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fan_eluneYeah, I know, I should be studying. But... I had those last changes I had to make to FoF, following ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cgwriting's ever so helpful advice, and then I just decided to start posting it. So there, the whole of the first chapter. Any review would be welcome!
A Flight of Fancy
Chapter One: Hold Fire
Commodore James Norrington was standing on the poop deck of the HMS Dauntless, surveying the work of the sailors all over the ship. Blue vests were busying themselves with the sails or with cleaning, while red coats were polishing their weapons. A measure of apprehension swelled in the commodore's chest. A few leagues ahead of them was the Contester, captained by Ted. Captain Theodore Sinclair Groves. Norrington had long hesitated over whether he should hand over the captainship of the new ship to his first or second lieutenant – Gillette or Groves. But while Gillette was a steady officer, Norrington had his doubts as to his judgement capacities. Ted had proved more reasonable and his loyalty to his superior was unquestionable. James and he knew each other since their childhood; while their friendship itself had held no weight in his decision, it did allow the commodore to know Ted well enough to trust him with this ship.
The Contester was not unlike the late Interceptor. She was much swifter than the Dauntless, but with less fire power, too, a lively sloop-of-war. Groves had been captaining her for a few weeks now. A few more weeks than the Interceptor had been lost; a few more weeks than Sparrow had escaped from under their very noses. A few more weeks than Norrington had let him escape.
His decision still troubled the commodore.
It troubled him all the more now that they were giving chase to the Black Pearl. The ship of legends, holed sails or not, not captained by the damned anymore but by, much worse, a trickster figure that Norrington could not bring himself to look forward to seeing hanged. No, he would get no pleasure from seeing Sparrow's feet dangling for their last dance, merely the satisfying sense of accomplished duty at last.
The winds were with them. Maybe twenty more minutes and they would catch up with the Pearl, less so for the Contester, which Norrington would never have sent alone against Sparrow's ship. Groves had her well in hand; he was a fine choice of a captain indeed. The Contester sailed out of sight behind the curve of an island. The Dauntless was sailing quite nicely herself, with her usual stubborn imperturbability. She might not be as swift as others, but she was reliable and powerful. She eerily reminded Norrington of his father sometimes. She was not quick to anger, but her wrath was mighty once awakened. All men were tending to her eighty cannons now. If Sparrow had any sense left, which Norrington doubted, he would surrender immediately.
"Commodore. Look at this."
Norrington took the spyglass Gillette was offering. They had just rounded the isle, hardly more than a patch of land. What Norrington was expecting to see was the Contester coming up on the Pearl. What he saw was a sloop coming up on the Contester, and the Pearl sailing back towards them, without striking any colours. Them not being the Contester and the unidentified sloop, but the Dauntless. The Pearl was heading straight for them!
Forcing himself to direct the spyglass away from the black-sailed ship to set it to the study of the sloop, Norrington tensed when he recognised the flag. The red skeleton was well-known in these parts. The Fortune had not set sails in these waters for a few months, but it appeared that she was back... and Norrington doubted that Edward Low would have forgotten him. In any case, his colours were clear: no quarter.
Captain Edward Low – giving him such a title always grated on Norrington's nerves – had a reputation almost worse than Barbossa's had been, probably due to its anchor in reality. Barbossa had been the stuff of legends, the Black Pearl a myth. Low and his Fortune were all too real for any officer, no matter their nationality. Tales of prisoners forced to eat the ear or heart of other captives had assured their reputation. The commodore himself had known one of the pirate's victims.
And despite all the faith Norrington put in Ted and in the Contester, he was not sure they would make it out of a stand-off between the two ships.
And then, there was the small matter of the Pearl heading straight for the Dauntless.
Everyone was already at their post, ready for battle. All six hundred and some hands on board knew what their places were. It was a well-oiled routine. The Pearl did not stand a chance in a confrontation against the Dauntless; Norrington knew Sparrow better than to think him stupid. He had done that mistake one time too many, and it had cost him the Interceptor.
"Hold fire."
"Sir?"
"I said hold fire, Mr Gillette," Norrington curtly repeated. "And heave to alongside the Black Pearl."
This was why Groves had got captainship of the Contester. He would not have questioned such an order; he would have seen the reasons behind it. And this was why Ted was now facing off with Edward Low, risking his body parts to be eaten by his crew members.
