to step up to the occasion—Jack saw, later at the reception, Lady Katherine resplendent in a gem-encrusted cream dress that likely would have paid for extensive refitting of the Black Pearl several times over. In contrast, the Earl was immaculate in his tailored clothes, minimally embroidered, as if to frame or reflect his sister's splendor.

Jack retired with Gibbs, Marty and Cotton at the blacksmith to drink and reminisce when the soiree was well under way, and make plans, leaving the Turners and Norrington to fend for themselves. He supposed that it was rather odd to do so, given that planning for the event had taken up so much of his recent afterlife, but not only did it seem a little awkward, in the absence of his co-conspirator, the soiree was, after all, really for Norrington. To be hopefully enjoyed without the inevitable glances in his direction. Besides, the Hell's Emerald, secreted somewhere in Norrington's clothing, made him uncomfortable.

"Th'lass said she was going t'announce that she an' young Will be takin' a little trip off t'England, on a ship cap'n'd by me," Gibbs said, poking himself in the chest and taking another deep draught of the free rum that the Turners had provided. The whelps had anticipated that the pirates would feel uncomfortable surrounded by the trappings of high society, and had left a remarkable amount of rum and portions of cake, finger foods and various edibles in the blacksmith. They were learning.

"Aye?" Jack was busy helping himself to something that looked oddly yellow but which tasted of prawn.

"Pieces o' eight!" the parrot squawked, from where it was perched up on the sturdy beams.

"Aye, an' 'Lizabeth's father agreed, if a little reluctantly," Gibbs said dryly. "She didn't exactly explain t'him what she was goin' t'do, but I think he gets th'idea that she be off on another 'madcap adventure', think he said."

"He bends t'her will a little too easy," Jack said absently, trying out some weird spirally flaky pastry thing that tasted of apple. Hm. On the whole, he rather preferred the slightly spicy beef concoction best. He ate another, then washed it down with rum. Wine was for the deprived.

"That way we can all be headed t'look fer this lost lass," Gibbs nodded. "We'd set off in a sloop, head t'Tortuga, an' there we'd raise yer ship. Seein' as it may be a hassle t'do any repairs over here, what wi' all th'forms that'd have t'be filled in. After that... yer th'Cap'n."

"We go see Tia," Jack nodded. "Don't know what t'give her."

"What about a feather?" Marty asked, with a sidelong glance at Jack's folded wings. He grinned. "An angel's feather. Sure that be worth somethin'."

Jack made a face. "M'sure that's goin' t'hurt, so, how 'bout 'no'."

"Come on, Jack," Gibbs grinned, "Can ye see o' any other way yer goin' t'top that gift o' an undead monkey?"

"Aye, ye dug yerself into a hole wi' that one, Cap'n."

"Pieces o' eight!"

"I don't have t'top me gifts each time," Jack growled. "Mebbe I just steal th'Commodore's coat. Sure she'd like that. Nice material. Pretty. An' he has several."

"Not magical, an' won't even fit her," Gibbs said dismissively. "Ye know what she likes. Strange little gewgaws. Ye used t'spend ages just lookin' fer somethin' that'd catch her eye."

"The lot o' ye just want t'see me pull out one o' th'feathers."

"Pieces o' eight!"

"We'd help, if ye need," Marty said, with an evil glint. "Just borrow that Hell's Emerald, aye?"

"It'd be swift an' relatively painless," Gibbs agreed. Jack edged away, up against the anvil.

"None o' ye are comin' anywhere near me wings!"

"Aye. I came back t'tell ye. We'd be settin' sail tomorrow."

"How's she?" Norrington sat at his desk—it looked as though he had been previously going through correspondence. He didn't look up, but Jack could feel the palpable sense of hurt, from being more or less ignored for weeks, with only infrequent visits. The Pearl was the possessive sort, even if she rather liked the Commodore, and she was a little leery of prolonged and regular absences, so soon after yet another separation from her chosen Captain.

"Ready," Jack shrugged, and perched on a corner of the desk, peering upside-down at correspondence—which was quickly and pointedly shuffled neatly, covered. "How's Lady Katherine an' her brother?"

"Requesting my presence in Montserrat through carefully worded replies in excessively perfumed letters," Norrington said dryly. "The mother, apparently, must approve."

Jack grinned. "Don't think there'd be a problem there, James. What 'bout yer side o' th'family?"

"I wrote letters to London," Norrington shrugged. "I think my parents may plan a trip to Jamaica, when they receive it, as much as Father will complain excessively about the boredom of a long voyage." A shudder. "Not to mention that the little act may fool my mother, but I have doubts about my father. I'm not looking forward to the... interview, though of course the twins believe themselves up to the challenge."

