Marooned, 4
In Which Norrington Encounters a Pirate
by
Gloria Mundi
See Chapter 1 for full headers
Originally Posted: 1/4/05
He'd been in Nassau for long enough, and it was time to head south and rejoin the Ariel: but his careful enquiries turned up no news of any ship ready to brave the Spanish—French—blockade that lurked like a cat outside the mouse-run of the Windward Passage.
A fishing-boat would have suited him better than a pirate ship, but beggars, he'd found, couldn't be choosers, and so he'd ventured into the King's Arms, and taken a seat near the door, and listened.
They'd known him, again, for a stranger. Even now he was no longer a threat, he did not belong, and so the men—and not a few women—in the tavern spoke of mutual friends and feuds, of the Spanish treasure fleet (almost everyone continued to speak of 'Spanish' and 'French' as though there were still a difference) and the press-gangs that had been trawling Nassau Town in search of galleon-crews. They spoke, in short, of everything except James Norrington's business.
After a while, the feeling of being watched—not as though he were a mouse, but not as carefully as if he were a Spaniard, either—made him want to hit someone, and so he finished his drink and began to limp towards the door.
"Commodore Norrington," said somebody, soft-voiced, as he passed their table, and he'd have kept on walking if it hadn't been for the novelty of being addressed by a woman.
A dark-skinned woman, as it turned out, but she looked clean and not at all whorish, and she had spoken politely enough.
Nevertheless he said, "You're mistaken," and turned away from her.
"Your reputation precedes you, Commodore," she said.
"There's no Navy worth the name to bestow any such rank on me," said Norrington. "There hasn't been for more than a year." He had given up on escaping the tavern and stood still, leaning his weight somewhat awkwardly against the scarred wall.
"You're still harrying the Spanish," said the woman, and her white teeth flashed in a way that reminded him of somebody.
"You dislike the Spanish?" said Norrington stiffly, as though they were at some formal dinner.
The woman spat.
"Any man who kills a Dago," she said, "is a friend of mine. And you've slain more than a few."
"I'm happy to hear—"
"And I hear, Commodore, that you're looking for passage south," said the woman.
"I need to rejoin my—my friends," said Norrington.
"Your Ariel's still at Stabroek, ain't she?" said the woman.
"Georgetown," corrected Norrington.
"Used to be, aye. My ship's heading down that way. Reckon we could drop you off, Commodore."
"Don't call me that," said Norrington, low and icy: the woman swayed back, smiling, hands up as if it were just a joke.
Norrington sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away his bad temper. "I can't pay you anything," he told her.
"You can owe me one," said the dark-skinned woman. Her grin flashed again. She was not a whore: not a serving-girl: she was, Norrington realised at last, a pirate, merry and free in exactly the way that had once set his teeth on edge. Under the circumstances, he couldn't manage more than a dull spark of annoyance. And besides, he had noticed a number of other people—other pirates, all right—eyeing him from the dark interior of the tavern. None of them seemed threatening; not yet.
"What's your ship, madame?" he said, finding an answer in his heart before the sentence had formed in his head. "And when do you sail?"
"Far end of the quay," said the woman. "The Maiden's Glory." Her expression dared him to make a jest of the ship's name. "We sail tonight."
"I'll be there, Captain," said Norrington.
This time her smile seemed genuine.
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Chapter 5