The Pearl and the Dauntless hove to side by side. Norrington was still amazed by the black-sailed ship herself, a hybrid the likes of which he had never seen elsewhere. She could have been a barque, she could have been a galleon, she was neither. Sparrow's figure was unmistakable on her quarter deck as the pirate performed an exaggerated curtsey with complicated flourishes of his hat. As if on cue, the first cannon blasts were heard over the sea, and clouds of powder rose from the two confronting ships.
"Many thanks, Commodore, for holdin' fire on us," the pirate hailed from the quarter deck, making himself heard across without seeming to unbecomingly yell, a feat which Norrington would have applauded if he had not been quite capable of the exact same thing. "I always figured ye for a man of some intelligence."
"How do you deem my patience?" Norrington replied sternly, hands linked behind his back, trying to ignore the sounds of the battle so close at hand, and yet so far away. The Pearl stood in their way.
Sparrow flashed his surprisingly white teeth at him in a humorous smile. "You mighta noticed your little friend here be in a right predicament. I believe you'll be needin' me help if you want them men o' yours to make it through."
Norrington gritted his teeth together. He absolutely, positively hated Jack Sparrow, in this very instant more than usual. The pirate had the detestable habit of having ulterior motives that one could never exactly guess at, but always expect to turn to his advantage without fear of being wrong. Norrington's attention was momentarily caught by the grim faces looking at him from the Pearl, visages twisted in different degrees of hate and contempt. Some of the lined faces looked as if they could have been sailors of his own fleet. He thought he actually recognised the squarish man standing beside Sparrow, but dismissed it as a flight of fancy. His gaze settled back on the captain of the Pearl, the only face he could see that remained nonchalant, almost... carefree.
"And what would make you think that?" Norrington's eyes flickered towards the Contester. She was a fiery one. She would give Low a run for his money, at least enough of a run for the Dauntless to come to the rescue. It would, of course, mean letting Sparrow escape, but there was no doubt in the Commodore's mind that Low needed hanging much more than the captain of the Pearl. "I am well capable of bringing aid to my men."
Another disconcerting smile. No pirate should have teeth that white, despite those few gold teeth; it added to the enigma that was Jack Sparrow, and Norrington disliked enigmas intensely. "Not if I decide to stand in your way."
The statement was offered with such nonchalance that it took a few seconds for its meaning to sink in. But of course. He was a pirate; what else could be expected of him? Norrington reigned in his fury, eyes flickering towards the Contester again. The Pearl would not come out victorious of a battle against the Dauntless, but she would surely delay them long enough to give Low the time to go about his business with the Contester. "You are a despicable man, Sparrow."
"Captain, if you would."
Norrington forced a tight smile on his lips. "Captain Sparrow." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the foretaste of the compromise he was considering. Life had been simple before Sparrow waltzed in. "I have little time to lose, be quick about it."
"I'd say you have time enough to lose, Commodore," came the drawled answer. Even from the distance, Norrington could not but notice the challenge in Sparrow's posture, dancing in his eyes. Or then again, it very well could be another flight of fancy. "Seein' as how the alternative is to fight me Pearl and let your men fend for themselves."
Anger flared to a previously-unreached level within Norrington's chest, suffusing his every thought. He seemed to be breathing the very emotion. He would, after all, feel much pleasure at seeing Sparrow hanged. The mere thought of it sent tingles of anticipation running up his spine. He waited for the din of the battle, which had roared louder, to subside slightly. It gave him time enough to compose himself. "What is it you want, Spa – Captain?"
"For starters, ye'll be comin' aboard for a bit o' parley, Commodore."
"Unacceptable."
"Very well then. I see your long nines are quite ready to blow holes in my ship. I'm every bit in love with her, and I'll be holdin' you personally responsible for that, James. It is James?"
Oh yes. Norrington would turn Jack Sparrow into his own crusade. He would see the pirate hanged if it were to be the last thing he did. "What guarantee would I have of my own safety?"
"Sir –" Gillette started, but Norrington shut him up with a look. Dissent in the ranks was the last thing he needed right now. Sparrow was one to turn such a small fissure into a gaping breech.
"You only have the word to say, Commodore."
