Chapter Eight: The Morning After

We lay on the rug in front of the fire, limbs entangled, Jack half asleep, I with my face on his shoulder, not quite kissing it. I had done such things before, of course, with men and women. Although, not often with the latter, and not as often as all that with the former. I was tired, so tired, couldn’t remember not being tired, but my head was buzzing… the housekeeper would be wondering where I was…the fleet… the town. It was called at times “the most wicked city on earth”, though it was neither a city nor particularly more wicked than any other I had encountered. Merciful Christ what on earth was I… He curled against me, mumbled something, back muscles flexing. Outside, where the town, though never still, was quiet and the nightlife of the forests muttered and cackled. It was warm, out there, even this late into the night. But my office needed the fire to make it bearable. God bless colonial builders, and their ability to suck the warmth out of places in the sun. I know. I know. I am the archetypical upholder of the empire. I’ve got the voice and the sneer just right. But really, I do privately think I’m not as bad as some. I don’t pretend that Britain has a right to these colonies because of any intellectual or moral superiority. I do not think that Europeans are inherently cleverer or better than the people of the lands we control. We just happened to win this time, because we were better bastards this time. Eventually the tables will turn, and we will decline. Like all other empires.

I don’t feel guilty about upholding the law, though, at least most aspects of the law, because the law is what is supposed to make society work.
I have, since I became a midshipman at sixteen, over half my life ago, lost faith in many things; God- not His existence, just His Divine Relevance; the Monarchy; love; other people; but I never quite lost my faith in the law, and its rightness, and ability to protect people, even when I saw quite plainly that on most occasions it fell short of this ideal.

That does not mean I have always been proud of myself.

…Jack smelt good… feral…but good.

The flames played shadows over us, too merry for my thoughts, drawn low as I was by the return of the real world.  

I could have just tied him up there and then, and bundled him off to Bagley. Would have saved the town…

“Would be the sensiblest option, love. You know it and I know it.”

I looked down. He looked up. Did the treachery of my thoughts convey itself in my face?  

I tried to keep my tone light, “What kind of cad do you take me for?”

He frowned a little, “A rational one. I’ve done worse, to them much closer than us- wouldn’t hold it against you. This place is worth more than me.”

Nodding, “I’ve no doubt. But I’ll not do it.”

 He jerked on to his elbows, “Oh you’ll not, won’t you? A quick shag don’t make me your responsibility, you know.  I could choose to go out there. Give meself up. Escape later, when I could.”

 I did not wince, or say “I saved your life after you spent the last few months shaven and starving, doing god knows what to gamble your way round Jamaica”, because then he would have known his words stung, I just said,

“But you haven’t. So.”  

He pulled away, buttoned his shirt, sat up, staring into the fire, “nah… look. Jim… It’s…” He sighed, and his face twitched a little, like an aborted smile, “It ain’t Bagley I’m running away from…not per se… ”

He didn’t look at me as he talked, didn’t check to see if I believed him. Perhaps he didn’t care either way, by then. One way or another though, I did. Perhaps it was my last encounter with him, and being rather abruptly forced to accept there were indeed more things in heaven and earth, and more importantly two of those things were undead pirates and curses by angry gods. Perhaps it was because I thought at that point that I knew what he looked like when he was lying. Perhaps it was post-coital insanity.

“You gotta understand Jim, they were gonna garrotte me. No two ways about it. No talking my way out of it, no doing anything else to get my way out of it, the guards being amply supplied with all types of that sort of thing. And it’s not like I hadn’t tried. Bloody bastard gave me a right hiding after that. And I’m lying there thinking my rib’s cracked, and my breathing’s started going funny, and there’s a new guard. He’s prettier than the old one, and friendlier too. Weird eyes though- no irises. Just black orbs. Turns out he’s some kind of water demon. Fixes me up a treat, right down to the bruises. And then he’s offering me a deal. He gets me out and safe. I give him what he wants. And that is nothing so crude as my soul, or my eternal servitude, cos there were a few times I’d have been perfectly willing to give him either. Or at least say I would. Nah. He wanted my….well, he wanted my body, and not in a good way. They ain’t got them, see? They just nick other people’s, them who agree. When he got bored of that body, say thirteen years, they like thirteens, he’d come after mine. And a course I did. Cos I figured I’d be able to run away. And I did. I dunno why I bothered. Caught up with me. And a….friend….had to make him give me more time. They always bloody catch up though don’t they? Basset, Bagley, water demons. It’s all the same.”

He glowered at his feet. I remained silent, unsure what to say. Then he glanced at me,
“I’d go to Bagley in a minute, honest.  Not when he came to me, not when he stole my ship and I ran, not when you found me. But now. Only…”

He paused. Took a deep steadying breath, sitting legs splayed, slouched, a discarded marionette,

“But…. Th’other one, he’s not got a body any more. He left the last one, to come after me. I got an extra month or so, and all that time he’s just been out at sea, all formless and floaty. And when I’m on the water, he gets into my dreams…my head….he’s just there…. I sometimes I can feel myself… slip away….jus’ for less than a second…but that’s long enough… it’s like being dead, but being conscious enough to know it. Neiver oblivion nor the afterlife. And he can’t get me on land. No body, like I said. So he’s just out there. Getting angrier, and trying to figure out a way of beating the system. And the month’s nearly out- so I got two options, never sail again, or face it and that’s the death of me. And I think even never setting to water again wouldn’t last for long. He’s got friends – in the woods, the seagulls, that sort of thing.”

I crossed to the window and stared out over the town, my head stuck through the curtains. The sky twisted from blue to pink, the fire dead in the grate. Out near the horizon, I could just make out, barely noticeable, points of black, suggestive of ships or maybe just a streak of clouds.

Jack’s voice had slid down to a cracked whisper, “I’ll…look. I’ll go when it’s light, alright? I’m.... sorry, I didn’t really mean to… I’ll make sure Bagley don’t do anything to the town.”

I pressed my fingers against my eyeballs, squeezing them shut. Jack was still talking about…

“Oh, do be quiet Sparrow. You know full well, you’re not going anywhere. I didn’t have to get involved and I’ve chosen to. We will sort this god awful mess out, you will keep your blasted body, because it would be a huge disappointment to me if you didn’t, and you will get your bloody ship back. I will help you achieve all this because, if you weren’t already in my debt enough already, you will owe such an enormous favour after this I will be able to do practically anything I want with you.”
And Jack was silent. Which was something, I suppose.

I heard about Bagley and Norrington, and the meeting and it was only the piratical fleet out there stopped me from getting the hell away. I say that. But. I found myself back in James’ office, hiding in the shadows made darker by the fire that had been lit in the grate.

James returned as the daylight gave way to evening shadow. He locked the door behind him. He di’n’t   light the lamps,  but pulled the curtains; di’n’t sit down, just stood in the cool dark, his back to me, a silhouette of deeper darkness in the gloom; took off his hat and wig; a second’s thought and off came the coat. Spread around some papers on the desk, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, hissed “Damn everything”.

I shifted silently,
“Sparrow, if you make it a habit to be so incompetent at sneaking around it is small wonder you end up in gaol so regularly.” Which sounds very smug and all, until he turned round and his face nearly brushed mine, cos I’d got that close. He gasped a bit, sharp-like, and I purred,
“Maybe I just wanted to get caught.”

He smiled; sad-like, and shook his head, “You do not. That’s why you’re here, to try and…”

I didn’t wanna talk about Bagley, not ever, but seeing as never probably wasn’t an option, I figured just not talking about it then was doable. Even hunted and drawn his face was the sort what fuels my fantasies. Even when the mouth on it was about to be used tell me ol' Norrie had no choice but to give me over, or his town’d be flattened, his mouth was enough to drive a man this close to distraction. Besides. Much harder to throw over a man you’ve just bedded, aye?

I ran my fingers lightly through his hair and down his neck,

“Not now, eh?”

He almost looked about to kiss me, “Here?” Whispered, furtive, like a kid being dared to a snog in the back of a church.

Lightly, I rested my hands on his hips, “Can’t go back to your house, not with the housekeeper et various. And quite apart from the fact there’s a bit of a pretty irony in a wanted man doing it in a place of law, the curtains’re drawn and no one’ll ever be any the wiser, and this is one of those rare agreeable serendipitous moments when not only do two people with a desire for the same thing, to whit, each other, come together, but they find themselves entirely with the time and means to get what they want.” Bemused, beautifully bemused, an eyebrow quirked, he stroked a finger down the side of my face, traced the outline of my top lip. Almost fascinated. And it sent a shudder through me and no mistake. With the same slow, experimental sort of a manner he leant in and pressed his lips against where his finger had been. It was a testin’ kiss too, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he would think when he did it. Like, a plunge into the unknown, though I reckon he’d done it before. A naiveté, yeah? Not in the actual kiss, like I said, it was one learned snog, made me feel quite weak at the knees, but the way he smiled after; gives me this broad grin, like he’s discovered something absolutely amazin’, and then I’m grinnin’ too, and then we’re locked together, smilin’ and gigglin’ and kissin’, not that either of us knew why, and, oh gods, his hands, hips...thighs…mouth. Shirts still on, unbuttoned, shifting brushed-cotton-soft with us, me held together with tattoos, him smooth and pale, him and me, both of us with chests scar-starred from the years. Oh, yerse… well... I mean... something’s gotta distract from your troubles. . Most innocuous, innocent way of forgetting, I reckon.

Basset was let out. Of course he was. I wanted to charge him, but had nothing to charge with. I had no evidence for him being drunk and disorderly. Mary would not say he had hit her. Jack. Well. Couldn’t even begin to list the problems with that one. On top of which, I arrived at the office to an epistolary dressing down from Admiral Basset, which told me in veiled but certain terms that I had about as much hope of getting his job as France did of deposing their cretinous monarchy. Yes. Yes. I know. Pots and kettles. George the Third and all that.
I had met Will by the courthouse. Over the past two years I had become close friends with the pair of them. Closer, indeed than I had ever hoped to be. Will turns out to be pleasant company, and any awkwardness I should have felt around Elizabeth seems mercifully absent. He had invited me for lunch and I had spent the entire journey to his home working up to a full scale rant.

Walking up the passage, he tried to placate me, “James, why are you letting this upset you so much? It happens all the time, surely?”

“…Yes, but you didn’t see his face. The smug bastard…” I noticed the maid cleaning the banister, blushed to have sworn and so angrily in front of her, “I beg your pardon miss...what I mean is, I just wish I could do something about them!”

Will led me to his drawing room, “Doesn’t every rich libertine have the same expression? Why is this time so important?”

“He struck a woman! In public. Hard, too! I...oh…Elizabeth…”

She smiled, beautiful as ever, “Please, don’t cool your temper on my account. I know all about it and I would be fuming too.” I kissed her hand and then collapsed in the sofa opposite.  Will sat next to his wife; I sighed and rubbed my face, “I am sorry. I know. This has happened a dozen times.”

Will grinned, “still. You’re taking it terribly hard. This isn’t the rational Commodore we know. You sound almost like me. And I hear young Basset was unconscious when you brought him in. There wasn’t anything special about this young woman was there?”

I was taken aback, both by his frankness and the absurdity of the question. I glowered, and said sternly, “I just think the law should apply to every man and woman, not just those too poor to escape prison when they get caught.”

And yet. What had haunted me was not so much his violence towards Mary, disgusted though I had been by it. It was the gash in Jack’s head, and the way he had flinched when I ran my hands over his ribs, accidentally brushing the bruises there. He said he’d take it out of my hide…I hadn’t known, when I found them down that ally, what Basset had been going to do to him.  Just wanted to say thank you.

I added quietly, “besides, if she had been, do not imagine Basset would be in any position to be walking out of that gaol today. At least not without two men to support him either side. You are not the only ones given to rash decisions, young Turners.”

There was a few awkward seconds of silence, and then Will laughed, “Oh, James. You are in a vile, serious mood. Clearly, you’ll be no light dinner companion. Elizabeth, tell me about your own day; happier than his, I hope?”

She nodded, “Oh, I just pottered about, you know. Visited. Discovered the East India Trading company make no distinction between men and women in their administratory doings and my cousin Mabelline is doing rather well; she followed her father into it, after that unfortunate business with her and her fiancé separating…the usual…” she wittered and I brooded, staring at the long curtain in front of the French windows, which had bulged peculiarly. That was odd.

Unbidden, images of the night before rose; Jack sitting in my office. Jack’s breath on my neck… Even the way he used my last name was…erotic in the extreme. I’m not a cup of tea Norrington.

Two cups on the table, too. Now, Elizabeth surely didn’t have a lover, and would not be embarrassed for me to meet any of her friends. I wonder if… it’s not so far fetched, is it? He wouldn’t pass up this opportunity to see her, would he? Oh… and wouldn’t the look on his face, on all their faces, just be fabulous?

I made my way to the French window; watched Elizabeth stiffen to say something, realise she couldn’t without giving anything away, and look resigned. I smiled at her, took hold of the curtain and threw it back, revealing…

A closed French window, through which I could see the Turner garden, which contained a magnolia from which the petals were falling despite the lack of wind.

Elizabeth looked triumphant, Will, confused and quizzical,
“Commodore Norrington, what are you doing?”

Damn. I blushed, looked away, stammered, “Just, um, er…checking…”

“For what?” Elizabeth has an annoyingly sharp voice sometimes.

My mind floundered, failed, foundered, found, “Fruit bats.”

“Fruit bats?”

 “Yes. You get them around here, great flocks of fruit bats. They come in by open windows, looking for fruit to eat.” I did my best to look serious.

Elizabeth shook her head, “You are quite mad, sir. Madder than Sparrow.”

I glowered all through lunch, and continued glowering as I made my way back to the office, and was still glowering when the new Boy- don’t look like that, it’s a job description-  brought me tea. So, all things considered, I was never going to receive the news that the bloody pirate fleet had been spotted on the horizon sanguinely.

They’d run up a white flag; not for surrender, for discussion. We sent a fast boat out to meet them, and it returned rather sooner than I anticipated. The messenger, one Rob Walker, found me inspecting the Mercury, a replacement for the Interceptor, with Teddy and Andy.  I mean, Captain Groves, and Left-Tenant Gillette. Their conversation seemed strained, and I found myself filling in the gaps, though my mind, too, was on other things.

 Crowds had gathered on the docks to gawp at the fleet, now disturbingly close.
Walker took off his hat and his voice shook a little. Mr. Walker is a big lad, but he’s still rather frightened of me, because he has been under my command since the age of fourteen, and has been privy to most of my rages. Evidently, the news was not good.

“Commodore Norrington, sir, their man told me their…Com… Capt….leader wished to speak with you in person on his ship the, erm, Calypso and told me to say that as a gesture of good faith, he will sail his ship alone into the middle of the harbour, and it’ll be here by seven.  He also said to…to warn you that should anything happen to him or his ship, his, um, fleet will…er….destroy the entire town.”

Teddy looked scandalised, “The cheek of the man….Sir, you’re not going to accept are you?”

I gazed down my spyglass and took a second to control my face, that my fear and amazement would not communicate themselves to my men, or the townspeople. They had twenty ships, twenty; here, we had the Dauntless, the Mercury properly armed and five smaller ships. True, at least half of the pirate fleet were sloops and small junks, but they too would be armed to the hilt. If they attacked, we hadn’t a hope. I couldn’t even imagine the scale of the damage, the lives lost. 

If they wanted to talk, it meant they wanted, needed, something we had.

“Yes, Captain Groves. Yes, I am.”

I did not quite know what to make of the pirate in front of me. Slightly shorter than me, but much bigger, expensively dressed, his voice was cultured, but could have come from anywhere, there was a touch of English aristocracy, Irish landlord, American plantation owner, Spanish Don. He sat behind a great rosewood desk, but stood when I was entered.

He grasped my hand, “Commodore Norrington, I am so glad you chose to accept my invitation.”

I forced a smile, “How could I refuse…Er… I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

He laughed, “That is because I didn’t give it, forgive me. I am, like you, a Commodore, in charge of a fleet. Commodore Bagley.”

It turned my stomach to call him such, but I did not get to the position I am in today by not knowing when a little oiliness is healthy, “Charmed, Commodore Bagley.”

“Please, sit and we’ll get down to business.”

I sat and he surveyed me over steepled fingers, “For the past ten years, Commodore, I have been gathering a pirate fleet about me, you may have read about this and our…ventures in your reports.”

I inclined my head, “Without knowing it was you who was orchestrating them, certainly.”

“Well, pirates lured by the protection alliances offer, and the promise of bigger prizes than they could grasp on their own, have flocked from far and wide. We are now more than a match for any of your Navy, particularly isolated as you are out here, I am sorry to tell you this, but there you have it.”