"Beckett?"

"Something very curious happened at the East India Company headquarters a day after your last visit. There was a fire, and a death of some man whose last known occupation was a locksmith over at Kingston. Very localized fire—little damage to the building in total—but it'd been so hot that much of the deceased... well, melted." Norrington rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as if trying to suppress a bad memory. "Naturally, the twins failed to mention that opening the lock without the real key is... magically... bad for one's health. And Beckett's been recalled to London." This last got a smirk.

"Oh?"

"Turns out there's something very pressing that he has to do there, perhaps permanently," Norrington picked at the edges of his stack of papers. "Or so Victor said. Very smugly, I might add, so I suppose there's something else, probably highly unethical, which they've decided not to tell me. I gather they're already planning to somehow relieve him of the book, and perhaps of the little issue of the East India Company offices over here at Port Royal. A summer retreat, I take it."

"Happy endin' fer ye," Jack said, relieved. He didn't want to leave business in Port Royal unfinished while he bent his attention to his latest endeavor.

"No, Jack. It isn't." Norrington finally looked up at him. Anguish, longing, frustration. "You're not really in it."

"I can visit," Jack picked up an aristocratic hand and turned it, palm up, tracing the curve of the life-line. "An' ye have a job. It'd work out."

"Afterwards?"

"Seems ye don't know anythin' 'bout bein' a pirate, despite havin' enjoyed some illustrious company o' th'piratical sort," Jack said with a quick grin that failed to seem mischievous. "Ye shouldn't think too much o' what will be, but what is, right now."

"I'd worry."

"Ye can come."

"Don't ask me to."

"I ain't. I'm askin' ye t'trust me t'come back."

"And after?"

"Don't ask me 'bout after. Don't know."

"Jack."

"James. I've been thinkin'." Jack exhaled. "This idea o' private heavens."

"Yes?"

"I'm already in mine," Jack said, with a faint half-smile, and poked Norrington's nose. "There's ye, there's th'Pearl, th'whelps are safe, an' there's th'wide open sea, fer me t'match wits an' speed against any in me way. I have somethin' t'do t'pass time. An' I have th'ability t'visit ye whenever I want."

Norrington frowned, as he thought this over. "It seems very... unlikely. And unusual. And I'd rather thought that the whole concept of Heaven was that it was a separate... reality, from Earth."

"Aye, well, I doubt t'would be much o' a Heaven fer me, wi'out those aforementioned little details."

Dryly. "Then again, there's really nothing... common, about you. So I suppose that if you were to get a private Heaven, there would be nothing regular about that, either."

"Ye take me point, then."

"It still seems illogical... but I do." Irritably. "Though I can't say I'm pleased at the level of attention."

"It'd get better, once th'Pearl is out at sea again."

"I'm beginning to feel... unappreciated. Seeing as you're meant to be an... apology from the powers that be."

"Aye, s'pose I could remedy that. Right now."

A snort. "Really."

"Tell me that again later."

"Better. But still..."

"Unsatisfied? Why, James. Didn't see ye for th'insatiable sort. Or am I beginnin' t'slip now?"

"... I didn't mean it that way."

"Again?"

"No. No. I have work. Which means. I need to wake up. Tomorrow. Jack."

"Ye started it, what wi' all th'talk o' feelin' unappreciated."

"... Jack!"

"Doesn't the World's End usually haunt the Pacific?"

"Seems they're headed back t'the Land o' th'Risin' Sun. Tia doesn't know why."

"Who is this Tia again?"

"Why, jealous, luv?"

"..."

"Don't need t'sulk, mate. She's a voodoo practitioner. Lots o' interestin' little items 'bout her place, an' she knows lots o' things. Have t'be paid to part wi' anythin', though. Last time, I traded that stupid monkey."

"What did you trade this time?"

"I was goin' t'give her yer spare coat, but turns out she didn't like it."

"... so that's where it went!"

"She asked fer one o' me feathers."

"Did it hurt?"

"Not much."

"Then why so... irritable?"

"I hate it when other people guess things right 'fore meself."

"'Tis a book. Illustrated."

"... I know that. Good Lord, Jack, I'm surprised the woodcuts used in the printing of this... this... this thing didn't spontaneously combust in the making!"

"Sadly enough nobody's translated it into English, yet, but this copy has some notes in English 'round th'back."

"And where did you acquire this... this..."

"Bombay, mate. Thought ye'd like some souvenirs from our little trip 'round th'world, lookin' fer ways t'reacquire lost angels."

"... I don't want souvenirs, if this is your idea of them."

"'Tis an ancient, standard book o' love in Sanskrit literature, mate."