Norrington gritted his teeth. His world seemed to narrow down to naught but this choice, now. Gillette had not heeded his warning look and was listing in a hushed, rushed tone all the reasons why Norrington should not do this. The Commodore was not taking in a word of it. He knew perfectly well each and every reason why he should not accept this, but all he could focus on was the noise of the battle; the wind had turned against them and carried every sound, every cannon being shot, every plank of wood splintered and every cry uttered, a din made of incomprehensible sounds. Any cry could be the death cry of one of his men. And there was Sparrow's irritating figure, mocking him with his lack of morality and the incomprehensible loyalty he had managed to spark in the Turners.
With that thought came a sharp pang of pain Norrington suppressed straight away. He forced himself to relax a little, shoulders sagging. This decision had been taken with the first cannon blast, but he had not acknowledged it until now. He only had the word to say. His voice rang true and clear, without the smallest hesitation or tremble to it.
"Parley."
That, at last, shut Gillette up.
***
Groves cursed under his breath when the first pirates boarded. The Contester had not yet drawn her last breath. She was having a hard time, yes, but she was far from ready to surrender. The only reason why he was cursing was that, as far as he could see through the gunpowder, Edward Low had not stepped aboard with his men. And Groves desperately wanted to cross blades with the pirate and be the one to plunge steel into his bowels.
One of the lieutenants he had started out with, some ten years earlier, had been taken captive by Low. Gregory Elliot had been a good man, an excellent officer, and an intimate friend.
Groves shot the pirate rushing him, then tucked his empty pistol back in his belt as he switched his blade to his other hand. His goal was still on the other ship. That was no trouble. He would make sure Low found reason to come aboard the Contester. Exterminating every one of his men as he encountered them seemed a good enough way to do it.
Of course, they were outnumbered by two to one. But Groves would try his best.
***
Commodore Norrington set his shoulders squarer as Sparrow offered him a glass of wine. He merely raised an eyebrow in answer and the pirate put the goblet down with a knowing smile. Norrington quickly surveyed the room. It was well-furnished, much more extravagantly luxurious than any officer's cabin. What caught his eye and puzzled him were the books he spied in a corner. Norrington forced his gaze not to linger, but he was curious as to what kind of reading such a pirate would have. He had never imagined Sparrow to be the literary type, and still could not.
"So. I s'pose you'll be wantin' to know what I'm playin' at."
"What could possibly have given you such an impression?"
Sparrow settled sideways in an armchair, crossing his legs elaborately over an arm as yet another volley of cannon fire was heard. He waggled a chiding finger at Norrington, a small pout drawing out his lower lip. "Now, now, Commodore, I hardly think sarcasm will get you anywhere."
His right hand tightening around his left fist in his back, Norrington took a moment to compose his tone. "Very well, Captain." The title still rang false as he uttered it, and he made no effort to hide it. "What are you playing at?"
"Do you want to save your men, Commodore?"
"Do you have many other stupid questions, Captain?"
An ugly smirk quirked Sparrow's lips, but his brown eyes were devoid of laughter as he swiftly put his feet on the ground, leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "I'm proposin' my service, and that of my crew, to the Royal Navy."
Norrington was too shocked to say anything for a few seconds. He could feel blood rise to his face and heat it up. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, come now, surely you can think of a worse privateer than the famed Black Pearl, can't you? And pray don't answer that with an insult to my ship." Sparrow leaned back, one brown finger circling the rim of his glass of wine. His dark eyes seemed to study Norrington closely. "What say you, Commodore?"
Norrington drew himself in. "I say that you must have turned mad at last, Sparrow."
The pirate moved so quickly that Norrington barely noticed his movement until he was nose to nose with him. "Captain Sparrow." His breath reeked of rum and other even less pleasant smells, but Norrington forced himself not to move. All of a sudden, the face an inch away from his looked extremely dangerous. This would be the first time he met the real Jack Sparrow, then. "It's Captain Sparrow, James."
"Captain," Norrington repeated through gritted teeth, his every effort bent on not reacting one way or another to the pirate's proximity.
"You'd do well not to forget it, 'specially when you're on my ship with but two of your men outside my cabin. Who knows what I could decide to do to you." The tone was conversational again as the pirate turned away and picked up the goblet he had still not drunk from. He faced Norrington, making a small circular motion with his hands. "Listen, mate, all I'm after's the chance to see Low done in, once and for all. And to do it meself, I may add."