I controlled the rising rage by reminding myself that it was, indeed, true, “Indeed.” Where was this leading? Did I want to know?

“Perhaps six months ago, I acquired a new ship. An extremely fast, extremely beautiful ship. However, her captain did not come with her.”

“Oh no? How…inconvenient.”

Bagley poured port into two cut crystal glasses, “Her crew, of course, would not work without their leader. Their loyalty does them credit, and I have not, as yet, found it in my heart to dispose of all of them.”

Taking a longer swallow of port, I nodded, “Very… merciful of you, Commodore Bagely.”

“I have that capacity, certainly. Now, I had given this particular Captain three weeks to make his decision, and on the understanding that, should he make the right one, his ship would once again be his to sail if not, ultimately, to command, had agreed a place to meet him. So, imagine my surprise when I found he was not there. I was most upset. I may have had a few people killed.” He smiled sheepishly as if to say, oh, I can be so silly sometimes. He shook his head, “In fact, he had vanished. Oh, there were stories of course and leads that were dead ends. Following this man is rather difficult, as you well know. Then. Last week, we heard he had come to Port Royal, to try his luck here, making money in whatever way he could.”

You may remember I had been winning at Gleek the night I met Jack? Well, I’m good at poker, too. “Really, Commodore Bagley? And what does this have to do with me?”

His voice was light, mocking, “Commodore, Commodore, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. You know full well of whom I speak, and the quicker he turns up, the quicker we leave. Simple.”

I pushed my chair back, and offered my hand, “Well, Commodore, this has been a fascinating insight. However, I can make no promises. I can’t involve myself in the affairs of pirates, no matter how strong they are. I think I must make my way home.”

Bagley’s eyes were murderous, his voice still almost sing-song, “Indeed, Navy. I’m sorry we’ve not reached an accord.” He showed me out, and I am sorry to say, I was almost shaking, because I knew that I was about to bring hellfire down on the town which I secretly rather loved, if only because it was mine to protect.

As I climbed down the ladder to my dinghy, Bagley bid me good bye, adding, “Commodore Norrington, when you see Jack Sparrow, tell him he’s got until Wednesday. His crew won’t thank him for keeping me waiting.”

<-- Chapter Four: The Unbearable Lightness of Being Teddy Groves and Andy Gillette


Needless to say, my night of valedictory passion did not go quite according to plan. Neither in the valedictory sense or the passion sense. When I saw the ships out there I felt a jolt of…. I dunno. Longing. Homesickness. Electricity.

I rushed off into the night, to see if I could just maybe see one that could have been her. I knelt in the sand and waited and looked and eventually the sound of the cannons died back and the fleet turned away.
I had no-where else to go and nothing to else to do. I went back to Norrington’s and sat in the window; was still there when he came home. He knocked on the door- in his own home, bless ‘im. He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder as I shook, not crying, I’m not the crying sort, just brimming over with a kind of nervous energy. He smelt of gunpowder and that dust the aristos put in their wigs, but also of soap and body and it was a comforting, real smell. I didn’t ask him to stay though. The moment had passed.

I must have fallen asleep cross-legged in the open window, cos I woke up with morning dew on my face and a seagull staring crazy-eyed at me from the sill.

“Piss off, you.”

It cackled and wheeled away, and I thought “There’s an omen if ever there was one.” But if it was a good one or a bad one I couldn’t tell. Just generally ominous.

James had gone, but there was tea, again, with a new note, and a blanket had been wrapped around my legs.

    Jack,

I am at the fort. Will not be back ‘til late. Mr. and Mrs Higgs, and Mr. Hawkins will be back around nine o’clock.  Either make yourself scarce or come up with some sort of alibi.

If you have to explain yourself to them before I return, I would be very grateful if you would do so in a way that doesn’t incriminate me, or cause them to resign.  

      James

P.s. I’m serious. Don’t upset the staff. They’ve been very good to me, and I couldn’t replace them.

Pompous arse.

Now, chaps and chapesses, I’m afraid, Jack has been playing the part of the Unreliable Narrator. I have been deliberately with holding information from you good people, mainly because the story is not quite straight in my head, but seeing as I’m here, and it’s now, and I’d better work out what I’m going to tell Norrington, who is, I’m sure you’ll agree, far more terrifying than any of you lot, I’ll use you as practise. You don’t mind if I walk while we talk, hey? Goodo. Don’t really fancy meeting them servants just yet.

So, right. Let’s start with the distant past. Twelve years, fifty one weeks and six days ago, I, a spry twenty- something, got in a spot of bother, while, aheh, freelancing for His Majesty’s esteemed naval services. It involved Spanish prisons, and somebody’s daughter. And her brother. And a series of documents of a politically sensitive nature. You know. Innocent stuff, which totally did not warrant the kicking I got given by the guards. Or the interrogation. Or the certain knowledge that I was going to be garrotted at some point and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. It was going to be an ignominious end to what had so far been a fairly glorious career.

So when a sleek guy wearing a nifty uniform leant against the bars and told me he could get me out, obviously I took him up on the offer. I’d have been mad not to. I mean, yes,  I thought it was a little odd that his eyes hadn’t got irises or whites, being just like globes of black marble, and that his teeth had something of the tiger about them, but those are not, in themselves, direct indicators of inherent evil and out to conscript as many bodies as possible in his….*ahem* yes. More on that later. What I’m saying is: It takes all sorts to make a world and I’m not one to judge a man on how he looks, and besides he was friendly enough. Extremely friendly.

“John Smith!”

This not actually being my name, it took me a while to realise that the caller who was calling was calling me.  However, when whoever it was caught up with me and tugged my sleeve I was forced to take note.

 I turned, smiled warily, made a small bow, “Miss Swann.”

Her smile was positively coy, and presented me with her left hand, “Mrs Turner, in fact.”
I was surprised, to be honest, I hadn’t expected it to work out. None of my loves-of-my-life-who-I’d-die-for ever did. But I suppose I’m not entirely representative. “My congratulations.”

I found myself pinioned against her side as she took my arm and walked with me. She leant against my shoulder and whispered, “There’s a very funny looking man following you, Jack. No, don’t turn around. Please just play along.”

Our route took us to the posh end of the docks, to an elegant town house, likely not standing twenty years.

The new Mrs. Turner made no mention of the “funny looking man” on entering her home, nor did she straight away ask me what brought me to her town, but showed me through to the drawing room and rang the bell for tea,  as though I were a frequent visitor.

I gazed around the room, and its expensive furnishings, “Lot of demand for swords and gates in these parts then?” Elizabeth frowned,

“As a matter of fact, this is my house. My mother left me money for after I married. But, certainly, Will is no pauper.”

I shook my head, “Of course not. Skilled man such as him.”

She gave me a look, “The smithy came into his possession, and some very important people came to hear of his talents.” Pride and love filled each vowel. Nauseating, yeah?

I held up my hands, “Never said they didn’t, love.”  Her defensiveness left me thining just  how they’d heard. To be sure, Will was a fine blacksmith. But many smiths are, and there is still, even in these suspicious days, a fashion among the rich for Toledo blades.

“There’s no pride lost in a friend recommending your husband to other friends of his. It is how trade works.”

I’m sharp sometimes, “Commodore Norrington is very good to his friends, I’m sure. He seems the type.”

She looked apologetic, “I know there’s no love lost between the two of you,” I almost laughed, remembering James’ hands inside m’shirt. I crossed my legs.

“He’s been very kind, and so gracious given the circumstances; he’s like you. A good, fine man.” Can’t argue with that . Fine man indeed. “Will had to be seen to be more than ‘just a smith’ and James’ friendship as certainly helped, particularly with the Society side of things. Business has never been better. They really seem to get along, too.”

I made a general gesture of acceptance, “You two were never really pirates.”

The maid brought in the tea, we thanked her, she smiled, curtseyed, left. As Elizabeth drank, I got a chance to look at her. She looked pretty and happy and I wondered just what she was doing that made her seem less inclined to the roaming. Hopefully not growing some kind of Turner-spawn. That would be a right let down; for her just to settle down and become like every other member of the lower aristocracy of her sex.

Just as I was about to mention her apparent contentedness, we heard this:
“…Yes, but you didn’t see his face. The smug bastard… Oh, I beg your pardon miss...what I mean is, I just wish I could do something about them!”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide, “That’s James...damn! Hide, idiot!”

For the show of things, I hid behind one of the curtains. Didn’t want her to suspect nowt, did I?

(I'm skiving off history homework to do this)

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte ( I probably won’t read this. But maybe)
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible. I
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (I can't really decide if I wanna read this or not)
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott (I dunno. It was great at the time. I think I was in love with Jo.)

12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy  (started it and I new it was going to depress me, so I gave up, being not in the frame of mind to readily withstand depression. Maybe one day)
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller (Have not got on with old Heller in the past)
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare (I’ve read a lot of the plays and most of the sonnets.)
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier (seen the film, was not inspired)
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks (It’s on my shelf. )
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger (And what a dull 100 pages of underacheiver’s drivelling whining it was)
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger (Started good, got boring, and the author put too many graphic descriptions of genitals and orgasms to compensate for the lack of plot.)
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot (It’s around. I ought to read it.)
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams (wasn’t my favourite ever)
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh (can’t wait for the film so I can complain about how wrong it was compared to the book.)
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck (It was very good, it made me sad.)
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll (I'm guessing the Disney kid's version doesn't count...)
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (see, as a kid I loved them. Now I can’t get past the dodgy religious metaphors.)
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (yes, I used to look for Narnia.)
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini (although I think the film was better)
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres ( It was pretty good.)
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne (I’ve read most of them at some point)
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown (started it, hated it, saw the film, hated it more. God it was predictable.)
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood ( I liked it lots and now we’re studying it for English. Hurrah.)

49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding ( I admit it confused me a little towards the end. But that’s golding for you)
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan (Trite clichéd shite.)
52. Dune - Frank Herbert (apparently it’s good, but I’m not massive sci-fi fan)
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon (I dunno why I liked this so much, but I did)
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon (his next books good too)
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Heard of it. Somewhere.)
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck ( I liked it the first time I read it. The second third and forth times were pretty bad. By the fifth I liked it again.)
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov  I started it. Not the most readable of writing.
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold (I loved it when I read it and was quite Sebold crazy for while)
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (but only because I think I ought to._
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac  (It’s under my desk. It deserves to be read. If only so I can substantiate other people’s claims that he’s a despicable chauvinist. If it’s anything like Beat poetry, I don’t hold much hope)
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker (Dull, weren’t it?)
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson  (started it, as I’ve started many a Bill Bryson)
75. Ulysses - James Joyce (I started it. I will read it all at some point. I’ve read Dubliners….Ok. So there was this guy….)
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (even though I hate her and her whining poems. Just because she was treated badly by society doesn’t mean I have to like her poetry. )
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola (it’s in the school library. I could read it. If I choose to.)
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White (It was kind of cool.)
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad (I read it a while ago. There was this guy.  I will read it again at some point. Honest. Although watching Apocalypse Now explained quite a lot about it to me.)
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks(seriously Wtf???)
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare (Hamlet, the original Emo, comes complete with suicidal girlfriend)
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl (cos who doesn’t?)
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo 

4 A)

After we left James, Andy and I started for home- that is, the two bedroom-rented in a house the other end of town. Of course, what the rest of the town didn’t know was how redundant one of the rooms was.

Or at least, how redundant it had been. In recent times, Andy’s room, the spare room, had been getting rather more use.

Usually. Usually, it’s my fault. Usually, I’ve gone out, and got drunk, and there was someone. Or several someones. And I never thought he’d find out, and he always did, and I never stopped doing it and he never stopped being hurt by it.

This though, had started with a letter from mum. The heavy hinting that she and my father were getting on and oughtn’t I get married and maybe come home, soon?

Now, my parents own a farm, and when they die, it will be mine. We have always been farmers, my great-grandparents, and their parents before them etc. rented the land from the local lord, and my grandfather, whose shadow my father perpetually lives in, despite his being dead for several decades now, raised the money to buy it, through what means God only knows. We are what I believe is known as gentlemen farmers- but more farmer than gentleman; not poor, or I could not have afforded to go to the Academy, but we are not so well off that it wasn’t considered, after a few years where we lost money, a good idea for me to have a career with a steady wage while my father could still manage the affairs at home. But my career in the Navy was supposed to be a….a temporary thing.

So, the agreement is at some point I will go home. Back to the sheep, and the dairy and the hills.

And, had these summonses come perhaps two years ago, I would have been more than happy to comply. I had no desire to go “Into” Society. I was not grubbing my way up the ranks to make me eligible to society chits. If I’d wanted a wife, I’d have wanted a wife like Molly. Tough and sensible, and capable of hauling around a couple of hay bales when needed. I never really liked the Caribbean, where the seasons made no sense….

How can I put this? I loved England. It was my home, which I cared for with the sort of passion that means you can stamp your way through feet of January snow to rescue early lambs and their mothers.

And then there was Andy. Andy who was funny and French; who fenced like he was dancing, who was Catholic and would never have fitted in at home, who made my heart skip to look at him, who could no more leave than Navy than he could stop breathing.

I loved England, but I loved Andy.

Of course, I could not tell my mother this.

When we got home that night, I, still sullen and furious, pushed past Andy with out speaking. He grabbed out drunkenly and caught sleeve. Drunkenly, he clasped my wrist tight and tugged me back and drunkenly I complied. Drunkenly, he pulled me into him and kissed me, drunk-rough. I shivered and marvelled at how hot his skin was. He seemed to absorb the Caribbean whereas I just deflected it. 

Aggressive, possessive, that was Andy, and I knew what this was about; he said it through clenched teeth and kisses,

     “Mine. You’re mine.” And I could sense the jealousy there; jealousy of my family, of the wife I didn’t have, of the sheep that I seemed to care about more than him, of the hills that he knew were calling me, of the chalk singing in my bones.

4T)

“Bless me father, for I have sinned, it has been one week since my last confession.”

 The shadow behind the grill chuckled.

“Plenty of time for sinning then, when one lives in the same house and sleeps in the same bed as the temptation.”

 I coughed and fiddled with the rosary, “Er. Yes. But. Well…”

The small Catholic church here catered to the Irish community and with my red hair and fair skin it was generally assumed that that was what I was.

Father O’Brien sighed, “My son, both of us know that you are no more likely to stop committing this particular sin, and that is entirely your choice, and our eternal father himself can judge you for it if he wants, because believe me, at my age, doing so myself is beyond me. But, if it makes you feel better, say ten Hail Marys.  How are you in yourself?”

I thought about it; about the weeks of arguments and sleeping in the back bedroom that was too hot and too cold at the same time; sheets sticky with lonely sweat and no one to hold late at night. 

“Oh….fine, father.”

“Lying to me’s just lying to God, boy.”

Curtly, “Indeed, father? Then I shall make up for it next confession. Good day.”

I stood glaring at the water from the dock, half furious, half ashamed.

Teddy had no right to reel me in then drop me for a few mangy sheep and his blasted hills. What sort of a man loves his land more than his friends, hey?

I know, I am selfish; but here, in Port Royal, we had it so good, I didn’t take kindly to the idea of anything getting in the way of that, tu comprend?

And how could I live in England, heh? More than that, how could we live in England? In little villages, they see everything. We’d be found out and strung up like that.

 And, although I hate to say it or even think it, I was a little annoyed Ted had been promoted before me.  Why should he, who wanted nothing more than to go home be made a Captain, where I fully intend to make the Navy my life, and am easily as good as him and…. Zut.

What am I? Some pastime until real life starts? A pleasing distraction? I can’t believe that- not when we have been living in the same house for nearly two years.

I am not French. Not really. But I’m not English. This does not make me secure. This makes me safe no where. In France I am too English. In England, I am too French. But in the Caribbean, everyone is foreign, oui?  Nobody really comes from here anymore. So, this is where I fit.

Chapter Five: Innocent Stuff

I hadn’t intended to spend so long in the office, but…well. I did a few essentials, and then, there were some inessentials that would quickly become essentials if not kept on top of, and suddenly it was nearly seven o’clock, and I’d just started on another report, so I wasn’t about to leave for another hour at least.  I was starting to question my judgement with regards to Sparrow. I had done nothing about catching him after that day on the battlements. One day’s head start had turned into two, had turned into a week, a year. I hadn’t wanted to catch him. There were real threats out there to occupy my time- the pirate fleet massing to the West, tensions between the Americas and home growing, weddings to attend, would-be spouses to fend off.  

