For Want of a Nail

Chapter 3

by

The Dala

Sighing, Norrington pulled a pillow over his head and tried to ignore the muffled grunts coming through the thin walls. Most of what Jack was saying was unintelligible, but he did catch a few words: "monkey," "prize," "island," "traitor." It was only when Jack began yelling about someone named Bill that Norrington flung off the covers and stalked into the next room.

Jack was tossing about violently on the bed. As Norrington drew close, he felt the heat emanating from his body. He tried to get a feel of Jack's forehead, but the fool struck out wildly and knocked his hand away.

"Not Bill!" Jack was crying. "Leave him be!"

"Sparrow," Norrington attempted in a normal voice. Then, a deal louder—thankful that he'd sent the servants home for the night—"SPARROW!" He ducked in under Jack's blindly flailing fists and took him by one shoulder, shaking him hard.

Jack's eyes opened wide on Norrington's face. He let his arms fall, panting. He looked awful; he was paler than he had been earlier in the day, and in the moonlight the bones in his face stood out starkly, evidence of the weight he'd already lost.

"Sick," he gasped, "need to be sick—"

Quickly Norrington grabbed for the wooden basin he'd placed beside the bed for this very purpose. He pinched his nose with one hand while holding the basin steady with the other as Jack retched into it. Oh, that was absolutely disgusting. If he hadn't been so tired from staying up late to read nautical reports, he would have considered depositing Jack Sparrow on Will Turner's doorstep at that very moment.

Jack spat into the basin when he was done, then lay back down. His eyes were closed, but Norrington knew he wasn't sleeping.

Setting the basin distastefully aside—he would have to take it out to the privy himself—Norrington poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and sprinkled a bit of the powdered leaf into it. He offered it to Jack, who murmured a surprising thank you but was too weak to hold it. Norrington put a hand on his chin, noting how unearthly hot his skin was, and tried to tip the water back in his throat.

Jack scowled and attempted to foist him off, splashing them both in the process.

"Don't—need—help," he said.

"Yes, you do," Norrington retorted. "Either I'm going to put you in a headlock and force this down your throat, or you are going to accept my help and sip it slowly."

He glared but obeyed, gulping thirstily and making a face when he was done.

"Tastes terrible."

Norrington cleaned the glass out with a handkerchief. "That's how you know it will work."

Despite himself, the corner of Jack's mouth twitched. His eyelids drooped again. Norrington waited until he seemed asleep before getting up.

"'Ey," said Jack just as he'd reached the door.

Norrington turned to face his charge. "Yes?"

"What's your name?"

Pursing his lips, Norrington left without replying. He could hear Jack chuckling himself to sleep as he sank back into his own bed.

~~~

His butler was rather surprised to see him. It was a well-known fact that the Commodore usually worked through lunch. When he reached the room in which Jack was staying, he found Mrs. Perry, the housekeeper, staring at it with a perplexed expression on her face.

"Commodore Norrington," she said, putting her hands to her cheeks, "it seems as though the door's locked—I tried t' go in an' clean but the key's disappeared—"

Norrington winced as she was cut off by a distinct thumping sound coming from the room. Mrs. Perry looked to him for an explanation.

"That's right, I did lock the door, and I've got the key," he said quickly. "Delicate nautical experiment, you know, mustn't have it disturbed."

The thump sounded again and Mrs. Perry blinked at him. He cleared his throat in a half-hearted attempt to cover up the noise, but it did no good.

"Is—is 'at your experiment makin' that noise, Commodore?" she asked uncertainly.

"Ah—yes, yes it is. Angry puppy."

The woman who had kept his property in order for seven years stared at him as though he was a stranger. "A... puppy, sir?"

"Yes," he said, feeling ridiculous—it had simply slipped out—but knowing it would look even more suspicious to take it back. "Top-secret Navy documents and... the puppy. It's angry," he added helpfully. "That must be why it's making noise. I'll just go in and... feed it."

Mrs. Perry nodded slowly and backed away, still looking at him like he'd cracked. "Right, sir. I'll have some cold chicken sandwiches waiting for you when you're done."

"Thank you," he said faintly. Humiliating himself in front of his servants: one more thing to add to the list of wrongs Jack Sparrow had done him. He had a feeling this list would grow exponentially until he could get the damned man out of his house.

Another thump came through the door and Norrington unlocked it, quickly shutting it again behind him.

Jack was at the window. It must had gotten stuck because he was laboring to pry it open. He had taken to smacking the frame in random spots with a large book. Norrington's eye was drawn to the nightstand; its drawers had been opened and their contents ransacked. He strode over to the window.

"Stop that at once!" He yanked the book out of Jack's hand. Jack swayed slightly more than usual, leaning against the wall. It was a good sign that he was feeling well enough to stand, but the toll his battle with the window had taken was apparent in his labored breathing and the sheen of sweat on his exposed skin.

"I just wanted some air," he said, studying his dirty fingernails in an attempt at nonchalance. It failed miserably, as his hands were shaking. A note of desperation crept into his voice. "I'm bound to go mad locked up in this rathole. I need to be outside—"

Norrington took him by the elbow and hauled him back to the bed. "What you need, Sparrow, is rest. You are not going to run mad—any more so, I should say—by remaining indoors."

"How would you know, Commodore?" Jack demanded harshly as Norrington knelt to clean up the mess he'd made. "You hole yourself up in your bloody office day in and day out, you don't need fresh air and open skies..."

"If you will please refrain from telling me what I do or do not need, Mr. Sparrow, I would like to remind you that you are a guest in my home—"

"Prisoner, more like."

"—and as such I expect you to respect my wishes and not alarm my servants."

Understanding passed over Jack's features. "Ah," he said, leaning back against the pillows, "your servents don't know I'm here, is that it?"

"Of course they don't!"

"Odd," said Jack. "That you can't trust your own people to keep a secret for you."

"I—" Norrington began sharply, but he stopped himself short. Telling his servants about his odd visitor had simply not occurred to him. "It's not that I don't trust them," he tried to explain. "It's that... well, caring for you is a burden, one they are not required to bear."

Jack shrugged. "All the same to me, mate. But it does seem that that's exactly what they're paid for, and you choosin' not to inform them of my illustrious presence has some deeper significance, the details of which are clearly not known even to yourself."

Norrington shut the nightstand drawers with a bang. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk a great deal too much, Mr. Sparrow?"

"All the time," Jack sighed. "Though most of 'em can't match me the way you do."

Norrington looked at him, wondering at his meaning, but he had turned onto his opposite side.

"Got anything for me to eat?" he asked, voice muffled by the pillow. "Feel as though I might actually be able to keep it down."

"I have some broth Mrs. Turner sent over. I'll go get it."

"We can have a nice little luncheon together," said Jack in a sing-song voice that did little to mask his bitterness.

As Norrington left the room, a gray cat poked her nose curiously around the corner.

"You don't want to go in there," he warned her, shutting and locking the door. "Trust me."

After Norrington returned to work, he found it extremely difficult to concentrate. He twiddled his thumbs; he spent ten minutes trying to get through a single paragraph; he kept staring out the window at the blue Caribbean sea far beyond.

"Gillette," he called.

The lieutenant was quick to answer. "Sir?"

"I'll be right back." Norrington got up and spared one more glance for the sea. "I'm going to get some air."

Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)

Read Comments
(Warning: May contain spoilers!)