Norrington bit back the numerous retorts he could have snapped at Sparrow. He had no doubt as to why the window of the pirate's cabin was open; the ongoing noises of the battle were an unnecessary reminder that every instant that passed, good men of the Royal Navy were injured, maimed, or killed. The commodore knew with equal certainty that every little delay Sparrow had orchestrated had had one purpose only: to make sure Norrington had as little time as possible to think this through. It greatly unnerved him that the pirate was once again ahead of him, and in control, despite Norrington's understanding of his scheme. It greatly unnerved him that he had, indeed, no time to think this through.
"Consider yourself hired."
The arrogant smile that stretched Sparrow's lips made Norrington want to take this bloody useless compass of his and knock his teeth out with it. "I've actually scribbled out a small somethin' for you to sign, Commodore. Not that I don't trust yer word, 'course... I just don't trust any man's word."
Norrington grabbed the sheet of paper Sparrow held out for him. He idly wondered whether this was the pirate's own handwriting; it looked to be the work of an educated man. If not Sparrow himself, who on his crew? As for the contents, it seemed to be an exact copy of an Act of Grace. Norrington would sign to the Black Pearl being a privateer for the Royal Navy in lieu of the governor, meaning of course that the crew would get all their previous offences pardoned.
It simply revolted Norrington, but he had even less choice now than he had when he was still aboard the Dauntless. Sparrow had trapped him into this quite magnificently. It was with gritted teeth and throbbing temples that Norrington signed the act.
"And I'll be keepin' this, thanks very much," Sparrow said as he spilled some sand on the sheet to make the ink dry up, then carelessly tossed it on top of a heap of papers in an open drawer. "Cheers, mate!" And with that, Sparrow proceeded to down his glass.
Norrington had been patient long enough. "Now that you are, in all purposes, under my orders, I –"
Sparrow held up the hand with the empty glass in it, his first finger raised. "Now wait a minute there, Commodore, who said anything about orders?"
"Any privateer of the Royal Navy sailing in these waters answers to me, Captain." This time, the title had taken on a most ironic note, as had this whole situation.
Sparrow put the glass down on the table. "I believe things will be workin' differently here, with all undue respect." He strode to the door before Norrington had the chance to interrupt and barked out the order to raise the flag.
Norrington was fuming by the time Sparrow turned back to him. The pirate shot him a woebegone look. "Ah. You did not honestly expect me to follow your orders, James, did ye?"
"You will call me Commodore."
"Aye. Commodore," Sparrow repeated with next to no respect, eyes twinkling with mirth. "I expect you'll be wanting to go back to yer own ship, 'ey?"
Norrington did not dignify this with a reply and strode out of the cabin as Sparrow parodied a curtsey. The two red-coats that had been positioned outside the cabin fell in stride a step behind him. The atmosphere was thick enough to cut, men who knew he would have seen them hanged glaring at him quite openly, and he heard a pirate grumble about an accursed flag. Only when he looked up at the main mast did he understand: over the impressive black sails of the Pearl, the blue ensign of the British Navy was blowing in the wind. It was something he had never thought he would see, and he idly wondered to what ship the flag had originally belonged, from what mast it had been unrightfully torn.
"Well, Commodore, we're all awaitin' your orders."
The irony-laced words were spoken far too close to his ear for his liking, but Norrington made a show not to move away as he turned to face Sparrow. Clear green eyes met dark brown irises, both pairs carefully hiding their emotions under impassibility for the ones, amusement for the others. "Indeed."
Things happened quickly after that. Norrington stepped back aboard the Dauntless and announced the news. He did not let anybody time to complain, least of all Gillette, and immediately ordered that both ships made for the battle ahead. It seemed, however, that luck was against them. Low must have spotted the Pearl's new flag, for the Fortune was already sailing away by then. The wind was against them; they would not catch her now.
But Norrington had seen the look in Sparrow's eyes. If there was one thing he could count on from the pirate, it was that he would do all in his power to catch Low. He had not asked then because of time running out, but Norrington would find out what made Sparrow so eager to see Low dead. All this, however, would have to come later.
Now, as they sailed towards the motionless Contester, Norrington could only wonder how many had died, and whether Ted was one of them.