“You know, it’s damn unhealthy and unhostly for you to still be here. On a Sunday.” I jumped. Sparrow was sitting on my window-sill, reading one of my reports. “Bloody dull stuff this. I’d have thought you to be more of a Classics man, myself.”

I rolled my eyes, “You really do have a death-wish, don’t you?”

He pulled a face and tossed the report to one side, “And ‘ere I thought we was all matey now, what with you letting me sleep in your house and eat your food and thinking I’m lovely and everything.”

Ugh. Trust the man to remember every drunken word you said. But I did think he was lovely. If I was honest with myself, I had done since the first day on the dock.                                  

I pushed the pile of papers away from me, “Be that as it may, Captain-”

“Call me as Jack. Commodore.”

“Then call me James. As I was saying; seeing as we are now, as you put it ,“Matey”, I would rather you didn’t get yourself killed, and was merely pointing out the folly of a wanted man wandering into a prison. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
The insufferable man pouted, “Got lonely, didn’t I?”

I shook my head, “I’m sure you did.” I really shouldn’t have invited him to stay. Nothing but temptation.
He slithered off the sill, “More to the point, Jamie, I thought you might be lonely.” He rested his hands on my shoulders and leaned in close to my ear, so that his breath tickled, “All alone in the dismal fort, with nothing but supply reports for company. Don’t you agree, having someone here to…entertain you would be so much nicer?”

My breath hitched; damn the man. Damn him, damn my inexplicable attraction to him, damn my conscience that was telling me that taking advantage of a man who was weak and in your power was wrong, damn the whole stupid situation.

“Ja- ack. I… can’t…you… you’re hurt…”

He recoiled at that, “What am I- a child who don’t know what he wants? Sure, I’ve had it rough the past few months, but that just means that when someone I like comes along I’m more sure about wanting them, and I like you.” He kissed the side of my neck, and I could practically feel my resolve melting,

“Would it be so bad to just let go, Jamie? Just for one night?”

Of course. But I’m still going to do it, aren’t I?  “Just…let me finish this report.”

His laugh was short and mirthless, “What do you sound like? ‘You can have me in an hour, in the space between finishing this report and starting on a new one.’  I’m not a cup of tea, Norrington. You can’t just leave me here getting cold while you procrastinate, and I’m not waiting another sodding minute for you to finish work you shouldn’t even be doing on your day off.”  He tugged at the back of my shirt. “Now, Jamie.” Sighing, half exasperated, half impatient, I slammed my chair back, and was instantly pulled forward by my cravat.

Well. I suppose if I had any doubts about Jack’s sincerity, this ought to disp…mph…

Everything was suddenly hands and gasps, and his arms around me, and I was fumbling with the buttons on his trousers and my god I hadn’t felt this excited, hadn’t wanted anything this badly, for years and finally I managed to undo the…and his mouth against my throat…and his hands down…and..

And then we heard the guns, and the screaming, Jack froze, looked at my face and rolled his eyes, “Go on, then.”

By the time the terrified third lieutenant sent by Teddy to call me reached the fort, Jack and I were already re-buttoned and respectable and on the battlements, swords and pistols drawn, the sounds of canons bouncing around the harbour and the firework-bursting of the powder lights playing on the water.

“Captain Groves!”

“Commodore Norrington, sir!” He barely spared Jack a glance, and passed me the spy-glass. “They came from the west, seemed to just be passing by, stopped just out of range of our guns, and started bloody pulverising anything in range.”

Jack, suddenly alert, listened to the gun-song and a smile slowly split his face, his eyes lighting oddly, “The Pearl, Jim. She’s come back for me.”

Teddy frowned at him as he disappeared into the dark towards the beach, “Sir- what orders should I give?”

I shrugged, “Whoever they are, this is just a show of strength” I did not add, and a sodding terrifying one at that. There must have been twenty ships out there. “Fire on them, to make sure they don’t come close enough to damage the walls, and let’s just hope to hell they don’t get brave. I don’t want anyone dying tonight.”

We fired round after round at them, and soon, they backed up slipped away into the night.

Groves returned, face streaked with powder. “Shall I chase them, sir?” I shook my head, “Not tonight. You saw how many of them there were. If we want to bring them down, we’d better be prepared. And now, Captain Ted, I am going home.” He smiled at me, “Night, James. Huh. So much for a day of rest. I suppose I’ll be seeing you in the morning.”

I found Jack sitting in the window of what I already thought of as his bedroom, staring out at the sea, and when I put my arm around him, he was shaking.

“I’ll get her back, James. And this time it’ll be for good.” He grinned glumly, “And the time after that. And the time after that.”

I woke up midday, on sheets, and not completely naked, which in itself was a novelty, these days. Then I remembered last night and sat bolt upright, checking myself over. I appeared to be still in possession of all my clothes, and completely sans barnacles, so far pretty promising start to the day.

There was a note sitting on top of a pile of clothes, next to a cold cup of tea:

Sorry, have had to go to Church. There is warm water in the bath by the fireplace, if such a thing appeals to you. Clothes are clean, and should fit you. Sorry couldn’t find you a hat, or new jacket. Help yourself to bread etc. Will probably have to go and check on Henry Basset. Will make sure he is uncomfortable for you,

Don’t know if I’ll see you later, you may want to get on, if so, high tide is at 4 in the afternoon.

James.

P.s: don’t steal anything. I will know.

Pompous git. Just for that, I slid a few items into my pockets and thought about leaving straight away, to try and stow away somewhere, catch the tide, and try my luck somewhere without Bassets. But gods, I felt awful. It wouldn’t be so bad if I just stayed until he got back, would it? ‘sides, it was safer to sneak out by night. And a bath would be nice. It would give me a chance to inspect the damage.

I stripped off those embuggered tarty clothes, and swore when I saw all the bruises. God Damn Basset, and all those who sail in him. Bloody good thing Norrington turned up when he did, cos let’s face it we all know what he was going to do to me, don’t we, and I’d rather not say it outloud, cos the thought makes me want to hurl all last night’s cheese and beef all over old Norrington’s fancy carpet and I don’t think he’d like that.

So, I’m afraid, lads and lasses you find Captain Sparrow rather brought low in recent times, a veritable skinny shadow of his former glory. With neither crew nor beloved Pearl, nor even fabulous hat, he’s resorted to rather less honourable tactics to try and get the blunt together to buy a new hat, hire a crew and steal ship. Cos, yes. I’d lost her. Again. Rather painfully. Again. But this time physically as well as emotionally painfully.  

Now grateful as I was to Norrington, I was a mite suspicious about the whole set-up. I mean, you don’t go from a long-standing invitation to dance on nothing, to a “well, help yourself to the bread when you’re hungry”, without there being something in it for the benefactor. Do you? No. No you don’t. 

However, no harm in letting Norrington’s ample parlour sustain me for a bit, because penniless as I now am due to my unfortunate and misleading luck with the cards, I didn’t have any other way of getting food or shelter. The sensible part was thinking “Bide your time, don’t do anything rash, and get the hell out before one of you does something you’ll regret.”  But the less sensible part, which, to be honest, I’ve always thought of as the better three-quarters, was practically gagging for the Commodore, because he is honourable and good and a lot of other things most of the men and women recently hadn’t been.

The clothes were pretty close to my old ones, but nicer. Linen shirt, loose trews, some underwear. Picking them up, a roll of something black fell out of one of the pockets.

It was a stick of kohl. The Commodore had brought me some kohl. That was….thoughtful. No. I’m not tearing up, don’t be soft. It’s just not something you’d have thought he’d have thought of. For a second, I wondered if he was taking the piss. Then I thought, who cared? He’d given me back a little bit of the me that I’d so carelessly lost, and so motives didn’t really matter. In fact, the whole ensemble made me feel cleaner than any bath could have. Looking in the mirror, the red jacket over the new shirt, I just needed my hair and my hat back and I’d’ve felt like myself.

 
A little while after dressing and finding some food, I was feeling, if not quite the full shilling, then at least the full ha’penny, and no longer falling over when I tried to walk. For want of anything else to do, I drifted down to the docks near the fort. Just looking at the ships, you know, dreaming, as a man might when reality is not preferable. Even with the Commodore’s unexpected kindness, I was in a pickle and no mistake. More than a pickle; I was in the pickle, the chutney, and the jam, all at once.  

There was a dark speck on the horizon, and for a heart-leaping moment I thought it was the Pearl. Nah. I hoped it was the Pearl. I knew it couldn’t be.

If I concentrated hard, really, really hard, I almost imagined I could hear her calling. A by god, was she pissed off. It’s not every man who manages to lose his first lady three times in the space of thirteen years.

Thirteen years? It couldn’t be that long. Let’s see. I got m’Pearl back…wazzit eleven years after Barbossa stole her first. Then there was that jaunt to the Orient. That’s twelve years. Then there was that business up near Boston and then back here.

Bloody Sodding Hell.

Still, now at least I had something to focus on.

Make that, something else to focus on.

“What’re you doing?” A small, grubby urchin of a kid, with bright ginger hair and indeterminate in gender, was dangling upside from a railing above me.

“Listening.” I tried to quell the panic rising.  It could be alright. They could’ve forgotten. Thirteen years was a long time by any one’s standards. Long enough to forget about a little debt.

The child gave me that perplexed look of childish interest that is found, you know, in children. “What for?”

“Ships and mermaids.”

“Oh.” It dropped down in front of me. “Can I join in?”

I gestured, “Why not? You gotta concentrate though.” It screwed its muddy face, to demonstrate how hard it was concentrating. After a few seconds it sighed, “I can’t hear anything.”

I wasn’t really in the mood for playing nanny, but then I didn’t have anything else to do, so I picked the kid up, and sat it in my lap. “Right, close your eyes, but don’t screw them up. Now, what’s your favourite song?”

“Umm………The song my da sings. He’s a sailor. In the navy. ” It pointed to the horizon. “That’s the boat he’s on out there.” My heart didn’t sink at all at that. “He’s going to be back this evening, my mammy says.”

“Is he now? Fine men, the navy. Some of them anyway. Well, mermaids like a bit of charming with singing, so you just go ahead and sing it.”

And damn me, but the little thing pipes up with what I recalled was the Seal song, which my  ma who was about as Irish white sandy beaches and palm trees, which is not at all, used to sing, with the original words and everything. The song’s about a seal woman, who knows the skerries, and is singing a curse to some sealers who’re eating and if that isn’t a perfect mermaid charmer, I don’t know what is. And it worked too.

Two dark, streamlined heads with what I’d always think of as aristocratic faces popped up from the water, and the first, smiling with rows and rows of shark teeth, purred, “Hell- o! Don’t you two just look like lunch and pudding?”

The other, who seemed older, although you can never tell with the sea-women, shoved her, snapped, “behave” and turned to me, “Well met, little Sparrow, and young singer.”

I nudged the kid, “Say hello” I hissed.
Wide eyed, it whispered, “’lo”

The elder, head cocked to the side said, “Now, you’re a long way from home, to be singing a song like that.”

“Me’n’mam’n’da came from Ireland a little while back.”

“And where’s your mother now?”

The kid shook its head then, “’don’t know,”, but joy of joys, the cry of “Mary! Mary!” came from the other side of the dock.

The two mermaids vanished into the waves with barely a ripple.

I poked the girl, now I knew that that was what she was and not the androgene I’d thought she was in the stomach, “That your name, miss?”

“’s.”

“That your mum?”

“’s”

I grabbed her round the waist, and managed to restrain the gasp of pain when she accidentally kicked my chest, and stuck our heads through the railings, “Ma’am? This one yours?”
A red headed, bustling woman, in a mass of skirts, looking flustered, “Oh! Mary! There you are! Thank you! I hope she’s not been a trouble.”

I stuck the kid on the ledge, “No trouble at all.” I stood and bowed, “Jack Smith, Mrs…?”

“Flannigan.”      

“Charmed to meet you both, Mrs and Miss Flannigan.”            

She made a sort of half curtsey, “And the same to you, sir.  I’m really sorry, I’ve got to get on. Her da’s back, and I really must get the side of lamb in.”

Mary grinned, “We bin talking to mermaids,” her mother picked her up, “And I sang da’s song, and they came and one of them threatened to eat me, but the other one told it off, an…” I watched them leave, and then turned back to the sea. The elder mermaid had resurfaced, with an expression like death twisting her face.

“Time’s run out. They’re coming for you, birdie.  This time, Tia can’t help. And neither can we.”
I swallowed, “I don’t suppose I can…negotiate?” She gave me a look. “How long have I got?”

“It’s been twelve years, and fifty-one weeks. How long do you imagine you have?” And with a flick of her tail, she was gone.

I spent the rest of the day avoiding looking into the water.  It was a dejected and ruffled Sparrow that made his way back in the gathering dark along the docks towards the fort. I wasn’t even entirely sure if it was wise to go back to the Commodore’s, what with…everything. And. Tomorrow, someone like him would have servants and tomorrow they would be back, so perhaps Norrington had been thinking of getting rid of me before then anyway. I had a week, though. Just a week. If I stayed here, I could devote more time to thinking out a plan. If I left, I might be caught somewhere I was vulnerable. Eh, more vulnerable.

A light in ground floor window caught my attention and I stopped. A silhouette of a man at desk, writing. The window slightly ajar. Really, commodore, work on a Sunday? The temptation was too great… I could hardly leave without a last hurrah…

Dear Eve,

It is strange now I put pen to paper, I can think of nothing to write, although I have been waiting for an opportunity to write to you all day.

Today I saw the ship with black sails on the horizon- and this evening I got extra meat at dinner. It sounds mad I know, but I have come to think of it as my omen of good luck. It hovers somewhere behind us and nobody but me ever seems to see it.

I will send this back, with a sheaf of others I have written, with a homeward bound ship after we reach Port au Prince. From there we go to Havana, so I will not be able to write for some time.

I wish I were with you…

My Sam,

I also find myself at a loss now I come to write. My days are filled with little you would wish to hear about. I spend most days with your sister, who misses her husband terribly. I take her riding, or sailing, because it takes her mind off things. Each letter she receives from him is treasured like the bones of some saint.

Papa and I are also spending time together. I think he realises we will not be able to much longer, and is making the most of the time we have.  

I wish you were here, my darling boy, and pray God and your Good Omen keep you safe...

Dearest,

We have spent a week in Havana. I cannot believe I said this would be a short trip! I feel such a fool; the ship took a battering in a storm, and is now being repaired. I have found cheap lodgings at The Four Alls. The beds are filled with straw and lice, but the food is good, the barmaids keep themselves to themselves and there is a lock on the bedroom door. 

Bertie and I spent last night in the bar- your father may be interested to know that a pirate Commodore Sweeny is back patrolling the waters around here.

 For obvious reasons, I have not seen the ship this week. Perhaps that is why I am in such a vile mood; that and I will be more than a month later in returning than I expected. I hate this place Eve. It is eating what little pay I receive, and I fear I will come back to you little better than a flea bitten pauper, long haired and ragged clothed.

If I do not turn to piracy to keep myself alive, I hope to see you by October.

I love you,

 Sam.

August, 1774, Tortuga harbour. The Parsimmon. Thirty foot from the Black Pearl.

In James’ cabin, AnaMaria has finally done what Jack couldn’t. Jack entertains the idea that maybe Norrington simply isn’t interested in blokes at all; then dismisses it as ridiculous. In any case, he is not “Blokes”, he is Captain Jack Sparrow.

He tells himself it shouldn’t matter. He can’t expect to succeed at everything. At least he has his ship back. He and Ana had come upon Barbossa in one of the many pubs littering the place. He looked worn, and tired and old. Of the crew he had taken, very few remained.

“Ana went over to the other side, the filthy traitor. She’s no longer a free woman.”

She snorts, Barbosaa watching them from the other side of the table, “if you call bein’ able to keep doin’ what I’ve always done, and keep my neck the same length, slavery, you’re crazier than you look.”

He grins at her, “Precisely! Barbossa, old mate, I have a proposition for you.”

Warily, Barbossa gestures for him to continue. “Men like us, well, we’re a dying breed, yes? Best face it, we’re on the out. Not enough unfound treasure, not enough undiscovered islands. And every bit of noose rope’s got your name on it. Correct?”

He grunts in assent.  

“But! If we go the way of old slimy traitory girl here, we’ll be legal! Imagine mate, all the French and Spanish galleons at our disposal! Spying! Intrigue! Lusty dark haired wenches called Imeldez! And! We get paid for it! All you have to do is say I’m your Captain. You can be sub-Captain.”

It took only two more similar speeches, and two more tankards of rum before Barbossa snaps, “Jack Sparrow you’re madder than eel and twice as slippery, but damn it you’re right.”

