Marooned, 20
In Which Norrington Makes a Discovery
by
Gloria Mundi
See Chapter 1 for full headers
Originally Posted: 1/20/05
It was just as he'd somehow known it would be: Sparrow was here, at the end of the world, and madder than ever. Why else would he be squinting at Norrington (holding back a handful of dark hair, even more ridiculously long and decorated than it had been when he'd tipped himself over the parapet at Fort Charles; three years since, or near enough, it must be now) and clutching that broken compass in his hand as though it would show him the way home?
Sparrow beamed at him suddenly, and the Commodore found himself smiling back as though he were genuinely pleased to see the man. After all, he hadn't wished Sparrow dead. The Turners, if he ever got word to Copenhagen, would be glad to know he was alive. And for now, at least, Norrington had no reason for, and no intention of, stringing up Jack Sparrow for piracy. If he'd been marooned alone here ever since the Black Pearl went down—a year, if the stories were true—he must have been forced to live lawfully.
Norrington chuckled at that thought, and Jack Sparrow sauntered back over to him as if this were a chance encounter on the quayside at Port Royal and not a desolate island in the middle of the white space on his charts.
"Nice of you to visit, Commodore."
"You're a lucky man, Sparrow."
"That's Captain Sparrow," said the pirate, impertinently, and Norrington's lips thinned.
"Your ship—" he began, but it seemed cruel to remind Jack, if he'd (how could he have?) forgotten.
Sparrow looked down at his bare, tanned feet for a moment: then back up at Norrington. His eyes were less readable than ever. "How did you find me?"
"A whim," snapped Norrington, before any of the men behind him could interject some superstitious nonsense. "When we found this uncharted island, it stood to reason that you'd have ended up here."
"Commodore—"
"Mr Sparrow," said Norrington sharply, and for once Jack did not correct him, "there have been some changes, while you've been sunning yourself on this charming isle."
No point in trying to soften the news, or pretend that it meant nothing. No point, either, in carrying on this little farce of Commodore and pirate. And he wanted to see Jack's reaction; which meant telling him now, before he'd had time to remember how to hide his feelings once again.
"The Royal Navy's given up shooting their little guns at every pirate they fancy they see, and you've all turned privateer yourselves?" guessed Sparrow, with that ingratiating smile that Norrington remembered from their first meeting.
"Be quiet, Sparrow, and listen."
Jack Sparrow looked at him, and Norrington could see him recognise the gravity in his voice. The pirate nodded once. "'M all ears."
"King Carlos died. The King of Spain."
Sparrow shrugged. "Didn't know the bloke!" he protested, at Norrington's scowl. "Not personally."
"Sparrow—"
Jack spread his hands. "I'm listening!"
"The King of Spain died, and he had no heir, so he left his empire to France."
Jack whistled. "Nice. My aunt left me a prayer book and—"
Norrington continued as though Sparrow had not begun to chatter; understandable after a year's solitude, he supposed, but inappropriate. "With the French empire, and the French fleet, doubled in size overnight, the English and the Dutch—and most of the rest of Europe—declared war."
"England's at war with France?" ventured Sparrow.
"England is not at war with anyone," said Norrington. "England is no more."
He'd more than half-expected some savage triumphal whoop, or a smirking remark that would give him the long-awaited opportunity to deck Jack Sparrow. But Sparrow looked him in the eye, and said only, "I'm sorry."
|
Chapter 21