-- End of Chapter One
That being posted, argh. They're working on the streets around and the whole neighbourhood smells of tar - and I don't want to hear anyone saying "they're putting you in the right atmosphere for FoF" with a look that says "that's what you get for not studying," eh? Which I should go and do. The study thing. A Midsummer Night's Dream awaits - and really, tar is not quite the right smell for the woods atmosphere.
cgwriting's ever so helpful advice, and then I just decided to start posting it. So there, the whole of the first chapter. Any review would be welcome!A Flight of Fancy
Chapter One: Hold Fire
Commodore James Norrington was standing on the poop deck of the HMS Dauntless, surveying the work of the sailors all over the ship. Blue vests were busying themselves with the sails or with cleaning, while red coats were polishing their weapons. A measure of apprehension swelled in the commodore's chest. A few leagues ahead of them was the Contester, captained by Ted. Captain Theodore Sinclair Groves. Norrington had long hesitated over whether he should hand over the captainship of the new ship to his first or second lieutenant – Gillette or Groves. But while Gillette was a steady officer, Norrington had his doubts as to his judgement capacities. Ted had proved more reasonable and his loyalty to his superior was unquestionable. James and he knew each other since their childhood; while their friendship itself had held no weight in his decision, it did allow the commodore to know Ted well enough to trust him with this ship.
The Contester was not unlike the late Interceptor. She was much swifter than the Dauntless, but with less fire power, too, a lively sloop-of-war. Groves had been captaining her for a few weeks now. A few more weeks than the Interceptor had been lost; a few more weeks than Sparrow had escaped from under their very noses. A few more weeks than Norrington had let him escape.
His decision still troubled the commodore.
It troubled him all the more now that they were giving chase to the Black Pearl. The ship of legends, holed sails or not, not captained by the damned anymore but by, much worse, a trickster figure that Norrington could not bring himself to look forward to seeing hanged. No, he would get no pleasure from seeing Sparrow's feet dangling for their last dance, merely the satisfying sense of accomplished duty at last.
The winds were with them. Maybe twenty more minutes and they would catch up with the Pearl, less so for the Contester, which Norrington would never have sent alone against Sparrow's ship. Groves had her well in hand; he was a fine choice of a captain indeed. The Contester sailed out of sight behind the curve of an island. The Dauntless was sailing quite nicely herself, with her usual stubborn imperturbability. She might not be as swift as others, but she was reliable and powerful. She eerily reminded Norrington of his father sometimes. She was not quick to anger, but her wrath was mighty once awakened. All men were tending to her eighty cannons now. If Sparrow had any sense left, which Norrington doubted, he would surrender immediately.
"Commodore. Look at this."
Norrington took the spyglass Gillette was offering. They had just rounded the isle, hardly more than a patch of land. What Norrington was expecting to see was the Contester coming up on the Pearl. What he saw was a sloop coming up on the Contester, and the Pearl sailing back towards them, without striking any colours. Them not being the Contester and the unidentified sloop, but the Dauntless. The Pearl was heading straight for them!
Forcing himself to direct the spyglass away from the black-sailed ship to set it to the study of the sloop, Norrington tensed when he recognised the flag. The red skeleton was well-known in these parts. The Fortune had not set sails in these waters for a few months, but it appeared that she was back... and Norrington doubted that Edward Low would have forgotten him. In any case, his colours were clear: no quarter.
Captain Edward Low – giving him such a title always grated on Norrington's nerves – had a reputation almost worse than Barbossa's had been, probably due to its anchor in reality. Barbossa had been the stuff of legends, the Black Pearl a myth. Low and his Fortune were all too real for any officer, no matter their nationality. Tales of prisoners forced to eat the ear or heart of other captives had assured their reputation. The commodore himself had known one of the pirate's victims.
And despite all the faith Norrington put in Ted and in the Contester, he was not sure they would make it out of a stand-off between the two ships.
And then, there was the small matter of the Pearl heading straight for the Dauntless.
Everyone was already at their post, ready for battle. All six hundred and some hands on board knew what their places were. It was a well-oiled routine. The Pearl did not stand a chance in a confrontation against the Dauntless; Norrington knew Sparrow better than to think him stupid. He had done that mistake one time too many, and it had cost him the Interceptor.
"Hold fire."
"Sir?"
"I said hold fire, Mr Gillette," Norrington curtly repeated. "And heave to alongside the Black Pearl."
This was why Groves had got captainship of the Contester. He would not have questioned such an order; he would have seen the reasons behind it. And this was why Ted was now facing off with Edward Low, risking his body parts to be eaten by his crew members.