The letters of Marque were drawn up later than night, to be signed by Governor Wilkinson, upon arrival in Port Royal.

The months pass, as they do. Admiral Norrington is received with chilling politeness back into Port Royal society. Back to the paperwork of Fort Charles. And Fort Morgan. And the prison.

 Jack reports to him once a month. AnaMaria reports to him twice a month. Then he accompanies her to the Persimmon, to do an “inventory”.

In January 1775, she shrugs him off as he starts to kiss up her arm.

“Ana?” Perplexed, he tries to hold her.

“Dammit, Jamie. I’m pregnant.”

She refuses his offer of marriage, as she knows it is only because he is trying to do the right thing; leaves him standing on the dock.

Jack finds her, as he knows he would, in Tortuga, drinking herself into oblivion.

“That’ll damage the little one, you know.”

“Piss off.”

He sits beside her, “Why’d you take off? You missed the last report; that’s bad form. You’ll get one hell of a written formal warning for that.”

She turns away from him. “I’ll not be a burden to anybody. He don’t want me for me. We were having fun. Now we won’t.”

He stares at her, and realises what he is going to do, even while part of him, his favourite part, is screaming at him just to let her waltz out of Jamie’s life.

“You have to be mad. Madder ‘n Barbossa. Madder ‘n’ me.”

She slams down the tankard, “’s true! ‘Sides, he’ll not really marry me, he just said it.”

“Why do you say that then?”
She gestures at herself.

“That’s a triviality our Jamie wouldn’t worry about.”

She raises an eyebrow, reminding him of the Admiral.

“Swear to God, Ana, he meant it.” Sincerity in his voice, “He’s spoken of nothing but you. And you know that. So is the problem that you don’t want to? Maybe you don’t love him enough?”

“I do! I... I’m frightened. You know they’ll never accept me.”

He puts an arm around her and she curls against him,

“Whoever heard of a pirate who couldn’t face their fears? Apart from me, that is.”

When Admiral James Norrington returns home from yet another tedious day at the fort, the butler greets him at the door saying,

“Sir, you have a visitor. I said you were not at home, but she insisted she’d wait.”

Curious, he follows him to the sitting room.

AnaMaria sits on the sofa, long cotton skirts billowing around her.

“I’ll leave you, shall I sir?” Mr. Gregory bows, a leering sort of a bow, leaving the room.

When they are alone, Ana smoothes down her bodice.

“I couldn’t do it all the time. Society I mean. I’d have to be able to sail.”

He doesn’t run over to her, although he wants to. Is desperate to touch her and make sure she’s real.

“We could say you are visiting family in Nassau.”

“After the baby’s born, though. And weaned.” And James feels the first stab of fear, like a knife between his shoulder blades, and forces it down.

“Do you love me enough, Jamie?”

“Do you? Ask me. Then I’ll tell you.”
“James Norrington, will you forgive me and take my hand. Marry me?”

He grabs her hand, “Come with me.” And together they run out of the house, down the steps, along the cobbles, laughing like children. Gasping for breath as they reach the square, attracting the looks of traders and strollers, of passing gentry, of soldiers and sailors, James holds up Ana’s hand, and bawls at the top of his voice,

“Citizens of Port Royal, I present to you my fiancé, AnaMaria Rougelle, whom I love with all my heart and always shall.”

He spins her around in his arms, "Is that enough?"

Papa brought us the news. He was still active in Navy circles, although he no longer served, and so had been one of the first to know.

Millie and I sat in the parlour in my home. Sam and Bertie were a week late, but I was not overly concerned. The seas were difficult at that time; it wasn’t uncommon for ships to be late. But how I itched for him to be home; I had told no-one of our engagement. We had agreed that until he came back the knowledge would be ours and ours alone.

I had been reading to Millie from a selection of metaphysical poetry, while she sketched from memory and imagination in a leather bound book Bertie had given her before he left. These were private pleasures. I liked metaphysical poetry for its depth, the variety and beauty of the language and the fact the good ones at any rate are all, superficially, about sexual congress.

“And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;

Thou know’st this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame nor loss of maiden-”

There was a polite cough from Papa, who stood in the doorway, with Elizabeth; I snapped the book shut.

“Mr. Norrington… Mummy.” Millie stood, “Please, sit down, won’t you?”

Elizabeth’s eyes were red, Father’s face was drawn. He led her to the sofa.

“Papa? Elizabeth? What’s wrong?” My throat was dry. A ship’s bell clanged in my head.

Millie’s fingers tightened around the book.

“It’s… it’s Bertie, isn’t it?

Father couldn’t meet our eyes, “They were attacked from both sides, making the crossing home. I imagine they skimped on the repairs a little- just a patch up job to get them back. The ship never stood a chance.”

I sat frozen as Millie collapsed sobbing against my chest, held her close, barely breathing.

“I don’t want to give you any false hope, but…Bertie and Sam’s bodies were not among the wreckage.” My father seemed awkward, unsure of himself.

“Will is out looking now...”, Elizabeth took Millie from me; I retreated to my father and he set a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it uncertainly, as he might a son’s.

“Lizzie” Papa said softly, “stay with us tonight? I will have someone make you both up a bed. It’s not right for you to be alone.”

She nodded, silently.

I sat up with Millie, holding her hand and murmuring empty comfort until she finally fell into fitful sleep. I left her in the truckle bed, too awake to sleep, standing in the bay windows of the landing, watching the moonlight play on the ships in the harbour and on the sea. I pressed my head against the pain, listening to the cicadas sing outside. I felt my father’s hand against my shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“I know who attacked.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Who’s Commodore Sweeney?”

Papa’s hands twitched at my shoulders, he breathed deeply, “’Commodore Sweeny’ is a lunatic. He dreamt of bringing back the Golden Age of piracy, before you were even born. He is….he is nothing- a relic. I thought we had got rid of him, long ago. Why…why do you ask?”

“In one of Sam’s letters he said “Commodore Sweeney is back in these waters’- who is he? And you said they attacked the ship from both sides, so either it was two pirate ships working together, unlikely form what you have told me, or it was two under one man’s command. Commodore Sweeny.”

Father’s neck muscles were tense, “I must- I must go and speak with Elizabeth. Thank you.”

The next night there was a letter. Sam and Bertie were alive. How long they remained alive, the letter said, depended on how accommodating Elizabeth and Papa were to his demands. There seemed to be a certain assumption that they would understand what these demands were, as they certainly weren't listed. 
I did not see the letter itself until much later; this was relayed to us by Papa.

The night after that, my father and Elizabeth disappeared.

Father and I were out on the Greenwing, sailing up the island a little to the Turner's. I must tell you about their house. It's at practically the farthest point of the island, and half of it is like a ship, built not quite on land at all. it is an easy ride, and a slightly more difficult, but much more enjoyable, sail from our own house, and we fairly live between father's town house, and the Turner's stangely shaped mansion.
I lounged at the stern in faun breeches and a linen shirt, which father permitted me to wear for sailing, as none but he could see me, and kept my hand on the tiller, saying, "Bertie Groves proposed to Millie yesterday. Apparently he's up at the house asking Captain Turner for her hand."
Father snorted, "I can picture Bertie now, a lankier version of Theodore, turning his midshipman's hat around in his hands, quivering in front of dread Captain Will, terrifying in his pointy goatee and curly hair. I didn't even know he was home, let alone entertaining."
The wind kicked up, and we had a time keeping the Greenwing under control. "Papa...what is it Captain Turner actually does?
Papa coughed, "He's in shipping. "
"Shipping of what?"
He looked embarrassed and turned to the sail, "Of whom."
I froze, and glowered, "He's a slaver, isn't he?" He span around so fast, he hit his head on the boom,
"What? Evie, no/ He's... It's...a prison ship." I still looked unconvinced. "I swear to you. Now- go and change. I'll not have you looking like a complete ruffian" He was grinning at me, and as I turned to go he shouted, "AND BRUSH YOUR HAIR."
I returned fastening an earring, as we were pulling close to the Turner's jetty.
"You look nice."
I shrugged and blushed, "We're off course."
He flicked the tiller, almost carelessly, and the Greenhawk responded to his touch, "I hear Sam Turner's back. He'll be at lunch, I believe."
Someone was standing on the end of the jetty, waving at us. "Oh. speak of the devil."
I tried not to hurry to the bow. We had exchanged letters over his absence and I could barely contain my excitement to see him. After tying the boat off for papa, he held out a hand to help me ashore.
"Miss Norrington!"
I felt my father roll his eyes in amusment, "Sam, please. Evelyn? It seems only fair, for I'll not call you Mr. Turner."
Sam took my arm, "Evelyn then, please, walk with me to the house. Millie would have been here, but she's currently in the parlour, working herself into a complete state, because she is uncertain of father's response to the Bertrand Groves, nearly third lieutenent."
"And tell me, Sam, what was your response?"
"Honestly? I'm thoroughly bored by the whole thing- can you imagine, I have been on three voyages with the man, each more than a month long, and each have involved evenings of involved discussion about whether or not my sister would accept him and whether my father would kill him the second he mentioned it seriously."
Father trailed a little way behind us, granting us privacy. I love my father, ever so much. He believes in practicality and politeness over propriety. To this end, I can shoot, swim, sail, and handle a sword a very little. He taught me music, which was his one other passion outside the Navy. I never felt the need for a mother. Elizabeth taught me...women things father couldn't, and I loved her well, but papa was who I ran to when I was hurt and who I confided in when I needed advice neither Elizabeth nor Millie could give me.
"Did I say I could have sworn there was a ship following us?"
"You mentioned it in your letters, yes. The one with black sails?"
"Yes... it was the queerest thing. Beautiful ship though."
We entered the house, and the parlour, where Millie was leaning on her mother,
"Mummy, Father wouldn't say no, would he? There's no reason. Bertie's a good man- and I love him."
Father sat opposite her, "well, dear, you know your father; he might just take an irrational dislike to the boy, challenge him to a duel and run him through."
"James!" Elizabeth chided him, "Don't be unkind." She turned to Millie, "You are being silly though, darling. Calm down and take what happenes as it happens."
The door opened, and Bertie stood in the doorway, oddly shame faced. Will stood behind him, looking grim.
"Elizabeth, James, Evelyn. I'd like you to meet my future son in law."
Eventually, Sam and I managed to make excuses and walk around the garden.

Their wedding was a private family affair, held a few days before Sam and Bertie's next voyage, on Captain Turner's ship,for he seldom went any more inland than his house. In fact he rarely went into the part of the house that was on land. In his cabin, I helped Millie dress her hair, brushing it back and twisting it into ringlets.
"It's all going to change now, isn't it?" She fiddled with the flowers in her bouquet.
"In what way? For the better, surely?" The last year I had heard nothing but Bertie this and Bertie that.
"It's just... I won't see you as often. I won't be a little girl any more. I'll be someone's wife. I'll have to do all the....wifely things."
I sat by her and held her to me, "Mill, this is what you want, isn't it?" .
"Of course! More than anything! I'm...I'm afraid I'm terribly reactionary, Eve. I'm terrifed of change."
I thought of Sam, and the soft words we'd spoken on the veranda. "I think things will change anyway. Be sensible. Besides, with a sailor husband, I'll see you as often as I do now, he'll hardly take up a huge amount of your time."
She squeezed my hand, smiling. "Don't talk of him as though he were a burden. This really is what I want."
"Then cheer up. Bad luck to be upset on your wedding day."

After the ceremony, during the feast, before Bertie and Millie were allowed to slip away, Sam talked to me by the railings.
"Evie...these past few years... " he paused, "I sail on Thursday. It shouldn't be a long trip, but I want to give you time to think about what I'm going to ask you, and I don't mean right away. If you want, we can wait until I'm of higher standing... and..."
"Sam..." I played with the bird pendant, feeling cool silver against my palm.
He bounced on his feet a bit, anxious,
"I'm sorry I'm not a dashing romantic. I'd give anything to be able to sweep you off your feet. But.... my parents were so deeply in love when they married, and I would never marry for social standing alone and I want you to know that...."
"Sam?" I caught his hands, gaining his attention.
"Hmm?"
"Marry me?"
"What?" He started.
"Marry me? Please?" My heart was pounding fit to burst.
He pressed my hands to his face, kissing the fingers, relaxing imeasurably. "Thank you."

July, 1774

On the third day, there is a ship.

Jack and James stand on the deck of the Parsimmon, arms held tight enough to hurt, in front of her Captain. "Well, well, Jack Sparrow. Lost your boat again? You'll be happy to know you've no need to go through wid dat promise a yours. I got a ship. A good ship. A better ship than you coulda foun'." Jack smiles, "AnaMaria."
"That's Captain Rougelle of the privateer Parsimmon to you, Sparrow." This voice is sneering, male, and unknown. James is silent, face registering no recognition, hat still pulled over his eyes. "Who's your friend?"
"Him? He's nobody. My second-cousin's brother's footman's son. Mute." The hands attatched to the body which owns the voice snatch off James' hat.
And drops it, to allow for saluting. "Admiral Norrington, sir!"
James returns his salute, a little lazily. "At ease, Captain Groves." The arms let go of him and he straightens up. "Good day, Captain Rougelle. If you please, we are both starving. We haven't eaten for many days. " he turns to Teddy, "I would also like a new uniform, if there is one aboard the ship."
"No, sir." Teddy doesn't understand why his friend is dismissing him so ungraciously. "Sir? We heard you were lost."
The Admiral smiles grimly,"It appears then, that I have been found."
 He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't press the issue. "Very well sir. Mr. Murtogg, Mr. Mulroy, if you will just take Sparrow to the brig."
Norrington's hand shoots out and Mulroy finds his wrist being gripped painfully. "If it is acceptable to Captain Rougelle, Captain Sparrow will accompany us to the nearest port, where he can disembark. Do not argue, Captain Groves."
Jack finds his arms released, he half bows in thanks to the two marines.
AnaMaria, hands on hips, laughs humourlessly. "When your ship's overrun with unwanted bastards, what's another two? Welcome aboard Admiral."

Over dinner, AnaMaria ladles soup for Norrinton. She sits beside him and chivvies him into eating. And the other two Captains glare, at each other, at the Admiral, at Captain Rougelle.

Later, James sits with Teddy in his office, poring over charts, having been filled in on circumstances: The arrival of the new governor Wilkinson. The new pirate threat, a small fleet lead by one self-styled Commodore Sweeny.
"After Sweeny Todd?"
"Presumably, sir. His trademark is slit throats, certainly."
They sit in silence. "Sir?... James. I don't suppose there's any hope of...Andy being "found"?"
James doesn't look down, "No, Teddy. There isn't."
Theodore stares at the table, willing himself not to cry. 
"What will you do?"
He meets James' eyes, "I will go back to Port Royal, and tell Emmeline I wish to marry her, as I had intended before. All that has changed is...Andy will not be at the wedding, nor will he be my children's god father, and I'll not see him for... And..." Unwittingly, his throat contracts, his vision blurs, his lips wobble as he fights against his grief. James takes his hand, pulls him into a comforting embrace, as Teddy sobs his heart out, soaking James' shoulder. And in the morning, Teddy is back on duty, mind on the task in hand, eyes dry.

I always thought the little silver bird on the chain was a christening present- a dove maybe. I’d had it ever since I could remember; I never took it off.

My father was an Admiral in the Royal Navy; my mother was a local girl, who he married, briefly. She caught a fever a few weeks after I was born, and never recovered. I don’t remember her, and father rarely speaks of her. He has two “proper” portraits of her  (sitting still, in a green dress, dark eyes staring forward, a slight smile on her lips) and one of them together, on the lawn, laughing, her hand on his arm, black hair flying in the wind, he without the Wig.  She was a beautiful woman, my mother- straight backed, her hands big but elegant and practical, her eyes proud.

Where-ever I go, I am met with stares, from middle aged, disapproving ladies and tittering society chits. I know what some people call me: Mulatto. Half-caste. I used to look up at my mother’s picture and take her expression as a challenge- “if she could cope with them, then so can I”. I don’t really mind them any more. As father said, they can go hang. The opinions of the brainless are only worth listening to if you desire light entertainment- like a penny dreadful. I remember Millie (Millicent) Turner, age six, breaking Eleanor Basset-Jones’ nose, the first time she dared use the words.

That evening Mr. Basset-Jones had stormed around, red faced, to talk to my father. Papa showed him into the drawing room. I stood behind outside with Mrs. Culpepper, the Irish cook. 

