|
Title:
Close Quarters Email: dee@viscerate.com Part
1 is 'Letter
of Marque' Pairing:
Jack/Norrington Thanks:
To Gloria, for repeatedly poking me with sticks, spoons, fantasy authors, beta
deadlines and anything else that came to hand. Disclaimer:
The characters are the property of other entities who have more creative
genius, money and highly-paid lawyers than me. Close Quarters * * * ===== quarter ~ to sail closer to the
wind ===== The firelight was thick, like deep
seawater, rocking me lazily. Soothingly. It was peace. And yet, a frisson. A
thrill. A lingering, and a voice said, he said... The dream exploded in a cloud of
light and I sat up in bed, shielding my eyes from the sudden onslaught of
sunlight. "Pardon, sir," Godfrey
said, standing by the curtain cord. "But you did say..." "I did," I agreed,
trying to trap the last strands of my dream, to name a face or even a form,
or... something. What? It was gone, like a wave on the sand, leaving me with
only an inexplicable warmth and tightness twisting up my insides. I pushed back the covers and climbed
out of bed, to avoid the inevitable half-hour of lethargy that would be induced
once I remembered that I was landbound. After this long, I knew myself; that
apathy could linger even a week after returning from a sea voyage. Ridiculous, though, that as
Commodore of the Fleet I seemed to spend less time on the decks of that fleet
than ever before. "Luncheon with the
captains," Godfrey reminded as he dressed me. "Afternoon meeting with
the Quartermaster. And dinner at the Governor's mansion." Which still left plenty of dreary
time locked inside four walls with the listing piles of paperwork that had
accrued in my short absence. Who'd be an
officer of His Majesty's Navy? "You look thoroughly fed
up," Swann greeted me. That was worth a smile at least,
so I gave him one as I accepted a glass of sherry. "There's some truth in
appearance, then." It was turning into a beautiful
evening, the heat chased away by the fresh breeze off the water, all of the
wide windows of the house cast open to the late afternoon. On an evening like
this, in good company, with good sherry in my glass, I could even admit there
were some charms to life on dry land. "Cheer up," Swann
ordered blithely, as we took seats, he by the cold hearth, me beside the
window. "It will get better." Not unless I demoted myself back
down to midshipman. Now there was an idea. "Yes, I imagine
so." "For starters," he
continued, settling back in his chair, "Sparrow won't be cluttering up the
place for much longer." I looked up from my glass. "Oh?"
"Came to lunch, requested
permission to sail on the morning tide, in pursuit of ventures beneficial to
both himself and His Majesty - his very words." That was it? He came crashing into
our lives again like a drunken seagull, and then a month later was quietly and
politely leaving by the back door? "No doubt the reprieve won't last
long." "Probably not," Swann
agreed. "And he'll most like be getting up to all sorts of mischief out
there in our name. But he did leave me with a most interesting and intricate
report of the I snorted. Typical Sparrow.
"I hope he wasn't claiming payment for them." "What, the dancing girls?
No." Swann frowned. "Why?" "Because he didn't pay them;
I did." He was still staring at me,
somewhat dumbfounded, when The puppy looked embarrassed, but
made the best front he could, after that introduction. "Good evening,
Commodore." "Mister Turner," I
responded, rising from my seat to shake his hand. "I trust you're
well." "Tolerably," he
answered, the solemnity of the word reduced somewhat by his smile. My gaze slipped to Turner managed to declare that, in
that case, of course he'd stay, as the girl in question smiled at me most
charmingly as she stepped up to take his arm. She was beautiful. More than ever.
Radiant as though she took all the sun-soaked glory of the I'd be
lying if I said it didn't still ache. But it was bearable, and the world moved
on. Sparrow and I drank - in a Spanish tavern, on a beach - and I could admit
that though Elizabeth and I could have been happy, that future was well and
truly lost. Turner was a good man, or at least, he would be one day. At least
he'd stopped attempting to grow a beard; he hadn't been very good at that at
all. "How was "Spanish," I told her.
"Dissolute." "Sounds thrilling," she
smirked back, as I'd known she would. "Unutterably dull," I
countered, as she must have known I would. "What, even with Jack
there?" Turner interjected. "Unheard of." I smiled thinly, looking down to my
soup. I had to acknowledge his point. "Sparrow was -" watching with
smirking disbelief giving way to laughter as I dangled the purse in front of
the barmaid, told her what I needed her and her sister to do; bawling in
bastardised, drunken Spanish at the guard as he waved a bottle; teaching every
sailor not sprawled snoring on the beach the words to Elizabeth's ridiculous
pirate song. "Sparrow was bearable." From the nigh-on hysterical
responses around the table, you'd think I'd advocated declaring the man an
archbishop. "Bearable!" I could think of a long list of
things I wanted to push Sparrow off. "Perhaps no sudden stop. Besides, I
have to get used to not hanging him while he's commissioned." With a
letter of marque that was, I knew, a forgery. Or tampered with. I wasn't sure
of the legal name for what Sparrow had done. I'm a sailor, not a lawyer. "Yes, well." Swann
looked like he'd encountered something unpleasant in his soup. "At least we
have the Reward back. Though that was hardly the aim of the exercise, it is
most appreciated." I looked down again, hopefully
appearing contrite. "Still, no harm done,"
Swann noted. "Unlikely we can be blamed for this and even if we could,
there's the question of how the ship came to be there to be stolen back." I met her
gaze steadily, which of course quelled her not even slightly. "It would
seem that way, wouldn't it?" We returned to the drawing room
for brandy and coffee, Swann and I staying by the window while the young lovers
bent their heads together by the still-cold fireplace. Swann watched them for a moment
with a stern, worried eye. "The sooner they marry, the better," he
grumbled, and then started. "Oh, James, I'm sorry -" I gestured with my brandy glass.