The Pearl and the Dauntless hove to side by side. Norrington was still amazed by the black-sailed ship herself, a hybrid the likes of which he had never seen elsewhere. She could have been a barque, she could have been a galleon, she was neither. Sparrow's figure was unmistakable on her quarter deck as the pirate performed an exaggerated curtsey with complicated flourishes of his hat. As if on cue, the first cannon blasts were heard over the sea, and clouds of powder rose from the two confronting ships.
"Many thanks, Commodore, for holdin' fire on us," the pirate hailed from the quarter deck, making himself heard across without seeming to unbecomingly yell, a feat which Norrington would have applauded if he had not been quite capable of the exact same thing. "I always figured ye for a man of some intelligence."
"How do you deem my patience?" Norrington replied sternly, hands linked behind his back, trying to ignore the sounds of the battle so close at hand, and yet so far away. The Pearl stood in their way.
Sparrow flashed his surprisingly white teeth at him in a humorous smile. "You mighta noticed your little friend here be in a right predicament. I believe you'll be needin' me help if you want them men o' yours to make it through."
Norrington gritted his teeth together. He absolutely, positively hated Jack Sparrow, in this very instant more than usual. The pirate had the detestable habit of having ulterior motives that one could never exactly guess at, but always expect to turn to his advantage without fear of being wrong. Norrington's attention was momentarily caught by the grim faces looking at him from the Pearl, visages twisted in different degrees of hate and contempt. Some of the lined faces looked as if they could have been sailors of his own fleet. He thought he actually recognised the squarish man standing beside Sparrow, but dismissed it as a flight of fancy. His gaze settled back on the captain of the Pearl, the only face he could see that remained nonchalant, almost... carefree.
"And what would make you think that?" Norrington's eyes flickered towards the Contester. She was a fiery one. She would give Low a run for his money, at least enough of a run for the Dauntless to come to the rescue. It would, of course, mean letting Sparrow escape, but there was no doubt in the Commodore's mind that Low needed hanging much more than the captain of the Pearl. "I am well capable of bringing aid to my men."
Another disconcerting smile. No pirate should have teeth that white, despite those few gold teeth; it added to the enigma that was Jack Sparrow, and Norrington disliked enigmas intensely. "Not if I decide to stand in your way."
The statement was offered with such nonchalance that it took a few seconds for its meaning to sink in. But of course. He was a pirate; what else could be expected of him? Norrington reigned in his fury, eyes flickering towards the Contester again. The Pearl would not come out victorious of a battle against the Dauntless, but she would surely delay them long enough to give Low the time to go about his business with the Contester. "You are a despicable man, Sparrow."
"Captain, if you would."
Norrington forced a tight smile on his lips. "Captain Sparrow." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the foretaste of the compromise he was considering. Life had been simple before Sparrow waltzed in. "I have little time to lose, be quick about it."
"I'd say you have time enough to lose, Commodore," came the drawled answer. Even from the distance, Norrington could not but notice the challenge in Sparrow's posture, dancing in his eyes. Or then again, it very well could be another flight of fancy. "Seein' as how the alternative is to fight me Pearl and let your men fend for themselves."
Anger flared to a previously-unreached level within Norrington's chest, suffusing his every thought. He seemed to be breathing the very emotion. He would, after all, feel much pleasure at seeing Sparrow hanged. The mere thought of it sent tingles of anticipation running up his spine. He waited for the din of the battle, which had roared louder, to subside slightly. It gave him time enough to compose himself. "What is it you want, Spa – Captain?"
"For starters, ye'll be comin' aboard for a bit o' parley, Commodore."
"Unacceptable."
"Very well then. I see your long nines are quite ready to blow holes in my ship. I'm every bit in love with her, and I'll be holdin' you personally responsible for that, James. It is James?"
Oh yes. Norrington would turn Jack Sparrow into his own crusade. He would see the pirate hanged if it were to be the last thing he did. "What guarantee would I have of my own safety?"
"Sir –" Gillette started, but Norrington shut him up with a look. Dissent in the ranks was the last thing he needed right now. Sparrow was one to turn such a small fissure into a gaping breech.
"You only have the word to say, Commodore."