“And I tell you another thing, Norrington! It’s bad enough that you flaunted your affair with that wild Carib harlot- and then paraded her about society as your wife. If it weren’t for your rank, it would never have been tolerated. And having her buried at sea, like a pirate,  not even a Christian burial. And now you let your” He spat the word, “child run riot around Port Royal. Well, I tell you Norrington, I won’t stand for it.”

There was a protracted silence- I imagined my father collecting himself, “In any case, I believe, Mister Basset-Jones, that it was Millicent Turner who hit your daughter. And having heard hers and Evelyn’s side of the story, I have to say, had it- for instance- been you saying the same to me, I would have been hard pressed not to have done the same, if not more. I do not condone violence, but I will not blame my daughter for something her friend did. And I will not blame Millicent for loyalty to her friend. I am interested to know, however, where such a proper little girl like Eleanor picked up such disgusting array of words.”

Basset-Jones blustered a bit, “Well- I can see you’re not going to do anything, I’ll be on my way- it’s despicable…”

I heard my father stand up, to show him to the door.

“Oh, and Mr. Basset-Jones?” his voice was bright and cheery, “The way you talk with your vile dinner party friends is your own business, of course, but don’t let me hear you talking about Anamaria in such a disrespectful manner ever again.”

I was fourteen when I first noticed Millie’s brother Sam. Up until then he had merely been a nuisance- he stuck my plaits in ink bottles, and hid my dolls, and wrote filthy things on the cover of my copy book.

Millie and I were setting up to ride, and he appeared in the stable doorway, asking to accompany us.

We rode a while, taking a picnic lunch with us, and talked whenever circumstances of pace allowed.

I had never noticed until then how muscular his back was, or how intelligent his eyes were, or how funny his comments were. I liked how he helped me off my pony at the end of the day. I liked how elegant he was, how his every gesture and movement was fluid.

That evening, after Sam had walked me home, I heard my papa in his study, talking to someone.  He rarely entertained, and I stopped to listen, curious.

“I have missed you, you know.” He seemed a little breathless.

“’Course you have, course you have- an’ I missed you an’ all. Four months was too long.” A man’s voice. Interesting.

“Aye…too long by half.” My father’s polished accent sometimes slipped- he was, after all, a sailor, and had been to too many places to not have picked up some strange and wonderful inflections.

“You should come away with me Jamie.” Jamie? “We could go anywhere-anywhere at all. Persia- India...”

“Jack...” there was a rueful, warning note in my father’s voice.

“Yeah...I know. Couldn’t tempt you away. You’d be welcome anytime. After all that business with Beckett... Barbossa sez he wouldn’t mind... not that what he thinks matters... And the rest of the crew- knowing what you meant to Ana.” My eyes widened.

Through the crack in the door, I saw a man with a leather coat, and a tri-corn hat, sitting in my father’s chair. On my father.

“EVELYN” Mrs. Culpepper came bustling up the stairs, looking for me. I drew away from the door, and hurried to her by a roundabout route, troubled, not so much by what I had seen, but at the very presence of strange Jacks who sat on my father’s lap.

Over the next three years, two things occupied my mind: Samuel Turner and the identity of my father’s lover- for that was the only conclusion I could come to. I was familiar with the works of Plato- my father having had me properly educated- and had come to the conclusion that what was good enough for Classical philosophers was good enough to me. I know it is blasphemous to say it, but I secretly considered Symposium a far worthier authority on the morality of the subject, than anything the Bible had to say. In short, I found nothing disquieting in my father’s relationship with another man, save the fact that I had no idea, beyond a first name,  who he was.

Sam was a different matter entirely. The first year, we danced around each other shyly. A minuet at the ball to celebrate my father’s retirement, a walk along the river at weekends, to discuss literature and music. I played the violin, and he once asked me whether I wrote music, whether I would play for him sometime. Always very respectable.

The first day he sailed with the Merchant Navy at sixteen, along with Commodore Groves’ son,

His parents, Milli and I went to see him off. Well… Millie actually had gone to see Bertie Groves- the couple had been besotted with each other ever since her parents’ anniversary ball and I knew for a fact he was trying to broach the subject of marriage with her father.

He was a nice boy- good looking, witty, kind.

“Well, Sam- I wish you a safe voyage” Why do I sound so cold?

“Thank you Miss Norrington, it shouldn’t be anything to worry about.” Couldn’t he call me Eve? Just this once?

“I trust you will take me riding when you get back, so I may hear all about it.”

“I would consider myself a fool to refuse.” A whistle blew, “I must go- If I may.” He took my hand; his big pale fingers curled around my slim dark ones, and he kissed it. It was not a formal kiss, but a kiss that suggested, in some obscure way, that he would have preferred it to be longer and more passionate, but we were in public, and to do so would have been showing off. “Good day, Miss Norrington.”

With a burst of courage, I squeezed his hand a little, “Safe sailing, Mr. Turner.”

 We heard the raucous singing as we sat down to read, after the children had gone to bed; two ecstatic voices, shouting down the winter wind. I caught Will’s eye, and he grinned. John had gone home hours ago, the forge was shut up- all those years ago we settled on a contract we were all happy with, because I was not going to be content with ferrying bottles of brandy from the shore. Will would work for John, on top of opening up a forge, until the children had finished nursing, when I would take his place, so he could devote more time to his smithy.

Emmeline (yes, I won in the end. Although Will put his foot down about Weatherby and we settled on Sam) padded down the stairs, in her nightgown.

“Mummy. Mummy, is that…?” She stopped to listen again.

“Watch out! Twig ‘er, as down the street she came,

 High heels, and painted toes, Jenny is on the game!

Jenny is one of your flash girls, cor, she’ll catch a shine,

She can do the double shuffle on the knickerbocker line!”

 The door slammed open, in a whirl of rain, and water, and the “singing” was ten times louder, as, resplendent in a hotchpotch mixture of brightly coloured clothes from various continents, they stood on the thresh hold, arms around each other’s waists, gesticulating with hands filled with tempting bags.

“WE’RE THE BOYS TO MAKE A NOISE WHEN WE COME HOME FROM SEA

WE GET RIGHT DRUNK, WE ROLL ON THE FLOOR-”

I decided this was the opportune moment, “Not in this house you don’t”.

What could I say? It had been four years-  Emmy ran across the room, shouting “JamieJamiejamie” and tripped over her skirts. He caught her and swung her onto his shoulders.

“Hello, my princess.”

She pushed off his hat, and pulled his ears, “’m a Pirate princess.”

Sam had by now come down to see what all the fuss was about and, mercenary as only a ten year old can be, wrapped his arms around Jack and said in a sugar sweet voice, “Uncle Jack, did you bring us anything in those bags?”

Jack started and stared at James in horror, although his eyes were twinkling, “Jamie!”

 “Jack!” he clapped a hand to his mouth. “You know what we did?”

“We forgot! We’ve been away all this time- we’ve been to Bombay and Singapore and Cairo and all those markets, that sold all those beautiful things and we plum forgot to bring anything back!”

Emmy and Sam looked like he’d just told them he’d shot Will and I, and left our heads on their pillows.

James, because he hates being the villain- I suppose he’s had too much of it, one way or another said, “Wait, Commodore, can’t we let them have a root around inside the magic bags?”

“Oh, all right then, Captain. “ He disentangled himself, “Go on then sproglets. Have a ferret about in there.” James sat Emmy on the floor and Sam sat down next to her. Jack handed over one of the smaller bags. 

“Uncle James, what’s this?” Emmy held up a something on a silver chain, held in place with an intricate piece of silverwork.

“That, my darling, is a tiger’s tooth.”

Jack chipped in with, “Have you ever seen a tiger?”
She shook her head.

“Well, pray you never do. Fearsome great stripy black and orange cats. You see the size of that tooth?” It was a good three inches long “Well- that was one of the small ones. But I wrestled it to the ground, all the same.”

Emmy turned to James. “He’s lying, isn’t he?” Jack made an affronted noise,

“You believe me, don’t you, Sam?”

Sam was busy with a jewel studded pocket watch in the shape of an elephant- “Dad! Look! How do they make the cogs so small?”  He tugged Jack’s hair, “where’s it from?”

Jack smiled indulgently and pulled his braid from the grip, “India…Had to haggle for an hour…”

“And he still nicked it….Only joking, Elizabeth, he paid for it fair and square. ” he thought I didn’t hear him mutter to Jack, “Albeit with gold stolen from a Spanish vessel.” The Pirate Commodore gave him a desperate shutupshutupshutup look, “I… think it’s high time the children were in bed, don’t you? Yes,” He talked over their protests, “Quite late enough. Come on, we’ll tell you a story…No? Not even if we tell you about how James and I single handedly saved the maharaja and his land from an evil East India Trading Company plot?”

Grudgingly, they went away, lured by the promise of India.

Later, James unpacked chocolate and coffee, tea, sugar and other exotica on the table, whilst Jack stocked up the liquor cupboard. “We didn’t forget about you two, you know. Have a look in the other bags.”

I found a slim, rectangular box marked “Elizabeth”. Inside was a pair of pale blue gloves, made from Chinese silk, with ivory coloured swans embroidered up the sleeves and a scarf. Underneath, nestled a flintlock pistol with a big black pearl set into the handle.

“I don’t know what to say…they’re… beautiful…completely impractical….but … beautiful.”

They were smiling. “Go on, Will, open yours…”

As well as a pistol the twin of mine, there was a Toledo steel dagger and a pair of boots.

“They’re…ooo…that’s really well made…”

“Will…Have you done anything about the…you know…” Jack made Beating Heart motions with his hand. Will jerked his head towards the painting on the wall. Bootstrap Bill Turner- human once more. He had been a good grandfather to the children- for his two last remaining years.

James opened a sealed tin, and the smell of chocolate wafted around- there was a pop that heralded the opening of a rum bottle.

Much later, as I slipped in and out of rum induced sleep, resting my head against my husband, I heard, or maybe I dreamt I heard.

“Jack”

And simultaneously, “Jamie.”

“Oh…sorry. What were you going to say?”

“No…no...You first, love.”

A pause.

“I bought you something. From that market in Cairo...” I recognised that tone of voice. It spoke of battlements and ceremonies.

“Y’know that little shop in Singapore- that sold all…that stuff.” I recognised that tone of voice too.

I cracked open an eye… “And this…well, it caught my eye. The carving on the stone is shaped… I thought it might suit you…”

“There was this. Bloke in there said it was… the thing on the stone’s carved like a…not that that matters… but thought you might like it…”

They were both playing with small boxes about two inches by two inches.

“You see- I know you’ll think it’s ridiculous- but…well, I’ve never really…and I’d be honoured if you’d wear it…” 

“An’ werl… I was thinkin’…this is the most permanent….so…I was thinkin’ I’d…it’s be nice to have a symbol of it thass all…” They had both taken small circular things out of the boxes and were running them over their fingers.

James reached out for Jack’s hand, “I...um… do you mind if I…?” and closed the thing in it.

 Jack turned to reach for his, “Can I jus’?” and did the same

“I’ve never…well, I did once, but you know how that ended.”

“I done this plenty of times… but only meant it this one.”

There were a few moments of silence. Neither of them are the gasping type. Thankfully. James eyes seemed soft, his smile fond, looking at whatever it was in his palm.

“Jack, it’s lovely- I’ll…” he put it on.  Carved amber winked in the light.

Jack stroked a finger over the smooth silver and emerald, “Jamie…it’s…”

Then there was a slightly less awkward silence- the sort of “Our-mouths-are-too-busy-to-be-talking” silence. Then the thudding of feet rushing upstairs, slipping every so often in their haste.

****

  After That Pirate and I had parted ways, he going directly towards the imaginatively  named West Bay- a pub which sold rum that had been filtered. Through a cat-

I turned westerly, in the direction of my brother’s house.

He lived closer to Eype than West Bay, in an elegant mansion a reassuring way back from the cliff edge.

I know, I know, I should have been being a good host, but I was in no mood for talk of babies. And besides, I was doing this for them.

The man who answered the door was commonly known as Alexander Weatherspoon- for all the world a trusted retainer, so long as you ignored the scar on his cheek and the tattoo that sometimes showed under his wig, if he had been careless.

“Can I help you?” There was an edge to his voice that suggested that, should I answer wrong, I would find myself hurled over the edge of the precipice.

“Good evening, Alex. Pleasant as ever, I see.” I ran an unconcerned hand through my now wild hair.

He gave me a suspicious look, taking in the embroidered green coat I had bought in St. Malo with my share of a recent raid….no. I didn’t tell you about that, because it was astoundingly dull. Fat little merchant ship. It was over in half an hour- there were no casualties. On either side.

“I know that voice. That voice owes me coin for a decade’s house keeping I’ve done for him. But I’m not going to get it, because that voice belongs to someone who’s dead.”

“I assure you Alex, I am very much alive and kicking. And perfectly capable of giving you your mon-” I was cut off as the breath was squeezed from me, Alex having dropped all pretence of decorum and hurled himself at me,

“Lord love yer, Jamie! They told us you were dead! There was an obituary…”

“I know, I know. I planned it….well, in a manner of speaking.” And I needed to say no more.

“But…Beckett’s dead?” Alex was holding me back to inspect me. He knew a little of my history, though he never made a big thing of it, and had always just been…understanding.

“Yes. I shot him. I feel rather pleased with myself.”

“And so you should, mate. So you should. Come, we’ll find your brother. Although, I can’t say as he’ll be happy to see you.”

I chuckled, and steered him indoors, arm around his shoulder, “Oh yes? Is His Lordship having a tantrum?”

“You have no idea, Jamie. None whatsoever.” Suddenly serious, “We lost the Wind-dancer. And five of our men was shot in a raid.”

I knew better than to make light of it- you might think that if you become a smuggler, death is what you expect, but John and James Norrington are very similar people, despite being on the opposites sides of the law for most of their lives, and you could say the same of the Navy. And I never once thought “they must have prepared for it”, I thought- how am I going to phrase the letter to their family? How am I going to make sure the rest of my men don’t go the same way? How am I going to make sure the rest of my crew will keep going, keep obeying my orders, minutes after they have watched their friends blown in half.

And, besides that, the Wind Dancer was John’s favourite ship.

Alex knocked lightly,

“You can go first, Jay- if it’s all the same to you.”

I took a deep breath, and opened the door.

“BUGGER OFF!”

Thank God, I know my brother well. I anticipated the hurled paperweight, and managed to catch it.

“That would be incest. This incidentally is frowned on in this society. Unless you’re a royal.” I put it on the desk.

The bear like figure in the window span round, eyebrow raised, perfectly controlled.

“You look very good for a dead man.”

I gestured, “What can I say? Some of us are just lucky like that.”

For the second time this evening I found myself squeezed- this time though, I was being squeezed by someone a head and half taller than myself, twice as broad, with arm muscles like coconuts.  Who was crying.

“You aren’t dead….you…you aren’t dead.” 

And then he punched me, and I hit the floor.

“What the hell did you think you were playing at? You’d better be able to explain yourself, James. To me. Then to my wife. Then to our sister, when she comes down next month with her family, because she wants us to all be together again. Then you can explain to my children that Uncle James hasn’t really come back from the dead.”

I wiped the blood off my nose, “I joined a pirate ship, betrayed my friends to get my job back, was kidnapped by said pirate ship, joined the crew, started a torrid affair with the Captain, who at this moment is wandering around the town with his crew, found out my ex-fiancé and her nearly husband were going to have a baby, so I brought them here, so the nearly husband can work for you and she had her babies a couple of days ago and they’re in my house. Oh, and I shot Cutler Beckett in a duel, when we were supposed to be using swords; seeing as he’s the one who’s dead, if anyone finds out that I’m actually alive, I’ll most likely hang for murder, if not for desertion. The good news is I no longer feel guilty about being a law abiding, seeker of justice when I come from a family of robber barons.”

He helped me up, and sat me in a chair, “Well, that’s just superb. What do you want? I’m busy.”

I rolled my eyes, “Oh, don’t mind me; I only came to let you know I’m not dead. We can talk business tomorrow. Over dinner. At mine. Please? You and Sarah?”

“James…does this mean you’re accepting my offer? Are you going to…”

I took a deep breath- and images of Jack flashed through my mind: Jack unlocking my chains, Jack holding me as I bared my sins, waking to Jack’s grinning face as we woke up together in a tangle of warm limbs. Jack. Jack. I thought so much of him…. I loved him so much.

“No, John. I’ll stay a while- but as I said, I already have a Captain.”

He smiled ruefully, “Cursed mollies… I’d never stand working with you anyway. You’d  drive me half demented, and probably distract my crew.”

At that moment, the door opened, and there stood the aforementioned Mrs. Norrington, in her dressing gown and beribboned night hair.