"Please, don't trouble yourself over it." I braced myself, and asked,
"Has a date been set, then?" He rolled his eyes most
expressively. "She has, at least, admitted that there are certain
preparations essential to her station and she cannot merely conceive of a fancy
to be married one week and have it done." A considerable victory, with I nodded, and glanced out the
window. Dusk had settled over the port, descending with tropical swiftness. In
the brief period of dark blue light that lingered on the brink, lanterns were
being lit on the manned vessels in the harbour - the Dauntless, the Reward, the
Black Pearl. That last was sprouting pinpricks of light like a cluster of
fireflies, the deck rippling with movement. Readying for tomorrow's departure,
no doubt. "Coffee?" Swann offered,
and I blinked as I turned back to the lit room. The pair by the fire giggled.
"Tell me," Swann said, taking a more serious tone, "how did "Look?" I repeated,
accepting the coffee dish. But even as I said it, I knew what would have to
come next. "It used to be an English
possession, you know." I sighed. "Yes, I know. And
before that it was Spanish again, and before that ours." I'd checked that
when we returned to "Good position," Swann
countered, unperturbed. "Better ours than theirs." I grunted non-committally. "That's neither here nor
there, in any case. What's the situation?" "After having a ship removed
from under their noses, they'll be much more vigilant," I hedged. Swann gave me a sharp glance, and
I looked down. Could hear Sparrow's voice at the edge of my mind, even as I ran
the defences of "Single fort," I recited
dully. "Good position, coverage of the whole bay, but only a dozen guns at
the most in firing positions. No coverage of the landward side. A
half-complement of men, of indifferent morale and dedication." Swann nodded. "Excellent.
I'll add that to my report." "Very
good, sir." Via the docks was not the quickest
route back to my lodgings, but I went that way anyway. The I didn't mark anyone taking note
of me, but by the time I stood alongside the ship, Sparrow's head appeared over
the rail. "Done with society for the
night?" he grinned. "Come up and join the party, Commodore." "I wouldn't want to disturb
your crew," I demurred. "I'll come down then,"
he declared, and trailed along the rail until he could sashay down the gangway.
"They're disturbed enough as it is," he confided, and leapt the last
distance from plank to dock, boots thudding hollowly on the wood in front of
me. "And what can I do for you?" A very good question. I was
unaccustomed to finding myself in positions where my purpose was unclear,
especially to myself. "Swann told me of your imminent departure." "Yes, well." He grimaced
with exaggerated embarrassment. "A pirate cannot live on good will
alone." He shifted, shadow to light to shadow, and his eyes glimmered.
"And the sea calls." And the sea called. It lapped
against the hull beside us, whispered at distant shores. I cleared my throat. "I'm
sure you see that I'm bound to a certain professional interest in your
intentions." Sparrow seemed irritatingly
uninterested in my sudden need to explain myself. "Shall I take a cage of
carrier pigeons and send you daily updates?" "Don't be ridiculous," I
ordered, which curtailed his behaviour quite extensively. "I don't know where we'll go
or what we'll do," he said, more seriously than I could credit, but I
couldn't see his face in the dim, shifting light. "I thought maybe east.
The I nodded to him. "Thank
you." He inclined his head in return,
and then there came the glint of his grin. "Apart from that, you'll just
have to trust me, mate." "Unlikely,"
I replied, but I was smiling in the darkness. "Nngh." "Good morning, sir." I turned my head away from the
sudden sunlight, into the pillow. No good; I was very awake, and the dream was
gone. Utterly gone. Just my fingers clenched in the bedsheets, my palm sweaty,
and Godfrey waiting for me to rise. Nothing for it. "At ease, man." I took
my time, set my hat on the desk, checked the harbour and aspect from the
window. Something of a ritual. The harbour wasn't anywhere near empty. Just one
conspicuous absence. "Are you certain you want to discuss this
matter?" I looked back at him as "It's amazing how often the
one is mistaken for the other." I turned my back on the sea view and came
back to the desk. I didn't sit down; there wasn't another chair for "That's what sailors
do," I did sit then, tired despite the
fact that the day had just begun. "On the grand scheme of the sort of
things that have been transpiring in the last six months, Lieutenant, I hardly
think the admittedly somewhat unorthodox and highly questionable relations
between a Naval officer and a former pirate will excite undue attention."