"That may be so, but... good Lord. Take it back."

"... no. 'Sides, thought ye'd be curious t'try some o' those."

"I'm not sure some of these are even athletically possible, let alone between men. How many pictures are... I mean, how many..."

"Think there're sixty-four."

"Good Lord."

"I like that one."

"... Hell no. Jack. If you leave this... this book with me, I'm burning it."

"But getting a copy was bloody troublesome, luv!"

"And then sweeping the ashes into the sea."

"... fine. I keep it, but we get t'try some o' th'stuff I marked out."

"... why should I agree to that?"

"Seein' as yer rejectin' a gift that I spent a while tryin' to acquire, luv. Soothin' hurt feelings, an' all that."

"... you can't be upset over this."

"Mebbe I am."

"... Fine."

"Great! That one."

"... no."

"Aww, c'mon. Ye can even top."

"... no."

"It's a bit late to ask me this now, isn't it? Seeing as it's been... months?"

"Better late than never, mate."

"They had their suspicions, given how the Turners took off after their wedding, but their incursions into the politics of London seem to be distracting them suitably. And they have their book back, so I suppose they aren't really that interested any longer in a mythical heart. What happened to the heart, anyway?"

"Ain't it a little late t'be askin' me?"

"Like you said, better late than never."

"Stabbed. Very interestin' vortex o' magic. Some small islands over near Barbados will never be th'same again. Got Bootstrap—that's Will's da'—back, as well, an' human, though he has a tendency t'walk a wee bit funny now an' walk into doors. Currently he's one o' th'crew again."

"Ah. So that's one supernatural pirate threat peacefully ended."

"One fer th'books, that. Speakin' o' books, did ye ever peek into th'twin's?"

"I gave them the key to the box, didn't I?"

"Sure that if ye asked them fer it, they'd give it t'ye."

"No, I didn't look. I'm not sure I want to know."

"Are ye sure yer sane, mate? I'll have looked. Anybody wi' a healthy curiosity would'a looked."

"I'm not sure that Lady Katherine would have proposed marriage to you, Jack. Let alone entrust you with a book of dangerous secrets."

"Ye'd never know. M'quite popular wi' th'ladies."

"During my sojourn in Tortuga, I overheard much evidence to the contrary. Violent evidence."

"Aye, well, ye have t'be popular wi' th'ladies t'get so much... feelin'. Bad or no. Say, mate, what were ye doin' pickin' up information 'bout me habits over at Tortuga, anyway?"

"... I drank in the taverns. Mere eavesdropping."

"Right..."

"However I know your ego would dictate the contrary."

"'Course."

"... you even admit it."

"Nothin' wrong wi' not bein' modest."

"I do trust you aren't extending your... your track record with women."

"'Course not. Don't need to. Whenever I'm in th'need o' some fun I just come back here."

"..."

"Somehow I knew that'd make ye sulk."

"It's not a laughing matter. You're suggesting that you only visit whenever..."

"Ye know, for someone so pretty an' engaged t'marry into rarefied society ye have really low self-esteem, James."

"Does that bother you?"

"The low self-esteem? No. Cute. Marryin'? A little, but I guess she's as good as any. Didn't see why ye still had t'go along wi' it though, wi' Beckett out o' th'way."

"It would be... rude, to say the least, not to, after they've extended me so much trust."

"... aye."

"Possessive?"

"Ye have no right t'smirk like that after sulkin' over me 'track record', mate. 'Sides, 'tis different, here. Ye have t'sleep wi' her sometime."

"Jack, you know that it's only because..."

"Aye, I know. An' m'sure I'd be glad t'watch over any wee James Norringtons. Children change a man, though."

"If you're thinking that I'd..."

"Could be. Just thinkin', could be."

"I won't."

"We'll see. Weddin' in half a year, aye?"

"Just to go through the motions of engagement. I may be accompanying them to North Carolina next month."

"Funny place fer a romantic holiday, mate. Pirate town."

"Quite a few of the members of 'rarefied society' like to... slum, I suppose it's called. They think it'd be so very exciting."

"Ye mean they're there t'scope out black markets, an' avenues o' illicit profit."

"That's why I insisted on going with them."

"Yer not goin' t'be lettin' them have any fun?"

"Fun only in moderate, sane amounts."

"Babysitter."

"Says the person accompanying the Turners on a mad trip across the world. How's lamppost duty, Jack?"

"Now that's just low, mate."

"Why?"

"... Katherine found it."

"An' what she be doin', pokin' 'bout yer place?"

"Victor wanted to share some very expensive cognac that he acquired off a trader from London, and while we were talking in the parlor she slipped away to explore. I never thought she'd... enter my... my... well. And wherever did a lady of her breeding learn how to pick locks?"