“John, darling, come to be- James?”

“Hello, Sarah.” She stood stock still in the doorway.

“Is it really…Come here…” I complied, and she put out her hand to…

Slap me. Hard.

“Get him out of my house! You know what I think about having dead people under my roof.”

John laughed, “Jamie was just leaving” and, because he could never resist a good argument with her, even this late at night, “but we are going to dinner with him and his aheh companions  tomorrow.”

I hurried out, to the sounds of “at least give him the chance to explain himself…” …“John, I loved your brother as well as you did. I forgave him everything- the Navy, leaving us for the Caribbean, not coming home after he resigned. But this time- as a family we grieved for…” 

With a quick “good evening” to Alex, who was listening at the door with some considerable amusement, I slammed outside and into the rain.

Walking back over the cliffs is frightening in the dark, with the wind and the rain disorientating your senses. Many have simply walked over the edge because they didn’t know it was there.

In the dark, you can imagine Things coming across the fields, and dragging you away. You imagine voices of the dead are singing on the wind…

“Yo ho, ho yo….A pirate’s…. and a bottle of rum.”

I froze. There were voices. Squinting against the rain, I made out a dark shape on the edge of the cliff. In a hat. Garbling a song about really bad eggs.  Jack. Jack sitting on the edge of the cliff. In the rain.

I could barely control the spasm of rage that shot through me. The little idiot! How could he be so stupid?

“Jack!”

He didn’t respond. I noticed he was swaying- the rage was replaced by terror. He was going to- oh my god, Jack!

 I propelled forward, catching him by the collar, and managing to drag him back before he…oh…it doesn’t bear thinking about.

I pinned him to sodden grass, by his wrists, kneeling over him.

“Gerr’off me. Bastardy… sodding… using …naval.”

I resisted the urge to hit him. Dear God, he made me angry. So angry you’d think I was married to him.

“Jack Sparrow, I swear to God, on the grave of my father, and of Charles, if you ever scare me like that again, I will throttle you myself. Do you know how dangerous these cliffs are? In this weather it could have collapsed underneath you…you could have died.”

“Fat lot you’d care…  let me sleep Jamie…” he mumbled, bottle rolling out of his hand, and being instantly blown off the edge.

He was soaking, and his skin was cold to the touch.

“Oh. bollocks.” It’s a good thing Jack is so small. In my arms he seemed even smaller. 

Kicking the door of my home open, I staggered up the steep stairs to my room.

 “Jack, wake up.” I heaved off his coat and boots, then his shirt and trousers, and deposited his limp, pale body on my bed, starting to dry him with the rough top blanket. ,

“WILL!”

The lad stuck his head through the door, cross, and tousle-headed, “What’s all the fuss?...Oh for heaven’s sake, can’t you be a bit more discreet?”

“Shut up! Look- can you set a fire? There’s wood in the basket.”

He did so, and I was, not for the first time, thankful that the navy had trained my ordering people around voice to the pitch that people just obey.

We got the fire roaring-

“Now, can I please go back to bed?”

“What? Yes… yes…of course…”

Once he’d gone, I took off my clothes and slid between the sheets, curling around Jack and pulling him close, skin to skin contact works wells, clutching him to me, trying to warm him up. His heart beat was fluttering like a little bird’s under my ear. I lay awake, watching him in the firelight, until his cheeks returned to their normal colour, and his breathing turned into that of one asleep, instead of one unconscious.

Around midnight, he shifted in my arms, pressing against me, head turned, so his lips were on my neck.

***

I woke alone in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, with embers glowing in the fireplace, and the mother of all hangovers. Scrap that- in some weird, convoluted way it was the mother, father and great-god father of all hangovers. My chest hurt and was makin’ strange rattling noises and the first thing I did was half cough up my lungs.

Jamie leant against the doorframe, watchin’ with a strange smile on his face.

“So you’re awake?”

I glowered, “shh… not so loud. I’m dyin’”

“You’ll be happy to know it’s half past three in the afternoon.”

“Oh. Good”. I tried to push meself up, and Jamie pushed me back down.

“You are staying there.” I opened my mouth, “No, don’t argue. I have already sent a message to Mr. Gibbs. You sat out in a rainstorm, drinking- and made yourself sick.  I am not having you getting a fever, by over exerting yourself.”

I struggled against his hand, “Bugger this. I’m off- you can’t stop-” I cut myself off with the coughing.

“Come now, Jack. A day in bed, with me at your command? What’s so objectionable about that?”

I did feel bloody dreadful. Shaky. “Werl, when you put it like that.” I glared up at him,

“You know it’s your fault I’m ill don’t you?”

His look of incredulity cheered me up no end; until I started coughing which made me feel like death.

“How in the world is it my fault?”

“If you’d only been a bit more forceful and commodorish about my stayin’ wiv you, then I’d never have felt so rejected as to go and try to drink myself into a stupor in the rain. I’d have played Uncle Jack to Emmeline and Weatherby.”

 He winced, “We have to talk to Elizabeth.” Then he screwed up his face as what I’d said registered. “Eh? You’re blaming me because you refused to stay with me? What was I supposed to do, beg?” he leapt up, agitated. “The stupid thing is I would have, if you’d asked.”

I pouted, “Shouldn’t have to ask.”

He shook his head and barked out a laugh, and threw his head heaven wards, hands clasped together, “Dear God, why? Why me? Why couldn’t it have been that pretty Caroline woman back in Port Royal? It would have been so easy. Alright, she might have the wit of Cotton’s parrot, but honestly…. Why him? Why him? Napoleon Bonaparte would have been better. Look Lord! Look at him. He’s just lying there looking inane- he’s not even the good grace to apologise when he’s in the wrong.”

 I was definitely frozen in place, a big toothy grin fixed to my face.

“What did that mean? What’s it?”

He stopped and raised an eyebrow, “My apologies, Captain. I was merely seeking divine guidance. I understand you wouldn’t recognise it. ”

“No- what’s it? Why couldn’t he what be pretty Caroline.” I made a mental note to hate anybody called Caroline.

To my absolute, perfect, complete, utter delight he smiled and blushed.

“I knew it- you love me!” He retracted his head against his chest, “You love me! You love me!”

He clamped a hand over my mouth, “*shhh* it’s true.”

And because I am a perverse and strange old Sparrow, that made me suspicious. It was too easy. “You don’t really love me.”

“Oh for… Was carrying you two miles in the pouring rain, wrapped in my coat, not enough? Perhaps I should stand on the roof and scream it at the top of my voice?” Oh, I wish.

“If you really loved me you’d be coming wiv me.” Yes- I am the type to keep prodding the sleeping tiger with a sharp stick.

He was silent.

“I’m still your Captain, you know. Your direct superior and all that bollocks.” Hah. Get out of that one Navy Boy.

He inclined his head in consent, “Of course, sir.” Damn.

“I could order you to do anything.”

He smiled, “Within reason, sir.”

I flapped at the cool hand against my forehead, and took a gamble. Thass what being a pirate’s about. “I could order you to come with me, and not stay with your brother. And you’d have to do it.”

 His eyes crinkled with amusement, and anger curled up tight in my belly, I knew it. S’ not very nice, playing with a bloke’s emotions like that.  “’s not funny. I could say “James Norrington, you signed the papers…”

 “Jack…”

“And took an oath of allegiance…”

“Jack, I’m…”

“And swore to call me your Captain and obey me as such. So, you’ve got to come wiv me, on my next expedition, like it or not.”

“Jack, I’m not…”

“But I’m not going to do that, because even if you don’t love me, I’ll not stand in the way cos I love you, so there. Hah. I’m the better man …”

He did the hand on my mouth again, and I was very aware, even in my poorly state, of him leaning over me, and his gorgeous eyes filled with this kind of earnest merriment. “Jack! I’m not going with my brother! I told him yesterday. He’s only coming tonight to sort things out with Mr. Turner. Do you think Elizabeth will be happy if he lets her hide things in her skirts- some of the cargo, you know, to help get them to their destination safely?”

“Maybe. But I doubt it.”

“Oh. I’ll have to think about that.”

Contemplative silence.

“Jack?

“mmm?”

“Did you just say you love me?”

I smiled a bit, “No questions, young Norrington. You should be at work; report to Gibbs immediately. Before you ask, yes, you can come back for dinner with your brother, but only if I’m there, that way I know you won’t be doin’ any more desertin’. We had quite enough of that, thank you. Yes, you’re allowed to take tomorrow off to show the Turners around the area. No, you can’t wear my hat.”

It would be nice to say our relationship changed dramatically after that night in the office. It didn’t. In many respects, it was worse, because now we both had something to lose; some days, when he was out on the Mercury, and I, for some reason consigned to the office by the new governor, was signing, in my position as Acting Commodore (not that that was what it actually got called), a pile of reports two foot high, my mind would wonder to where he was and whether he was caught up in a skirmish at that very moment, whether he was…

I had two regular nightmares. One was waking up late for work. I’ve had that one in various permutations ever since I joined the Navy- the rising bell failing to wake me and such like. The other generally involved the Mercury, coming home, without Andy.

Anyway, I must stop being so maudlin.

I had been promoted to Captain almost the second we set foot on the dock. The purpose of that, I discovered, had nothing to do with my devotion to duty or competence, more to do with needing someone they could put as Acting Commodore. So. There we are. And here we are a few months after that.

A knock at the door,

“Governor Wilkinson to see you, sir.”

I tossed aside a sheet of paper, “Yes, thank you Mr. Boscher… Mr. Boscher?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t suppose there’s been any news from the Mercury has there? It’s been a month or so now...”

Mr. Boscher’s son was the boatswain. He gave a grimace, “no, sir. I shouldn’t worry too much though, sir… “ Mr. Boscher is around fifty. He sees everything and knows everything.

“You’re right, of course.”

“You’ll of course be the first to know if any pigeons get in.”  Mr. Boscher also understands everything and everyone. Better than everything and everyone know themselves.

Governor Wilkinson ducked, presumably out of habit, in to the office. He was very tall, very broad shouldered, a remarkable politician for his age, remarkably unmarried and thus the object of desire of every unmarried woman on the island over the age of eighteen. I was a little suspicious of him. He was pleasant enough, but he was too… energetic.

“Ah, Acting Commodore! Still at it, at this hour?” For instance.

 “Yes, sir. Just a bit more and then I will return to my quarters.”

“You ought to be careful- all work and no play, what? Mind you, the papers do mount up so, if you don’t keep a handle on things. ” he was a bit like a dog really. A big, bouncy, enthusiastic Collie.

“Well, there’s a lot to do. Especially after Commodore Norrington’s death…”

He drew out a chair, almost knocked it over, apologised and stood up again, tried to lean on the wall caught his shoulder on the nail that served as a coat hook. He was the second son of a lord. He had second son problems.  I was the second son of a land owning farmer. I understood his second son problems.

“Bad business that. Knew the fellow a little, of course. Never seemed the duelling type. Didn’t hold grudges much. Always the peace keeper when I knew him. I understand he was a chum of yours, out of uniform. First name terms and all that. Must have been quite  a blow. Can’t say I’m sorry Lord Beckett’s dead though. Never did trust the man. Sort you wouldn’t trust around your daughters. Or your sons.” I didn’t raise my eyebrows at this openness. It would have been impolite. Besides, the upper classes are entitled to say what they like. “Still, it’s a pity it came at such a price.”

I realised then I was not likely to see James again. Ever. “yes.” My voice was quiet. James bound for England. Andy off chasing pirates. It was supposed to be my turn. That’s what James had said. “He was a good man, a good officer, a good friend.” Perhaps when I retired…

“Yes, indeed. Must say I always liked him. Fine old chap. Straight as an arrow. And of course, now we need another one. Commodore, I mean. Actually, that’s why I came here. Got a letter for you, notice of your promotion, no doubt.”

It was. Down there in writing. Notice of promotion for one Theodore Groves. To…commodore?

“Sir. There must be some kind of mistake. This says…to commodore? I’m to be in charge of the fleet?” My heart had stopped beating. “I’ve only just been promoted to Captain…this is….”

 “Yes. Bit of a rushed job really. No one really wants to worry about here. And you were highly recommended by old Norrington.”

I sat staring at the piece of paper. My hand shaking.

“You have anyone to celebrate with? Seems quite the night for it.” I…was ….a….

I hadn’t. I had a few friends in the Navy, but none outside. Some back home of course. But none on the island.

“No? Tell you what! Rattling about that great house on my own is deuced lonely, come back for a drink, hey? I’ll wait for you to finish of course.”

Three hours and three bottles of brandy later, “Adrian” and I sat in his expansive parlour, in shirt sleeves, our shoes kicked off in front of the fire.

 “So, we’ve all got our rifles aimed, but we don’t fire, because we know…we just know it would be wrong to fire, and besides the order hasn’t been given and he balanced on the edge of the wall, trying to be so suave. ‘gentlemen’ he says, ‘you will all remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sp- ho’ and he falls backwards into the sea!” Adrian laughed and leant forward, “he sounds like a chap I knew at Eton. Had the most fantastic way with words. Masters didn’t stand a chance. Nor did I, now I think of it.” I laughed, too loudly, to cover my unease. Yes, we all knew what went on in public schools, but you weren’t supposed to talk about it. Especially not to subordinates you barely knew. That wasn’t the worst thing though; the worst thing was he was leaning ever so close to me, and I was lonely and wanted Andy, and he wasn’t coming home for another month, and Adrian was hardly being discreet, and kissing him would have been so easy.

He seemed to sense my discomfort, because he suddenly drew himself up short, “Goodness, look at the time; I think I must retire soon.”

I coughed, “yes, I must be… “

“The ceremony should be in three weeks, I think… I’ll tell you more closer to the date.” I pulled my shoes on, slightly drunkenly,

“Thank you… sir…Adrian. It was really a lovely evening. It was nice having somebody to celebrate with…normally, it would have been Andy, but…”

“Not at all, Captain Groves… Theodore. The pleasure was all mine.” He shook my hand at the door, and we held on for just a little too long.

That night, in my room, I prayed for the first time in years: Dear God, give me the strength to remain faithful to him. Dear God. Bring Andy back to me.

                                      ***

I have a guilty secret. In the weeks after the duel, between getting well enough to tar decks, to being able to climb the rigging again, I started writing music. That’s not necessarily the secret- although I hadn’t written anything for so long, they were short and not very good. It’s ….the secret is…You mustn’t tell anybody- they were about Jack. All of them. He’s so….perfect. For music I mean. His fluttering hand gestures, his stupid walk… I could set them all to a series of quavers and slurs. So I did. I had to test my ideas in secret, when no one was around, I would sneak Rag’s violin, which he had early on agreed I could use whenever I wished in return for my teaching him how to tune the bloody thing,  make amendments, and quickly scribble them down on a piece of paper I had ruled off like manuscript paper. I kept the papers hidden in my hammock, where they certainly wouldn’t be discovered. It was one of those unbreakable laws. You. Did. Not. Look. Through. People’s. Things.

They were only games and exercises. Nothing serious. Jack was a good subject. A good model.

It was like us really. Not that there was an us you understand. But what we had were only games, I think. Nothing serious.

 I didn’t want to leave Jack. At all. I didn’t even really have to, now that Beckett was dead. But I had some obligation to my brother.

Only… he was very odd with me these days. Sometimes, he would barely speak to me for days- Norrington! He’d bark. And I’d reply, Sir?

And then some nights, he find me after my watch, and take my hands and bury his face in my neck, and lead me back to his cabin… I couldn’t understand him.

And yet I couldn’t stop watching him. He was never from my mind.  I hadn’t felt like this since…..oh….since Elizabeth.

Yes. Elizabeth...

The Turner’s wedding was….strange. Far more enjoyable than the majority I have been to. Especially my sister’s. That was probably the third worst experience of my life.

It was held a few days after our stop at St. Malo. For those that don’t know, St. Malo is a town at the end of a spit of rock on the coast of Brittany. At high tide the spit is covered by the sea and the town is cut off from the mainland completely. It is a walled fortress of a town, the streets narrow, the houses pressing in on you, looming at you. There is no space to build out so people build up, and everyone lives practically on top of each other. It is easy to defend and difficult to attack; a hive of pirates and thieves, prostitutes and the dispossessed. Jack had spent most of the evening drinking and flirting with pretty barmaids. I had grown bored, and climbed to the top of the town, to sit on the battlements. A short while later, Jack had joined me. We didn’t speak.