Norrington gritted his teeth. His world seemed to narrow down to naught but this choice, now. Gillette had not heeded his warning look and was listing in a hushed, rushed tone all the reasons why Norrington should not do this. The Commodore was not taking in a word of it. He knew perfectly well each and every reason why he should not accept this, but all he could focus on was the noise of the battle; the wind had turned against them and carried every sound, every cannon being shot, every plank of wood splintered and every cry uttered, a din made of incomprehensible sounds. Any cry could be the death cry of one of his men. And there was Sparrow's irritating figure, mocking him with his lack of morality and the incomprehensible loyalty he had managed to spark in the Turners.
With that thought came a sharp pang of pain Norrington suppressed straight away. He forced himself to relax a little, shoulders sagging. This decision had been taken with the first cannon blast, but he had not acknowledged it until now. He only had the word to say. His voice rang true and clear, without the smallest hesitation or tremble to it.
"Parley."
That, at last, shut Gillette up.
***
Groves cursed under his breath when the first pirates boarded. The Contester had not yet drawn her last breath. She was having a hard time, yes, but she was far from ready to surrender. The only reason why he was cursing was that, as far as he could see through the gunpowder, Edward Low had not stepped aboard with his men. And Groves desperately wanted to cross blades with the pirate and be the one to plunge steel into his bowels.
One of the lieutenants he had started out with, some ten years earlier, had been taken captive by Low. Gregory Elliot had been a good man, an excellent officer, and an intimate friend.
Groves shot the pirate rushing him, then tucked his empty pistol back in his belt as he switched his blade to his other hand. His goal was still on the other ship. That was no trouble. He would make sure Low found reason to come aboard the Contester. Exterminating every one of his men as he encountered them seemed a good enough way to do it.
Of course, they were outnumbered by two to one. But Groves would try his best.
***
Commodore Norrington set his shoulders squarer as Sparrow offered him a glass of wine. He merely raised an eyebrow in answer and the pirate put the goblet down with a knowing smile. Norrington quickly surveyed the room. It was well-furnished, much more extravagantly luxurious than any officer's cabin. What caught his eye and puzzled him were the books he spied in a corner. Norrington forced his gaze not to linger, but he was curious as to what kind of reading such a pirate would have. He had never imagined Sparrow to be the literary type, and still could not.
"So. I s'pose you'll be wantin' to know what I'm playin' at."
"What could possibly have given you such an impression?"
Sparrow settled sideways in an armchair, crossing his legs elaborately over an arm as yet another volley of cannon fire was heard. He waggled a chiding finger at Norrington, a small pout drawing out his lower lip. "Now, now, Commodore, I hardly think sarcasm will get you anywhere."
His right hand tightening around his left fist in his back, Norrington took a moment to compose his tone. "Very well, Captain." The title still rang false as he uttered it, and he made no effort to hide it. "What are you playing at?"
"Do you want to save your men, Commodore?"
"Do you have many other stupid questions, Captain?"
An ugly smirk quirked Sparrow's lips, but his brown eyes were devoid of laughter as he swiftly put his feet on the ground, leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "I'm proposin' my service, and that of my crew, to the Royal Navy."
Norrington was too shocked to say anything for a few seconds. He could feel blood rise to his face and heat it up. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, come now, surely you can think of a worse privateer than the famed Black Pearl, can't you? And pray don't answer that with an insult to my ship." Sparrow leaned back, one brown finger circling the rim of his glass of wine. His dark eyes seemed to study Norrington closely. "What say you, Commodore?"
Norrington drew himself in. "I say that you must have turned mad at last, Sparrow."
The pirate moved so quickly that Norrington barely noticed his movement until he was nose to nose with him. "Captain Sparrow." His breath reeked of rum and other even less pleasant smells, but Norrington forced himself not to move. All of a sudden, the face an inch away from his looked extremely dangerous. This would be the first time he met the real Jack Sparrow, then. "It's Captain Sparrow, James."
"Captain," Norrington repeated through gritted teeth, his every effort bent on not reacting one way or another to the pirate's proximity.
"You'd do well not to forget it, 'specially when you're on my ship with but two of your men outside my cabin. Who knows what I could decide to do to you." The tone was conversational again as the pirate turned away and picked up the goblet he had still not drunk from. He faced Norrington, making a small circular motion with his hands. "Listen, mate, all I'm after's the chance to see Low done in, once and for all. And to do it meself, I may add."