"So... where's th'book now?"

"They insisted on keeping it."

"Don't need to look so mortified, luv. Sure they're more experienced wi' th'sort o' thing than ye are."

"... that's not the point."

"Was she scandalized?"

"No, they both thought it was incredibly funny. And 'educational', I believe they said it was."

"Ah, there ye go."

"..."

"Somethin' else?"

"... they're going to get it translated."

"..."

"This is no cause for hilarity, Jack. It's all your damned fault."

"Th'book's not all 'bout sex, James. 'Tis also a treatise on love, an' relationships. Very scholarly."

"... I bet."

"Should borrow th'translation from them, ye should."

"... no."

"It'd be very edifyin'."

"...no."

"Accomplished the mission?"

"Aye, how'd ye guess? We're still over 'round Cathay."

"Governor Swann's been far less accident prone lately."

"Aye, she's back. 'Tis a tale o' valor, chivalry, swordfightin', cannons an' all that. Very interestin'. Lots o' treasure. Want t'hear?"

"I'll get the story off the Turners when they return."

"... yer no fun at all, mate."

"So what now, Jack?"

"I'd be droppin' off th'Turners over at Port Royal, an' headin' off t'Tortuga t'pick up some crew."

"Nothing from Heaven?"

"That's th'rub, James. See, after we rescued th'lass, that Archangel Barachiel turned up on deck. Seems due to certain unethical methods used that were absolutely not me fault or suggestion, we have t'help them retrieve some item or other somewhere, no location given."

"Unethical methods."

"Definitely nothin' that was me fault."

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant... don't you feel that this... errand running for Heaven is a little... suspicious?"

"Meanin' that they seem t'be findin' all sorts o' things fer old Jack t'do?"

"Yes."

"S'pose it's damage control, rather than lettin' an angel do whatever he likes on Earth, aye? An' I might be a wee bored otherwise, wi' nothin' t'do."

"Private heavens, Jack?"

"Like ye said."

"Been wantin' t'do that fer ages, luv. An' 'sides, on th'paperwork ye can see 'tis th'property o' Mr an' Mrs Turner."

"... I confess to being a little surprised when I saw that."

"T'was worth it t'see yer expression, luv. Ship's open to yer inspection."

"My inspection, or the Navy's?"

"Yers, o' course. An' I'd be expectin' ye t'be doin' some very thorough inspectin' o' th'Cap'n's cabin, p'haps tonight."

"..."

"Seein' as ye'd need t'properly certify some things 'fore me an me Pearl go off t'look fer th'fragment o' th'Word, or whatever Barachiel called it."

"Certify."

"Properly."

"Like?"

"Th'health o' th'Cap'n o' me fine ship, o' course."

"... right. And this... certification can't be done in my chambers?"

"Me cabin is far more comfortable than yer chambers."

"Only if you swear that you won't weigh anchor during the... certification."

"Don't trust me?"

"Only to resort to unethical methods of persuasion."

"Ye hurt me, mate, ye really do."

"Too bad."

"... awlright."

"Exhausted already? Yer only in yer thirties, mate."

"..."

"Must say, never realized that Commodore Norrington be so prone t'poutin'."

"I don't pout."

"Sure I had a mirror 'round here somewhere..."

"Jack."

"... up fer another round?"

"No. But if it'd make you shut up and let me sleep... my private heaven?"

"Aye."

"It'd have you, of course. And the sea. The rest of the detail I haven't really thought about."

"Me, as a pirate?"

"Not sure, but it seems too intrinsic to your nature to remove even in the context of a private heaven."

"Ye don't sound so convinced, mate. Don't tell me it's really somethin' 'bout the lines o' me bein' an Admiral in th'Navy, stationed also... oh, mebbe in Kingston, an' prone t'molestin' pretty Commodores under his command?"

"... I can't even begin to gather how you could have concluded that. And no, that is so off the mark that..."

"Lieutenant Jack Sparrow, then?"

"... This line of speculation is utterly..."

"Personally I think 'Admiral' Jack Sparrow sounds better."

"... Jack, the very idea is..."

"Think I'd look good in th'hat. An' all that brocade."

"You, in the Navy? It'll be ridiculous."

"Smolderin' glances over a parade o' redcoats, or over official correspondence. Very romantic, I'd bet."

"... I'm going to sleep."

"Seein' as yer private heaven's only specified details are... me, an' th'sea, could be yer getting dibs a wee bit early, aye?"

"I don't have you around as much as I'd like."

"... Someday, love. Ye know when."

"I'll hold you to that, pirate."

"Aye."

-fin-

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