Someone had found Elizabeth a deep red dress, of a style of my mother’s generation, buried in some sea chest, and William a long coat, and a new shirt. Together they looked the perfect pirate lord and lady, Elizabeth radiant over her swollen belly. Any day now, I thought. Any day now. The ceremony was refreshingly short. Jack dispensed with the majority of the sermon (praise be), sticking to, “Do you both swear to love, cherish, honour and satisfy each other for the rest of your natural born days, except in cases of adultery or intolerable cruelty- you do? Of course you do. Right, in that case, what God, or rather, I, which fortuitously happens to be one and the same, has joined, let no man, or woman, or beast, tear asunder, except under aforementioned circumstances. Do you have some type of ring, bracelet, necklace, tattoo, or item of clothing you wish to exchange as a symbol of this- you do? Good, exchange them. I pronounce you man and wife, wife and man, a legal couple, capable of having legitimate children, because that sort of thing is important to you lot. So, gents and lady, let’s break out the rum! Mr. Norrington- some form of wedding jig, if you please.”
The closer we got to home, the tighter my chest felt. Then, I put it down to excitement. And to be fair I was. The air felt different, colder, crisper. As I was the only one absolutely certain of the bearings, Jack allowed me the helm, on good days. I say on good days, because they were few and far between. It was on one of the bad days that It happened. This particular bad day was a day or so before we were due to make port. The great sandstone cliffs were visible on the horizon, every contour and line exactly as I remembered them. I had made some rather innocent remark to Jack and he cut my rum ration and set me off tarring the decks. Will, Elizabeth and I were sitting in the food store that had been converted into a makeshift cabin, the closer Elizabeth got to Jack’s rough estimate of the delivery date.

Will and I were having a heated discussion on whether…. I forget, seems a bit irrelevant in the face of what happened afterwards.

“um… James…Will…” Elizabeth tugged at my sleeve. We kept arguing. “James! WILL!” I looked at her, she looked at me, I looked down. There was a dark, wet stain, spreading over her stolen trousers.

“Oh. Bugger.”

Things happen rather quickly after that. When the contractions started, I offered to go and get Jack myself, although frankly I wanted nothing to do with the man, but Will said he’d go. I know sod all about babies, and was quite frankly terrified; but it was nothing to what Will was feeling. After all, this was his fault. As he ran off, Elizabeth grabbed my hand, and goddamn her, she squeezed. “James. Am…I..go-going…to sur-argh-vive?”

I didn’t answer, couldn’t answer.

Jack rushed in, skidding through the door, “Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie! Norrington- get out of the way- no, wait come back- stand there! No, there! Hold her under the armp-..Ooo… god, why did Will have to marry such a skinny hipped… no offence meant. madam…. Dear God! There’re four legs.... oh….oh, I see…congratulations William, my boy- hold this. now, Liz, this might hurt a bit… but….  We’ve got to massage  the head…it’s the second one see… it’s just little backwards…”

Six and a half bloody, noisy hours later, Elizabeth was holding her daughter to her breast, tired and jubilant, drifting in and out of sleep. Will was clutching his son, a dazed expression on his face- a type of “where’s that from, then?” look. Jack bloody to the elbows, smiled up at me, forgetting himself for a moment, I smiled at him. Will sat by Elizabeth, and they rested on each other. I passed Jack a bit of cloth to wipe the blood off.

“Let’s give them some privacy, Jack?” I wanted to say….I don’t know. He’d handled all that far better than I could have. He nodded and followed me out. I opened my mouth, to say let’s not fight, not now, but when I reached for his hand, he pulled away, muttering about having a ship to run.

We anchored a little way off the coast, and rowed ashore. Elizabeth, having replaced her breeches and shirt for a simple dress, coat and hat, and the thus far unchristened twins wrapped up warm in shawls and sailcloth, Will, Jack and I, in one boat, the rest of the crew packed into the others. Will and I rowed the choppy, winter water, wind whipping my hair. I called out orders to the other boats- keep close,  there are rocks around. Straighten up a touch!

“Elizabeth, as wonderful as your father was, no son of mine will be called Weatherby!”

“Not even…William Weatherby Turner?”

Jack had barely spoken to me at all that day. “That’s got a lovely ring to it, you know.”

Will scowled, “I’ll think about it. What about our daughter?”

“Emmeline? Sylvia?”

I had decided against mooring the boat in the harbour. Better to drag them up-shore and leave them under the cliffs. We helped Elizabeth out of the boat, and up the beach, feet sinking into the pebbles, her children tucked to her breast, under her coat. The further East you go along this stretch of coast, the bigger the pebbles get. Smugglers and fishermen could tell where they were by the size of the pebbles under their feet. Here they were really very small, and ran to sand in some places. Jack dispatched his crew on various errands, with the promise of free run after they were completed and followed on behind the Turners and I. Walking through the town, I felt like a ruddy nursemaid, “will you keep up? I don’t want you wandering off and getting lost.” I waved to a few people, I vaguely recognise. Better they should know I was back. That way they could lie with a clear conscience should anyone come asking.

 My house was quite a way from the harbour. It was a squat, squarish building, whitewashed, with thick walls. There were four bedrooms upstairs, an attic full of things of uncertain origin; a sitting room, with the stairs in the corner, a kitchen , dining room and pantry downstairs, a small, vegetable plot outside, and a privy.

I lead them through to the sitting room, a dark room, with an ill fitting carpet, a large fire and mismatched arm chairs. Throwing down my oilcloth sack that contained my uniform, a few things I had bought in St Malo and Tortuga, I first bustled about, taking stock- there was wood in the shed, no food (obviously), but we had eaten on the Pearl and I would go out to the market in the nearby town early. Feeling suddenly awkward, I hovered around the door, “A friend has been seeing to its upkeep the last twelve years…Won’t you sit down? I…or… ” Jack was strolling about the room, picking things up, putting them down again, generally in the wrong place.

Elizabeth glanced at the staircase in the corner of the room, “I must feed these two. And it is getting late.”

The babies had, indeed, started to grizzle and I cursed my negligence, “of course- if you go upstairs, the spare bedroom is on the right. There are bed clothes in the cupboard there. If you don’t mind, I  must… go to my brother- alone, if that’s all the same- I will ask him to dine with us- tomorrow, if that’s acceptable? I will to the butchers tomorrow…”

They were already on their way upstairs, Elizabeth leaning rather heavily on Mr. Turner, “Yes… yes… perfectly.”

Jack put down the ornate dagger he’d been toying with, “I’d best be off too, mates. Find a bunk for the night.”

I feel I concealed my spirit deflating even further rather well, “oh- I’d assumed…that is to say you’re more than welcome to stay here for the duration.”

He shifted uneasily, “nah, Norrington. I’ve got a crew to control, and besides…I’ll be heading off soon enough.”

The Turners paused on the stairs, Emmeline and William Weatherby ( one can barely suppress a shudder), still whimpering. For god’s sake woman, go and feed your spawn. I stiffened and bowed my head, “As you wish. Good day, Captain Sparrow.” And I strode purposefully out the door, every inch of me conveying….purpose. Not at all feeling ill used. Not in anyway. If that was the way Sparrow wished to behave, then far be it from me to stop him.

****

I swayed out as nonchalantly as possible, making sure he saw me sway. And when I turned the corner, I set my face in a scowl of thunderous anger, and set off to find the nearest swill hole.

I had planned my evening thusly- find somewhere that sold very cheap, very strong rum, get absolutely rat-faced, then stagger about town. Probably singing. Probably Lizzie’s song.

Three and a half bottles later and I was making my winding way up the west cliff, which was on the opposite side of town to the hole where I’d bought something half approaching cat’s piss.

“Drink up me hearties…ho yo!...eh…yo ho!”
I sat on the edge of the cliff a little way up and threw rocks at the beach. What kind of beach is pebbles anyway?

I should’ve said I’d stay…’sa nice old place, sure enough, and Jamie and I both knew that when he said “you’d be welcome to stay” he meant “and there’s plenty of space in my room”….

‘s not my fault though… I only wanted to have a little bit of fun, with a handsome bloke…didn’t mean to fall in lo-oops. Tell you a secret though, lean in closer. Closer. Thass right. I did love ‘im, even then. Shhh. Mustn’t tell…

A few bits of cliff fell off, and I watched them tumbling to the ground.

People like me don’t go around falling in love. Doesn’t happen. We use people as we see fit- if they fall in love with us, more fool them.

I han’t really planned what I was goin’ to do afterwards. Maybe spend a spell in France… Ireland... ultimately, I wanted to go back to where it was hot all year round, and the rum flowed like water and you didn’t need a jumper.

“We chindle and kar... igflame and enight”

Jesus. Lizzie. Night before last. Her twins. Tell you another secret- I thought see might die. See, the upper class of the female variety is divided in two- those with the type of build and constitution what could give birth to triplets on the back of a camel, and those who are very skinny and frail, who tend to be carried off by head aches. Lizzie falls in the middle. She’s got the stamina and mentality of the camel-birthing variety, but the type of frame that leads to problems in birth. She was just unlucky that twins run in the family somewhere along the line.

After William Weatherby  (ye can’t but shudder, can you?  What is it with the upper classes and names?) beat his way into the world, there was still another inside her- little Emmy had her head up the wrong way, kind of sideways on. I didn’t let on, but I thought mother and babe were done for, honestly. But managed to massage her round, and neither is worse for wear.

I learnt about how to midwife when I was pretending to be a eunuch and working in the harems of the king of… no, somehow, I didn’t think you’d believe that.  Oh well. I’ll not be telling you the truth, though.

Wind pulled at me, trying to tug me off the edge of the cliff, and it started to rain. It ran down the brim of my hat, and soaked into my trousers.

I continued to drink.

A little while later, I heard another bit of rock hit the beach.

***

Hello. I know I’m late- always am. Had a bit of trouble getting here…coachman… fell…or something. Damn roads haven’t been repaired since my father’s time. I know this is normally the part where Captain Gillette or the newly Commodore Groves tell a bit…but they are both aheh otherwise engaged. And I’m not, more’s the pity. Ah well, such is life.

However, I know you’re all dying to know whether or not I succeeded in my evil seduction of Teddy…or should that be whether or not Teddy succeeded in refusing me… I don’t know.

His relationship with Captain Gillette was relatively well known, among certain circles. People always mistake covert for not known about. I, dear me, I never thought for a moment that it was anything other than a relationship of convenience. That sounds odd. No relationship like that between two men is ever convenient. But. No, I don’t think I’d have had the courage if I had.  Not that I did much you understand. There wasn’t really much seducing going on.

Andy should be bally proud of Ted. He’s not a naturally faithful person by nature, I feel; you know…sort of roving eyes, you know.

I came up to meet him, when he was supposed to be finishing work. The marine on duty let me in, and yes my heart leapt a little when I saw him smile, when he saw me.

“Governor Wilkinson! What a pleasure.” I sat down.

“You are still coming to dinner, aren’t you?”

He signed something, “of course. I am a man of my word Adrian.”

We sat a space.

“Right! Finished! Come on, let’s away. Good God, this place is depressing.” He leapt up, and something fell out of his pocket. I bent to pick it up, at the same time as he did,

“Oh, thank you.”  We straightened up and looked down. I laughed a little. And then, I thought- oh the hell with it, nothing ventured, nothing gained. So, I leant in to kiss him, and for a moment he almost let me. And then there was a thunderous knocking the door, and he pulled back.

“Yes! Come in!”

An unidentified very young marine, raced in looking flushed,

“ Commodore! The Mercury’s back. All in one piece. She’s just pulling into the harbour now, sir. Sir- look sir, that’s me brother on the riggin’ there. Oh, and Captain Gillette at the helm.”

His lips quirked up in a smile, “Alright Mr. Rogers. Go ahead. I’ll be right along.”

He saluted, positively shaking with excitement- I thought, for heaven’s sake it’s just a boat.
 “Sorry Adrian. I’ll have to…I can’t come tonight. You know…” he completely failed to look upset. But it was okay. I knew why.

“Some other time.” I looked at the thing in my hand. It was a sketch of a naval officer. “I never stood a chance did I?”
He gave a brilliant smile and shot out of the door.  I heard him trying to control his pace to a calm stroll, befitting a commodore.

He failed.

James met me in the square. It was hot, my uniform was heavy and itchy; I had just rowed with Andy- a silly thing, under the circumstances, not fit for retelling- and Lord Beckett was late. I hate people being late, deliberately. It’s simply displaying his power. Look at me; I can make you sit around getting sweaty and burning in the sun.

James was pacing, not fast, a measured tread up and down the square. He was well aware, I feel, that people were watching, from windows and doorways, and didn’t very much care. I always knew there was some grudge between him and Beckett, but I never knew where its origins lay, and I still don’t, he refuses to talk of it.

“It’s noon. He’s late.”

James continued pacing. “I know.”

“You could always back out. You could hide and run away.”

I had expected him to snap. He just muttered, “Not a good idea.”

“Is it pistols or swords?”

“Swords. My pistol has some unidentified gunge jamming it.” He sounded bored, dull; he wanted it to be over. One way or another. I wanted it to be over.

I scratched my leg. “He’s a good swordsman, you know, James. Don’t underestimate him.”

He pulled out the blade Turner made him, sheathed it. Pulled it out again, sheathed it again. “I know. I won’t.”

A scattering of marines and midshipman Edwards were lounging around the square. Well, the marines were lounging. Edwards was failing to lounge.

A few East India boys preceded Beckett and Mercer. I was looking forward to the opportunity to get my revenge on Mercer. Look, it’s wasn’t his hands all over me that annoyed me, or his trying to get his tongue in my mouth. In normal circumstances, if he hadn’t been a vicious little weasel I would trust anywhere near my privates, I might have said yes. Except. Except, even if… it would have felt wrong; sweating in carnal ecstasy while Andy was alone, in cold sheets, on another ship.  I think it’s time to accept- he’s Lord of my love, The master-mistress of my passion. I wish I could think of some better quotes.

Anyway… yes, none of that really got to me. It was the fact he beat me up, and what he was saying as he did it. He threatened Andy, he said… there was a reason Beckett had me on the ship… that… he’d accused me of doing…unspeakable things…to….children….

Despite being generally of a placid temperament, it was at that point I decided anything I did to him would be entirely justified.

                ***

The barman of a local tavern was refereeing. He ordered Beckett and I to shake hands. Gripping his fingers, I felt strangely calm. Beckett stood too close and murmured “I hope you’ve been enjoying playing pirate, because it’s the last time you’re ever going to be on a ship. When I get you back to Port Royal, you’ll never go to sea again. You’ll be grounded, entirely at my disposal. We are going to have such fun.”

I gave him a sunny death-rictus, “I rather thought this was to the death. Or perhaps, you are talking about having fun with my corpse. I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“I think I can get away with making sure you are merely badly wounded. That way you won’t be capable of running away again.”

“ah. Shall we?”

I was not on form, despite my almost daily fencing with Will. The difference between fencing, and a real duel is fencing is for fun.  If you loose, the most you have to fear is your opponent’s sweaty palm thanking you for the game. I was also devilishly tired. I was too close, too far away, my lunges at the wrong angle, my arm too high, too low.

There was a big difference between this and the fight on the Isla Crusez. We would have all hesitated to kill each other. That, to some extent, was only half serious, and it was a fight. There were no rules. This was a duel. I wasn’t allowed to punch him in the face.

I lost my footing on a loose cobblestone and fell for a moment slumped against a tree. Our blades were locked; I not willing to risk movement, Beckett taking the time to gloat.

“I’m going to make you watch when I hang the pirate. You’ll have to stand there and watch him twitch on the end of the rope. I can make it so the hangman doesn’t knot it properly, and he chokes to death.” He made a mock pout, “You seem upset. Have you grown fond of him? Do you love him?”
Pure rage is as good a propellant as wind power. I knocked him back and we circled as dancers.

“Does it weigh on you, Beckett? The heart, I mean. It’ll drive you mad, you know. Something that powerful, the insistent thud-thud-thud…”

Thud. Thud. Thud. That was the sound of my heart, a rhythmic pound against my ribs, like the drum to the gallows. Standing in the centre of the room, dark shadows under the desk, like holes into another world, where I might be safe.

“So, you’re leaving us.”

I coughed, “Yes, sir.”

He stood before me, hands on my shoulders. Thudthudthud. I could his heart, sped up by excitement, against my chest.

“Well, you’d better make sure I enjoy myself, and I won’t tell your little Ganymede what we’ve been doing. Think he’d still bear to look at you, knowing what a whore you are?”  The pressure increase on my shoulders, gripping tight enough to leave yet more finger shaped bruises. Thud. That was the sounds of my knees hitting the floor.