Norrington bit back the numerous retorts he could have snapped at Sparrow. He had no doubt as to why the window of the pirate's cabin was open; the ongoing noises of the battle were an unnecessary reminder that every instant that passed, good men of the Royal Navy were injured, maimed, or killed. The commodore knew with equal certainty that every little delay Sparrow had orchestrated had had one purpose only: to make sure Norrington had as little time as possible to think this through. It greatly unnerved him that the pirate was once again ahead of him, and in control, despite Norrington's understanding of his scheme. It greatly unnerved him that he had, indeed, no time to think this through.
"Consider yourself hired."
The arrogant smile that stretched Sparrow's lips made Norrington want to take this bloody useless compass of his and knock his teeth out with it. "I've actually scribbled out a small somethin' for you to sign, Commodore. Not that I don't trust yer word, 'course... I just don't trust any man's word."
Norrington grabbed the sheet of paper Sparrow held out for him. He idly wondered whether this was the pirate's own handwriting; it looked to be the work of an educated man. If not Sparrow himself, who on his crew? As for the contents, it seemed to be an exact copy of an Act of Grace. Norrington would sign to the Black Pearl being a privateer for the Royal Navy in lieu of the governor, meaning of course that the crew would get all their previous offences pardoned.
It simply revolted Norrington, but he had even less choice now than he had when he was still aboard the Dauntless. Sparrow had trapped him into this quite magnificently. It was with gritted teeth and throbbing temples that Norrington signed the act.
"And I'll be keepin' this, thanks very much," Sparrow said as he spilled some sand on the sheet to make the ink dry up, then carelessly tossed it on top of a heap of papers in an open drawer. "Cheers, mate!" And with that, Sparrow proceeded to down his glass.
Norrington had been patient long enough. "Now that you are, in all purposes, under my orders, I –"
Sparrow held up the hand with the empty glass in it, his first finger raised. "Now wait a minute there, Commodore, who said anything about orders?"
"Any privateer of the Royal Navy sailing in these waters answers to me, Captain." This time, the title had taken on a most ironic note, as had this whole situation.
Sparrow put the glass down on the table. "I believe things will be workin' differently here, with all undue respect." He strode to the door before Norrington had the chance to interrupt and barked out the order to raise the flag.
Norrington was fuming by the time Sparrow turned back to him. The pirate shot him a woebegone look. "Ah. You did not honestly expect me to follow your orders, James, did ye?"
"You will call me Commodore."
"Aye. Commodore," Sparrow repeated with next to no respect, eyes twinkling with mirth. "I expect you'll be wanting to go back to yer own ship, 'ey?"
Norrington did not dignify this with a reply and strode out of the cabin as Sparrow parodied a curtsey. The two red-coats that had been positioned outside the cabin fell in stride a step behind him. The atmosphere was thick enough to cut, men who knew he would have seen them hanged glaring at him quite openly, and he heard a pirate grumble about an accursed flag. Only when he looked up at the main mast did he understand: over the impressive black sails of the Pearl, the blue ensign of the British Navy was blowing in the wind. It was something he had never thought he would see, and he idly wondered to what ship the flag had originally belonged, from what mast it had been unrightfully torn.
"Well, Commodore, we're all awaitin' your orders."
The irony-laced words were spoken far too close to his ear for his liking, but Norrington made a show not to move away as he turned to face Sparrow. Clear green eyes met dark brown irises, both pairs carefully hiding their emotions under impassibility for the ones, amusement for the others. "Indeed."
Things happened quickly after that. Norrington stepped back aboard the Dauntless and announced the news. He did not let anybody time to complain, least of all Gillette, and immediately ordered that both ships made for the battle ahead. It seemed, however, that luck was against them. Low must have spotted the Pearl's new flag, for the Fortune was already sailing away by then. The wind was against them; they would not catch her now.
But Norrington had seen the look in Sparrow's eyes. If there was one thing he could count on from the pirate, it was that he would do all in his power to catch Low. He had not asked then because of time running out, but Norrington would find out what made Sparrow so eager to see Low dead. All this, however, would have to come later.
Now, as they sailed towards the motionless Contester, Norrington could only wonder how many had died, and whether Ted was one of them.
-- End of Chapter One
That being posted, argh. They're working on the streets around and the whole neighbourhood smells of tar - and I don't want to hear anyone saying "they're putting you in the right atmosphere for FoF" with a look that says "that's what you get for not studying," eh? Which I should go and do. The study thing. A Midsummer Night's Dream awaits - and really, tar is not quite the right smell for the woods atmosphere.