I smoothed thumb and finger up the bridge of my nose, looked up to a loyal
officer and a good friend. "I was going to recommend you to your own
captaincy, but now..." I was asking the question before I
could think better of it. "She was worth that?" His smile
broadened. "It's a little late now to quibble, don't you think?" He
touched his hat as he nodded. "Good morning, sir. Thank you for your
time." The first message from Sparrow
arrived a week after he sailed, carried in on a merchant sloop that had been
hailed by the "Don't know any more, I'm
afraid, Commodore," the jovial captain told me. "Right odd chap he
was, though." "That's Sparrow," I
agreed, turning over the message he'd given me. It was sealed with the same
swooping bird I remembered from the pirate's forearm tattoo, pressed into
good-quality dark blue wax. Sparrow's penmanship was quite as
florid as you'd expect, though very even for all its flourishes. The epistle
read: "Weather lovely, wish you were here. All my love, Jack." Fortunately
the merchant captain had already gone on his way, and there was no one else in
the office to witness me laughing out loud at three lines from a pirate. This time I was shaken awake, but
candlelight was more gentle, closer to firelight, and that seemed to matter,
because I could remember laughter, wild and exuberant, and a lower, darker
thrill. I recognised that laughter, and it
was hard to think, it was late and dark and why was I awake? Two figures by my bedside. Godfrey
with a candle and a nightshirt; how did the man sleep in that in this heat? Gillette
in full uniform. A duet of apologetic looks. "What?" I demanded,
scrubbing a hand over my face. "We've just apprehended a
party of Spaniards," Gillette reported. "I think they were trying to
steal the Reward back." I swore at
that, but I think a man's allowed certain liberties when he's been woken up in
the middle of the night to a potential crisis and Jack Sparrow's laughing in
his dreams. There was an unfamiliar sloop in
my harbour, a dozen Spaniards in my cells and their captain detained in my
office at my pleasure. I looked the ship over first.
Unlike men, seasoned timbers, canvas and rope can't lie. She was a trim little thing, nice
standard lines, a beautiful little craft. Lovely ships, sloops. You can quarter
them so close and still keep a line. They can leave everything else in dead
water, even those new corvettes. An easy task for five men, four if everything
is in perfect order, as was the case on this ship. She'd been made fast by my
men when they took her in, but even where they'd had no occasion to dabble, she
was scrupulously neat, every line tied and coiled. Gillette was waiting on the wharf.
"The captain," I said, as he fell in beside me. "What has he
said?" "Not much of anything,"
Gillette replied, "and all of that in Spanish." His grimace was
eloquent; much more so than his ability in that language. "But he
certainly isn't claiming any sort of rights as a Spanish officer. Even I can
make that much out." My officers know me and my
suspicions well. "If that ship belongs to buccaneers then I'm one
too," I stated. "Indeed, sir," Gillette
agreed, as we reached the fort. I may have been a bit harsh on the
Spanish captain. But it was the middle of the night - or rather false dawn by
the time we settled to questioning him - and the bloody man was making my life
more complicated than anybody else since Sparrow. Moreover, Regardless, he stuck to his story.
He knew nothing about anything official. They were privateers. They'd had
nothing on their mind but plunder. I didn't lose my temper. I think that was
quit an achievement, under the circumstances. By the time I made my way up the
hill to see Governor Swann, the sun was climbing the sky and it felt at least
three hours later than it no doubt was. Swann was at breakfast, unsurprisingly
alone; I'm sure Swann greeted me with customary
courtesy. "For heaven's sake, man, sit down. Eat something." God
bless Swann and his hospitality. I didn't quite fall into the chair, and
accepted a cup of tea. "What's happened now?" "I have a baker's dozen of
Spanish sailors in my cells." "Congratulations?" Swann
offered, clearly perplexed. "You might want to hold off
on the good wishes," I advised. "I'm about to make them your problem.
I don't know what else to do with them." Swann put his teacup down. "They say they're
privateers, but their discipline is impressive, and their ship looks like it's
been arranged by men with their superior officer breathing down their necks.
Not to mention the sheer ridiculousness of a party of privateers of that size
attempting to steal an empty merchant ship from a harbour like this one."
I rubbed at one eye. "You're telling me you're
holding a Spanish naval vessel and its crew." "Not according to what
they're telling me," I pointed out, helping myself to bacon he obviously
wasn't going to be wanting any more of. "What were their
intentions?" "The Reward, we assume. That
seemed to be the likely target. Whether to steal it back or burn it to the
waterline, I don't know." "You're going to cause a war
with that ship," Swann predicted. I didn't point out that I wasn't
the one who wanted to invade Swann aligned his cutlery gloomily
on his plate. "Leave it with me. And get some sleep." It was a
nice idea. The days dripped past in clusters
of small problems, weighed down with paper. There was no further word from
Sparrow, and I did my best not to think about the cells full of Spanish
sailors. The next big problem went to Swann
first. Of course, that was only on its way to plague me; Swann invited me to
dinner and introduced me to it, which was quite appallingly sneaky of him. "Ah, excellent. Mrs George,
it's my honour to present to you Commodore Norrington, our most able commander
here in Mrs George was small, prim, of
respectable age and utterly respectable dress. She had the air of a capable and
wealthy widow, which was, in fact, precisely what she turned out to be. "Mr George," Swann
explained, "was the owner and captain of the Reward before, er, the
original business took place." "Oh." I inclined my head
to the lady. "I am most sorry, Mrs George." She dismissed my condolences with
a wave of her lace-gloved hand. "I had been reconciled to my loss,
Commodore." "Well, with the recovery of
the ship, your loss is significantly reduced, though of course nothing can ever
provide recompense for the death of a spouse--" "I should say it can't,"
she interrupted me. "He certainly wasn't insured, but the boat was. And
now the company's demanding its money back, which I need not tell you is most
inconvenient. I am here, Commodore Norrington, to see if something cannot be
done about the matter." She eyed me sharply. Did she want me to lose the ship
again? Set fire to it myself, perhaps? Under the
circumstances, there didn't seem to be much for it but to promise to bend my
every effort to the purpose. Because my life is such a blessed,
free, untroubled existence, "You'll catch cold," I
warned her. "Don't be ridiculous,"
she said. "Now, James, there's something very particular and serious I
want to ask you." The entire time I was courting her
she called me by my Christian name once. Now she's three months away from
marrying another fellow, and she can't break the habit. She was looking at me,
arch and expectant, so I did my best to look as though I was paying particular
and serious attention to her. No one could take the wind out of
the sails of a good bit of righteous indignation like " "Thank you!" she
declared, grinning like an imp. "Good night!" And she lifted her
skirts and ran back up the stairs into the house. It bothered me. Of course it
bothered me. I would be standing beside the man marrying the girl I'd wanted to
marry. But that didn't bother me as much
as the fact that it didn't bother me as much as it should. I'd never been the
romantic sort, but she had been different. A girl worth falling in love with.
And I had. I shouldn't be able to face this turns of events with such
equanimity. At the end
of such an evening, there was nothing else to be done. I went home, and went
straight to sleep. And dreamed. It was the beach, that nameless
beach on the mainland where we'd caroused, navy man and pirate. Except not, for
the fire was there, and we were there - Sparrow and I - but no other. Sparrow was laughing. With me,
laughing with me, that spirit filling my lungs. "You owe me," I reminded
him. And he did, for I hadn't told Swann that his letter of marque was
falsified. Why hadn't I? Then Sparrow was over me, blocking
the firelight and laughing his other laugh that I could feel from my bare feet
to my bare head and he said, he said... He said, "How can I repay
you, James?", and his voice was like the thunder across the horizon. I
remembered every minute of it when I woke the following morning. And I truly
wished I didn't. The knock at my office door
revealed itself to be both Gillette and "What?" I barked,
tossing aside the armoury report I hadn't really been reading. "For God's
sake, you two, come in or go away." They came in, They exchanged a glance, and
seemed to nominate a spokesman. "There's a ship in from St Kitts,
sir," I raised my eyebrows. "Full
to the brim of Spanish sailors claiming to be pirates? Or perhaps more widows
bent on cheating insurance companies?" Neither of them smiled. "Uh,
no, sir," After a moment of silence,
Gillette said, "It's word of Sparrow, sir. Just I'd never
known Gillette uncertain about anything. "What's he done?" I asked,
low and steady. "Sacked I said nothing, merely stared at
the cold fireplace, my arms locked, hands braced against the mantelpiece. At the window, Swann swore. He
didn't say anything I hadn't already, so I didn't feel I could berate him for
it. "But there's nothing in the letters I've received about this," he
objected. I turned to face him; he was back
at his desk, looking over the letters that had come to him on the same ship
that had brought this news. "Do the governors of "Of course not, but this sort
of act at the hands of one of our commissioned privateers warrants at least a
line!" he countered, reasonably. "I can't understand why they haven't
said anything." "Because--" Because
Sparrow wasn't a commissioned privateer. Just a pirate with a talent for
forgery. But what good would telling Swann do? No, the guilt for this rested
upon me. I should have told him sooner, I hadn't. I'd answer for it, when the
time came. For now, let Swann retain his relatively blissful ignorance, without
this bitter taste in his mouth. He was looking up at me.
"Because...?" he prompted. "Perhaps they had not heard
when the letters were written," I said. "Ships' news always travels
faster than official channels." Swann sank into his chair, his
face grim. "I want him this time, Norrington. I don't care about my
daughter's romantic blind spot. I want him caught, condemned and hanged." I stood
straighter. "Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see it done,
sir." The official content of the
letters from the other influential That's right. Me. I should have been honoured.
Flattered. At least pleased. Not only did this suggest that the unfortunate
business of six months ago - the misplacing of the Interceptor and all - had
been forgiven, but I was being given an opportunity for a notable military
success. Of course, they didn't know the mistake I'd made since then, but this
could still be more than just a feather in my cap; there could be an
admiralship in it. I managed a reasonable rendition
of a gratified smile for Swann. The honour did not escape me. I should have been pleased. I arranged a full accounting of
equipment and an appropriate refitting of all vessels. I reviewed the men and
saw to extra training. I avoided the question of the Reward as much as
possible, whether in the form of Spanish prisoners or English widows. But I didn't sleep well, and had
trouble with certain details, and every time I woke sweating in the middle of
the night, and every time I laid eyes on a map of There was no reason why he should
be haunting my dreams still, nothing he owed me that could be repaid with his
body any way but dead at the end of a rope. There was no reason I should feel
guilty for betraying his trust when he'd betrayed mine so thoroughly already. I should
have been pleased. But I wasn't. I missed it getting late. I
realised the day was waning when they came in to light candles and lamps.
Outside, the setting sun was gilding the promontory and the caps of the waves
in the open sea beyond. Good; I'd be able to go home soon and leave this mess
behind for another day. Bad; I was closer to having to sleep. Splayed out on my map desk, held
at one corner with an inkwell to replace the weight that had inexplicably gone
missing, was a map of That Bloody Island. It wasn't accurate, of course. It
wasn't even bloody close. By the lamplight, I glared at the hopeful wobble of
the cartographer's pen that stood in the place of the true coastline. When a knock sounded at the door,
I barked, "What?" and transferred the glare to the door, and thence
to "What?" I repeated,
slightly less tersely. "Mrs George," I looked down, but "Tell her I'd be delighted to
join her." I felt almost sorry for making My officers knew me well, but
there were limits. "And send the Quartermaster to see me," I
growled. Or sluggards. The Quartermaster
was knocking at my door barely two minutes later. I tossed the report across
the table to him. "Rotation of three companies, what's the discrepancy in
provisions for the fort?" He glanced over the figures.
"The prisoners, sir." I swore, but quietly enough that
he could pretend he hadn't heard. Of course, the prisoners. I'd blessedly
forgotten them. Just another thing nudging me towards a war I had no rational
reason not to want. Just another reason to curse Sparrow, because if he hadn't
tempted me across a tavern table like a dusky, glittering devil, the Reward
wouldn't be sitting in my harbour and the Spaniards wouldn't be sitting in my
cells. Of course, I could have said no.
The pirate had had the right of it. I'd wanted it done as much as he. Another knock sounded at the door.
I was the most popular man in Gillette this time, agitated
enough to set me back in my chair. Justly so. "The I came to my feet, but the night
was quiet and devoid of cannonfire. "And?" I prompted. "And...
she's docked at the wharf." Three of the Black Pearl's crew
had drawn short straws and been detailed to remain on board while the rest went
carousing. Their mood wasn't improved by the arrival of a squad of marines and
the announcement that they could consider themselves arrested. "Where are the rest of
them?" The flavourful fellow in charge
shrugged and spat eloquently over the side. "Dunno." We started with the church this
time, but it was empty at this hour. The taverns, on the other hand, were full.
The pirates were in the third one we tried, raucous in the corner nearest the
fire and in very good cheer. Even as I turned to give the order
to change that, a serving girl tapped me on the elbow. "'e's
upstairs." "What?" I demanded. She gave me a withering look, but
the opinion serving wenches had of my manners was currently somewhere at the
bottom of things I cared about. "Sparra," she said. "Waiting on
you upstairs. Though I must say yer right quick. 'e only just now sent the
message." "Gillette," I ordered,
already heading for the stairs, "round up this lot." Sparrow was in the cozy upstairs
dining room, sprawling like a cat in an armchair by the fire, but he bounced beaming
to his feet as I entered. "Commodore!" he declaimed, apparently
delighted. "You came!" How dare he. How dare he come
traipsing back into my harbour and be happy to see me. How dare he stand there
painted in firelight looking just like he always had, unchanged and
unchangeable, when everything had shifted thrice over. How dare he tie me up in
complications and smile so simply. Assumptions are always dangerous
with Sparrow. But surely it's safe to say that he didn't expect me to hit him. My fist caught him on the chin,
snapping his head back and away, tipping him into the chair he'd just vacated.
I'd swung hard. It felt good. Sharp impact coiled up my arm, and my breath was
audible over the pop of the fire. I smoothed it, straightened my shoulders. Sparrow gurgled, wallowing in the
chair. His hands cradled his jaw, monkey-fingers splayed over his face. They
muffled his voice. "Now you hit me?" "Seemed like the opportune
moment," I said, each word cut and precise. "Considering what you've
done." "What I've done?" His
hands fell away from a face that showed only perplexity. I clenched my fists,
knuckles starting to throb. Itching for him to stand up so I could knock him
down again. " " I think the worst thing was how
much I wanted to believe him. "We've heard all about it, Sparrow. And you
were sighted off "Heading south," he
countered. "Cut down to the southern islands and the eastern "You don't have the men to
raid Sparrow was on his feet, eyes
glittering hard like brilliant-cut gemstones. "Never mind that fever and
the natives have made it worthless to even consider raiding the place, "Forth." Also
irrelevant. Except that his was the signature on Sparrow's questionable letter
of marque. The sparkle of that smirk was
dulled. "His memory isn't what it was, but the old rogue still sets a good
table. How's that for an alibi?" I couldn't find words. Any words.
I didn't know where to start looking. There were feet on the stairs, stopping
in the doorway behind me. "Sir? We've detained all the pirates." Sparrow's eyebrows twitched.
"Pirates," he repeated, voice scaldingly blank. "Give me a moment," I
said. Gillette's foot scuffed in the
doorway. "But, sir...?" I turned on him. "Just a
moment, Gillette. It's not that difficult." His face startled to stillness, he
backed out of the room, closing the door after him. I couldn't face Sparrow. I
sank into the other armchair, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I
thought fondly, wildly, of my life half a year ago. When I'd hoped God help me. I believed him. There was a slither, a thump, and
when I opened my eyes, he was kneeling on the rug in front of the fire. In
front of me. "I asked you to trust me," he said. His eyes weren't
hard any more. "You're a pirate," I
pointed out. "You're Captain Jack Sparrow." "But I wouldn't."
There was something imploring in his eyes, his voice, and his fingers wavered
vaguely in his urgency to make me understand. (And another irritation; the man
like this and I couldn't properly appreciate it.) He frowned, helpless, and it
was nice that I wasn't the only one. "Norrington. I owe you." It wasn't just like the dreams.
But it had enough similarities. The firelight gilding him, the words on his
lips, the chaos within me. I'd moved before I recognised my
intention, forward off the chair to kneel before him. Over him, my knees
sliding outside his as I leaned, caught him up... And I was kissing him. Even as I realised it, he made a
noise in the back of his throat that buzzed against my lips as he opened his
mouth. Even as I thought to pull back, Jack Sparrow drew me in, his hands
coming up, under my coat, around my neck, his tongue darting betwixt my lips,
quicksilver and taunting like the rogue himself. My hands were on his
shoulders, my eyes closed and tinted with firelight. He tasted of rum and salt.
A knock on the door tore us
asunder. I almost fell over the chair, leaping to my feet. Sparrow was
nonchalantly sprawled back in the other chair as I turned to the door. I
hesitated with my hand on the latch, realising I was breathing as though I'd
just run down to the docks and back. "Sir?" Gillette asked,
from the other side of the door. I pulled it open. He didn't look reassured.
"Your orders, sir?" My orders. I resisted the urge to
rest my forehead against the edge of the door. "Take Gibbs, Anamaria and
two other sailors aside, and ask them where they were during the period
pertinent to Gillette cleared his throat.
"I already took the liberty of summoning Lieutenant Groves, sir; however,
he was not at home. And, ah... Miss Anamaria is not amongst the crew
downstairs." Behind me, Jack said, "She missed
him," in a voice so devoid of humour that I almost flinched. "Never mind that, then,"
I said. A much more satisfactory solution had just occurred to me; let Swann
decide. "I'll interview the sailors myself. You escort Captain Sparrow to
the Governor, where he can present his defense as he's just outlined it to me."
"All of it?" Sparrow
asked. Gillette was staring past my
shoulder. I turned to follow his gaze. Sparrow was standing in the middle of
the room, head tilted, cheeky little bird. The red mark of my fist's impact on
his jaw was already purpling towards bruise. It didn't disrupt his smirk,
however. I dragged my eyes away from his mouth and met his gaze steadily.
"You may tell him as many particulars as you deem appropriate to clearing
up the matter at hand." I expected him to pull a face at
that, but he just nodded, apparently satisfied. He ambled towards the door.
"You know," he said, with a frightening rendition of thoughtfulness,
"I invited you up here for a quiet drink." He had. I'd almost forgotten.
"Another time." On his way past, he wavered towards
me, a negligible tilt on Sparrow's personal axis. "I'll hold you to
that." Gillette frowned at the world in
general, and followed him down the stairs. The crew corroborated Sparrow's
story. Of course. And I was sure Jack could talk Swann around without
difficulty. I could have found out once I'd declared the crew free to continue
their interrupted carouse. I could have gone up to the mansion and delivered my
report in person. I had no difficulty with erring on
the side of caution. Sparrow was the pirate, not me. I sent my findings in
writing, and went home to bed. If I
dreamt, I don't remember it. At his not unexpected invitation,
I joined Swann in his office mid-morning. My harbour was getting crowded,
what with the ships of the line, the merchant vessels, the damn Reward, the
insolent Black Pearl. And another ship had been spied inward-bound just before
I left the fort. At least three masts, a lot of canvas. She'd have to moor in
the road; we didn't have the wharfage to accommodate her. "The ship from "How do you know?" Swann
asked, with the mildly annoyed tone of rhetoric. I don't know. I just did.
Something about the scent of the wind blowing it in. Something in the line of
the ship, yearning for land. "She's two hours or so out," I said
instead. Two hours until we found out
whether the Crown was as willing as its Governors to overlook the quite
astonishing irregularity of events in its Brooding on it wasn't doing any
good. "What did you make of Sparrow's story?" I asked. Swann sighed the sigh of one with
the weight of the world on his shoulders, or Jack Sparrow causing complications
in his life. "We didn't really have anything to go on, did we?" "Just ship gossip," I
agreed. "Do you believe
him?" Stupidly, I was entirely
unprepared for the challenge. "Well, I, yes. I suppose so. I do." Swann nodded as decisively as my
answer wasn't. "Good enough for me." How reassuring for him. I wasn't
so sure how I felt about it. I was still contemplating that
when the door burst open under the combined impropriety of "Father," Her wide eyes and the imperious
tilt of her chin told us both that 'all the jolly time' was not the appropriate
response. Over her shoulder, Jack grinned unrepentantly. I looked away to
Swann. Who looked
pained but benevolent. "Very well, It was, as she'd promised, an
absolutely beautiful day. Somehow I'd failed to notice it before then. It was,
I thought, digging hard in my memory, an almost English day, and not Caribbean
at all, the air mild, the sky clear save benign puffs of cloud that couldn't
possibly ever turn into raging storms. Profoundly unnatural. The Swanns' cook had obviously
approved of the idea - or maybe she was no more immune to Well-fed and suffering from
sun-induced lethargy, we wallowed about on the lawn. I suspected Swann may have
gone to sleep; he hadn't said anything in a good five minutes, but I was too
comfortable to turn and look. Further out on the lawn, Jack and Will were
playing at boules, the pirate teaching the blacksmith, or maybe the other way
around, or maybe they were simply making the rules up as they went along. I wondered what hour it was. Had
the ship entered the harbour and moored yet? A flitting shadow heralded "What?" Swann said, in
suddenly alert tones. "Yes, lovely day. What?" I squinted up at "Of course not," she
told me, tugging at her father's sleeve. "You must endure the tedium of
our company and the weather for at least another half-hour yet." Swann allowed himself to be drawn
to his feet, brushing a leaf of grass from the hem of his coat. "They'll
bring all the official missives up here anyway," he pointed out. "May
as well stay." I allowed he had a point, and the
sun really was rather pleasant. Swann and his daughter took up the
boules set, making quite the pretty familial picture. But if they were playing,
that meant- Jack dropped down beside me on the
picnic blanket. "I think Will cheats," he said. "I should certainly hope
so," I returned. "Playing against you." "I'm a pirate. I'm supposed
to cheat." "All his bad habits are of
your teaching." "That may be true," Jack
allowed. "But it doesn't make it any less unfair." I smirked into the sun. "He
beat you, I take it?" "I don't want to talk about
it." I stretched my shoulders in the
sunshine. It was almost getting hot under brocade and wig. I still hadn't
looked at Sparrow; he was just a jewel-toned shadow at the corner of my eye.
"What do you want to talk about, then?" The answer came so fast he must
have been waiting for the question. " All the tightness I'd just eased
out of my shoulders came back. I had no reason to feel guilty; but wait, that
had been before, when I owed Jack Sparrow nothing. Now he hadn't betrayed us.
Me. What did I owe him now? The truth, at least. "It
wasn't my idea." That sounded truly pathetic. "We're going to launch
an assault on the island, it's almost a certainty. All that's needed is the
inciting event, the one thing to make it sooner rather than later. That's just
the way it is. Statecraft. I don't know." A long moment of silence was
broken only by the clink of boules across the lawn. When he finally spoke, his
drawl was laced with amusement. "Are you all knotted up about it because
of me?" I turned on him, angry, and he was
right there. Not that near; not nearly far enough. The bruising along
his jaw had come up beautifully overnight, blotching along his jaw like fruit
ruined in the heat, crawling up to pool in the hollow of his cheek. He was
bright and stark and shadowed under the sun, the Caribbean sky, he belonged
here. He looked right. I blinked, and realised that I
didn't know how long I'd been lost in rapt contemplation of him, what might
have happened in the interim. I reached for something to say. "You didn't
tell Will and Elizabeth how you came by that bruise, then, or they'd not be
talking to me in such a civil manner today." He smiled, slow and careful.
"I could tell them you kissed it better." I opened my mouth - to say
what, I don't know - but even as I did, he continued, expression unchanged:
"I should lay it to rest, shouldn't I? There's not a chance anything can
ever come of it." The man was wretchedly unfair; I
hadn't the faintest idea how to handle a serious Sparrow, his very stability
knocking the balance from me. I wanted to contradict him, that
was the worst of it. But I couldn't, for there wasn't. Not a chance. Not for a
Commodore of his Majesty's Navy. Not even in a world with Jack Sparrow in it. He was the first to look down.
"Aye," he murmured. "I know it." Across the lawn, I'd missed the
arrival of the master of the new addition to my harbour. He was reacting very
well to being greeted by a Governor in stockinged feet and sweating from
playing lawn games with his daughter. I knew I should go and add some naval
gravitas to the exchange, but at present it would probably only be a different
strain of colonial madness. I was reluctant to know. What
message he might have for me, what might be contained within the packet of
papers he was handing over to Swann. Not that I could avoid the knowledge
forever. Especially not when the entire party - master, Governor, daughter and
fiance - were coming back to the picnic blanket. Introductions were made. My own
sealed letter was delivered; I left it to sit in my lap, heavy and somehow
cold. Captain Gareth Abernathy blinked in very well controlled surprise at
meeting Captain Jack Sparrow. "The pirate?" "Turned privateer."
Sparrow offered a grin that was rendered truly blinding by the sunlight.
"For the good of Queen - sorry, King - and Country, seen the error of my
ways, the redeemed sinner, etcetera." "Well!" Abernathy
declared, though he seemed fired by more than merely the mix of awe and horror
that usually struck at first exposure to Sparrow. "This can only add to
your reputation, Commodore." "I beg your pardon?" "Oh, James had very little to
do with it," I was prevented from throwing her
a stern look by Abernathy gesturing to my neglected letter. "Open it, man.
I don't want to reveal aught before you are aware yourself, but I fear I shall
not be able to hold my peace should the lady press me." Which, of course, was all the
invitation the lady required to begin to do just that. Abernathy declined to
reveal this sudden secret with decreasing vehemence as I gazed down at the
letter. No sooner had I picked it up, than Swann, head bowed over his own
correspondence, said, "Good Lord!" Official letters are never much
like letters, and always a lot like each other. I brushed through the formula
phrases, until I struck one that caught in my head, turning my blood cold, even
in the early afternoon sun. I returned to the beginning, but it was still there
the second time. "Oh," Sparrow said in my
ear, an echo of the noise I couldn't quite make. "What, what?" I looked up at her, her colour
high, Will at her elbow. If I told her, it would somehow make it real. In the
end, it was Sparrow who answered. "He's been recalled to Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Recalled?" "And promoted!" Abernathy
objected. "Special appointment to the Continental flotilla preparatory to
becoming an Admiral." In which period We are sure you shall deport
yourself in such manner as to lay to rest any lingering doubts regarding your
suitability, the letter said. "The King has his eye on you, sir!"
Somehow I refolded the letter, hiding the
words away on the inside. I'd seen enough. "I am given another six months
to present myself in "Oh. Good?" I had never
seen It was late, and getting later.
With the windows open, I could hear the faint echo of ships bells across the
open water, as the watches changed. I should go to bed. I'd been telling myself
that for hours. My personal desk was far less
crowded than the one in my office. The man had fewer concerns than the
Commodore. Naval worries had supplanted the personal, at least on a tangible
level; the desk was strewn with paperwork. A report on the Spanish prisoners, a
rather forceful letter from Mrs George, the damnably inaccurate chart of For all that I was poised over my
desk, I wasn't really looking at any of them. My mind couldn't settle to
anything. Irrespective of which direction I bent it, it returned endlessly to
the contents of my most recently received letter. God knew why. It wasn't as though
I wanted to consider what it decreed for my future. Ten years I'd been out here, in
the Honestly, though, what had I cared
for fashion? What had I cared for society or the other trappings of
'civilisation'? What had I known, then, of the
waters of the place to which I'd been sent? Nothing. Nothing of the secrets
they hid in their transparent depths, the treacherous reefs, the capricious
winds. Nothing of the way the slap of the waves against the hull could sound
like the breathing of the world. I could drown in the idea of cold
northern oceans. Forget the sand, forget the sun. Perfect English days forever.
There was a discreet knock and a
cough at the open door. "I'm sorry, Godfrey," I said, turning to the
sideboard to refill my brandy glass. "I shall retire soon." "It's not that, sir," he
said, stepping fully into the room. "Though the night does grow long. This
was just delivered, sir." 'This' was a document case, worn
but well-made, polished more by handling than by industry. I knew, even as I
took it, who it must be from, but I didn't dare imagine what might be contained
inside. I knocked the end off, and shook forth the rolled contents, laying it
out on the desk, an inkpot in one corner, a paperweight in another, my brandy
glass in the third corner, my hand on the fourth. It was a map. Beautifully
detailed, painstakingly complete, entirely accurate. It was There was a note rolled up in the
middle, a familiar hand jaunty on the scrap of parchment. Imagine this is
going to be of more use to you than to me. -Captn J S I traced a finger down the
coastline. Outside the edge of the map, I could see a corner of what was
underneath, the Spanish prisoners, Mrs George... All we need is an inciting
incident. It was a blinding moment of
clarity, all my problems coming together in their own solution. "Godfrey?" "Yes sir?" "Send for Gillette and Godfrey wouldn't blink if I
ordered the city torched, he'd just advise as to the best method. "Very
good, sir. Will that be all?" I picked up the brandy glass,
letting the map roll up, and looked into its depths with a smile. "Find
another bottle of this brandy, if we have one, and send it to the Black Pearl,
for the captain." "Very good, sir." Yes. Maybe
it just could be. ENDE
|