The first cut went to Beckett- a deep slash across my chest, tearing open my clothes and making me bleed. Not enough to kill…. Although it was bleeding quite fast and I … another cut, just above my eye. And then I saw them. A small, throbbing leather pouch, and a metallic glint of… surely, even he wouldn’t cheat so blatantly. But there it was, metalwork the same as the first day he put it to my head.

And the glimmering of a plan…

I drove him round, so that the gathered marines could see what was happening. I really was bleeding quite a bit…. I deliberately flunked my next lunge and fell forward, and as I fell I dropped my swords, grabbing for the pouch and the wood of the handle. Too late, Beckett fumbled at his belt. I pushed back, to my knees.

 Calmly, I cocked the pistol. And I shot him. I am a very good shot.

I never considered myself the type of person who could kill in cold blood, just like that. But then I never considered myself the sort of person who would ever sell myself to the man who had done such terrible things to me, for such a low price as a stable job and position. Innocence is not lost or taken all at once, but in degrees.

As he fell, a neat whole between his eyes, I turned, spine poker straight, legs like twin jellies, shirt soaked crimson, face pale, to the assembly, like a lecturer or when we were on parade,

“And that, gentlemen, is why you should only ever cheat if you are absolutely certain you are better at it than your opponent.”

And then I collapsed.

***

I was watchin’ the fight, perched on the rails, next to the moorin’ rope, an’ drinking me third bottle of rum…I don’ like duels, as a general rule of thumb; too high a risk of death, and you can’t talk the other person dead. I tore away when I saw Jamie get cut first. I couldn’t watch, I couldn’, couldn’… I opened one eye and turned back, to see him come an inch within having to share Rag’s eyeball.

Will and Lizzie came to lean by me, and I pointedly ignored them. No talkin’. Just don’t let them say nothin’. Liz took my hand, squeezed it ineffectually and Will patted my shoulder.

Jamie was bloody awful. Perfectly serious- I’m better than that. And that last lunge was…was…was one of the cleverest feints I have seen in my life. It was fantastic. And when he shot That Tosser, I nearly clapped.

Will gave that affronted cry, “He cheated!” and I would have punched him, but it wasn’t the time, so I span Lizzie around, and danced a few steps, “he did it, he did it. My pirate did it!”

And then I saw him fall.

I slid down the moorin’ rope, fast as I could, not as fast as I used to be able to. Forty winters may not have besieged my brow, but they ain’t done much for my joints. I managed to make the square before they took him away… skidding round the corner, shouting,

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, I really think it would be better if you took him to the Pearl…no, no, listen, ‘cos I know Tortuga, and it really isn’t the best of ideas to try and have an ill man lying about this dump. Especially a commodore.” I glared at Andy or Teddy. Teddy! That was his second, weren’t it? Teddy was dressing up his chest to stop the blood, and when he saw me stare, nodded ferociously, 

“Yes. Absolutely. I agree. In fact, Edwards, McQueen, get a stretcher and we’ll take him over straight away.”

“But sir… is it entirely wise to......leave him with Mr….”

“I believe, Midshipman, I gave you an order.”

Thass why strict hierarchy is useful. 

So this was the plan. We get Norrie on board. We wait ‘til they aren’t paying attention. Probably at night. Then we run.

And that is how it worked. Sometimes my plans work perfect. An’ this was one of them. This is why it worked. It’s a secret mind, and you’re not to go blabbin’, ‘cos the official, and published and printed version is We fought off two attacking ships, and I personally killed a hundred men, and it worked because I Am Jack Sparrow and Everything I Do Ends Up Workin’ Right For That Reason.

It worked because of Andy and Teddy. They took control of the Falcon. They stood the men down. They said in very loud voices they would be absolutely disgusted if they heard of any of the men frequenting the numerous and reasonably priced brothels, especially Madame Giri’s, which catered for all manner of tastes.

Needless to say the dock was deserted. Which made our job easy.

Bugger me, if I didn’t nearly swallow my tongue when they brought him in. Andy shoved me out the way a couple of times, ‘cos I was obstructin’ the stretcher. His shirt was soaked through and we got rid of that and his chest was shining red. The surgeon off the Mercury stitched him up, and then went off, to clean his hands and drink his sherry.

Jamie woke up briefly, glared that commodore glare at all of us, getting his bearings.

“Groves- your uniform is a perfect disgrace, Gillette- if you don’t deal with your beard in ten minutes I shall have you court marshalled. Mr. Turner- yes, I cheated, I also kicked sand in your face once, remember and I’m sorry-  do stop staring at me with that confused “I thought you were a good man” expression- Miss Swann- I have warned you before, cease that infernal dabbing, or you will not live to be a mother. Captain Sparrow, you will kindly explain to me why I am feeling so utterly dreadful and if I am going to have to start shouting things like ‘Shoot Him’ soon, later because I really don’t feel up to  trying to untangled your mangled stream of verbiage at the moment. And now I am going to sleep.” And verily he did. And all the little bits holding my breath in, and hurting my ribs an’ making me not breath properly and generally bein’ a nuisance, relaxed.

Anyway… before I tell you about the journey England-ward, I have to tell you about Mercer and Andy and Ted. Werrl… I’ll let Andy tell it. He’ll make it disgustin’. But still…

***

We sorted out James; Teddy had sent a runner to find me and explain what had happened.

Of course I rushed to the Pearl, and when we left, Teddy and I refused to talk to each other. He could just apologise. They were my stockings. Correction, they were my best stockings. He had bigger calves than me. He was going to stretch them.

I know. This was a ludicrous argument. A truly ludicrous argument. If Shakespeare had been allowed to write Belch and Aguecheek as sodomites, this is the sort of argument they would have.

Dammit, I wanted my stockings back!

I had intended to spend the evening in the office of the Mercury, trying to sort out, technically with Teddy, but avoiding speaking more than “how do you spell….?”, all the necessary reports to make James die. Not literally of course. Just in the eyes of the law, he would have got involved in a duel with Cutler Beckett (true), been badly injured (true) and died a little while later of said injuries (hopefully not true).

However, when we pointedly ignored our way through the door, we were met with Mr. Mercer, rifling through the draws of my desk. He looked up sharply when he saw us. I heard Teddy turn the key in the lock,

“Mr. Mercer! Commiserations on your master’s passing! Perchance you are here to ask us to assist you in following him?”

Mercer’s eyes rolled around in their sockets like die in a cup. Without the rattling sound of course.

 “Lieutenant Gilette, allow me to introduce the spurned would-be lover who gave me those delightful bruises. They are turning a rather odd shade of grey now. Which leg would you care to break?”

After, we steered him down the gangplank, and propped him in between two barrels. We hadn’t hurt him that badly. He would survive. His pride would be damaged most. The back-hand slap mark on his cheek was rather funny, I feel.

I started sorting through the files to make sure nothing had been stolen, going back to ignoring Teddy.

“Andy...Andy, Andy, Andy. You can have the stockings,” he dangled them in front of my face, I snatched at them, he yanked them back. I fell, quite deliberately, against him. He held me in front of him, staring at me for what felt like an age.

“What is it?”                                       

He smiled strangely, “My Mr. W.H.” and cupped my face in his hand. “I broke the agreement, Andy. I have grown distinctly….attached.”

****

“Midshipman Norrington, have you been brawling?”

“No, sir. I slipped in the rain sir, and caught my jaw on a winch.”

Lieutenant Mathews gestured, “As you say. Lieutenant Beckett wishes to see you after your watch has ended.”

I slumped a little but not very much, not so Sir could see, “yes, sir. Am I in trouble?” the sea that day matched my mood; grey, flat, listless.

He gave me a strange look and clapped a hand to my shoulder, “Oh I doubt it. You’ll cope, lad. Worse things happen at sea.”

“Jamie” His lips caught mine, with a slight groan, “oh, Jamie, it’s been so long. Too long.”

“Shore leave seems to come less and less.”

In those days, I had not yet the scars to warrant not taking off my clothes, and we sat in the dingy guest house bed, with its straw mattress and thin blanket, where no one was likely to mention us or even notice us,  “Charlie, I love you. Marry me.”

He laughed, out loud, no doubt at the thought of the look on the priest’s face.

“I could dress up as the girl you mean?”

“It might work…”

The pounce threw me back, and I ignored the pain, because I was so happy.

The blow took me off my feet, and clattered me against the desk. What had I done this time? Some petty thing, boots not polished or similar. Two hands dragged me tight across the leather surface; then, the pressure was released but I dared not move. Not then, nor when the cat licked my thighs, nor when Beckett was muttering a filthy mantra in my ear, polluting me.

The worst parts in some way were the times he kissed me, and stroked me. I could cope with the other things; they were just happening to me.

Oh god, but I was shamed. I cringed in humiliation at the sounds he made, and at my pleas for him to stop, just stop. And later, at my almost willing sink to the floor as he wrapped my hair around his hands and gripped my scalp.

I jolted awake. Someone was stroking my hand, gently,

“He’s dead, yes? And I’m not in a cell about to be hanged?” I mumbled through a tongue thickened by sleep.

“As the proverbial door nail. Couldn’t be deader. And no, although I might have to do something about that. Nearly getting killed on me, great pillock. I don’t know why I bothered saving you in the first place.” He poked me hard in the chest.

“Then that was a dream.”

“Yes. How are you feeling?”

“Hurts…to breath  a bit. My ribs. Please… stop poking me. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to mending sails halfway up a mast before the week’s out..”

Jack looked shifty. Jack always looks shifty. Jack looked nervous shifty, like he’d done something very bad, as opposed to shifty- how can I talk my self out of this shifty?

“What have you done?”

“Done, dear Jamie? Why, nothing. You’ll be pleased to know we’re out in open water, heading our way for old Blighty, and your boys gave Mr. “The Vulture” Mercer a beauty of a pastin’, and we found a certain thumpy type of organ about your person when stripping you. For the purpose of stitches I hasten to add, which means we have all succeeded in our personal vendettas, apart from Will, but that’s to come, and me, and that’s because I don’t have any anymore, because the only person I had one with was you and that’s rather petered out, don’t you feel? The trip is as follows. We cross the water. We stop in St. Malo, because I like it. We cross from St. Malo to Weymouth, sail up the coastline, and we find this brother of yours, and then we get back to carousing. It will undoubtedly take more than the seven months remaining of Lizzie’s carryin’, which means we will have a baby on board. That sort of thing does not bode well for my reputation as fearsome pirate.”

I was smiling inanely, “You found the heart then?” I’d put it in my pocket. I shifted, and winced.

“Oh yes. The boys were most perturbed.” He mimicked Andy rather well, “Teddy, the heart is beating” “I know Andy.” “Why is the heart beating Teddy?” “I don’t know Andy.” Only trouble is, Will’s scared to stab it. Don’t blame him. I wouldn’t do it.” Some on deck shouting, “Eh up, looks like I’m needed. The crew needs dear old Jack more than the... nearly asleep commodore.” Last thing I felt was him pressing a kiss to my palm.

***

I lied. Of course I lied, I’m a pirate, it’s what I do.

When the fine Lieutenants were rearranging Mercer’s deserving face for him, I was… finding valuable information about the merchants and the pirates mutual enemy (on grounds of social disgust, you might say) the EITC, in order that we never be caught unawares by them and that…

Alright. I was rummaging about Beckett’s office on the Falcon- which is a pretty little boat I must say, not a beautiful as my Pearl, never as beautiful as her- and I just happened to stumble across, through no fault of my own, a letter, lying in plain view in a locked  box in the secret desk compartment, entitled James. It was from…you know…his boy.

I had to read it. It’s what you do.

James.

This will probably never reach you.

I knew what Beckett was doing to you. I am no fool Jamie. I could never work up the courage to say anything.

And I'm sorry I could never do anything to stop it. This is the silliest, most terrible thing to write down- but some times, I was jealous. Madness, isn’t it? He was hurting you so badly, and nevertheless, I couldn’t get rid of the thought that maybe you were doing it willingly.

I will be dead within two months, I have tuberculosis,

so I shall never see you again. Not in this life. I hope one day, if there is an afterlife, you’ll have the opportunity to explain why you never told me you were going, so we could have gone together.

Charles.

I read it. I read it again. I burnt it. And if you’d ever questioned me about that, I’d have said it was because there was nothing there Jamie needed to read. He already knew …his boy…was dead. There was nothing in that letter that wouldn’t just hurt him more. But…but…secretly, I didn’t like the idea of him being reminded of a relationship wiv more to it than a bit of sweaty fun of a night. I don’t like being second best. I’ve never been second best ever in my life. It’s not wrong that I was secretly a little happy he actually was dead, is it?

We were on course for Tortuga to pick up supplies, and to satisfy those sailors not content with each other.  I didn’t like it- Beckett knew Jack made port there, he could just be waiting for us…

“Now” Jack spoke close to my ear, and his arms circled my hips, “Why is it that I’m going along with this idea and leavin’ the heat and atmosphere and rum of my beloved Caribbean, even though I know you devised this plan for your own currently opaque and nefre- nefler- nefarious reasons, which may get us all strung up like Christmas geese? ‘cos I can’t see how this is getting us the heart destroyed, and there’s little profit in it for me. Except havin’ a few friends back home is a use, I suppose.

I’m not saying it’s a bad plan to get Will and Liz out of here though. I’ll miss ‘em, mind, but there ain’t much for them here anymore.. Anyway, ‘part from being posted there what are your connections with the area?”

I kept my eyes on the sea, and ignored his nuzzling of my neck, “Have you heard of Red Rob Rendel?”  

Jack mumbled into my hair, “I’ve heard of him….but nothing more… smuggler, aye?”

“His real name is John Norrington. He’s my brother. He owns a very large house in West Bay. Interestingly enough, the higher up the chain of command I got, the less anybody focused on John. I can’t think why. Certainly not because I fiddled reports to make it seem like there was very little smuggling activity there.  After all, I never do anything wrong.” The questing kisses paused, he laughed, and his breath tickled against my skin. I steeled myself, reminded myself why I had to do this, staying would only endager the ship, I was a liability, “when I get there, I think I will go into partnership with him.” Jack tensed up behind me, and let go.

“You’re staying, as in living, as in not coming back, as in making a career as a smuggler in England, as in Great Britain, as in not the Caribbean?” Did he sound upset?

“Well, I see little alternative.” Why was my breathing so restricted? Damn war wound.

“Of course not. You are as per general incontrovertibly right, absolutely nothing else you could do… I want a drink…goodnight.” He swayed off, and I turned my head to watch him go. Some salt must have got into my eyes, as they were stinging rather badly. I blinked furiously and turned my attention back to the sea.

***

It was chance and misfortune that brought Teddy and I to Tortuga. After  two months seeing neither hide nor hair of James, or Sparrow, or the Pearl-we were attacked by a French ship, and I’m sorry to say, took rather a beating. We limped to the nearest port, which just happened to be Tortuga. To my horrow, The Falcon was moored in what little harbour the hell-pit had.  Beckett… Beckett had got here before us. Which meant there was a reason to be here…I punched an arch support in my anger and got a bruised knuckle for my trouble.
 After we had sent some marines to find somebody half-way to honest to repair the hole in our side- after which, they were allowed the night off, mainly because we were all sick of searching and wanted time for some fun- Teddy and I made enquiries- not, I hasten to add, in our naval uniforms. That would have been…foolish. Or as Ted put it, a sure-fire way to earn us some broken ribs.

A blonde barmaid heard us talking to her father,

“Jack Sparrah? Yeah, ‘e was ‘ere, jus’ a coupla hours ago. Came drinkin’ wiv some mates. Can’t rightly ‘member their names- ‘part from Gibbsie course. Eh, Bess! What  were their names?” Another girl, this time ginger, but otherwise indistinguishable from the blonde, wandered over, polishing a glass, “Will or summat, yeah? And ‘is missus- Liza? Lizzie? Yeah! Tha’s it, Lizzie!”

Teddy gave me a meaningful look, So, the Turners were still on board.
”Where was it they said they was goin’ again, Bess? Oh- tha’s right! England! Couldn’t believe it- Jack Sparrah’s goin’ back- can’t say as I can think why…mayhap, ‘e’s pissed orf too many around ‘ere. ‘E’s staying somewhere abaat. Not ‘ere. My da won’t’ave him. Causes too many problems. Bess! Wezee stayin’? Wazzit The Elbow? That’s it- Fiddler’s Elbow. Jus’ daan the street from ‘ere.”

Teddy took her hand, “My thanks, mademoiselle. I don’t suppose he mentioned a prisoner...”

“Prisoner? Nah, mate… ‘e was talkin’ a lot ‘bout a Jamie though- gone orf with the resta the crew… Figgered ‘e was …like a new cabin boy or summat- oo’d upset ‘im or the like.”

Teddy rewarded her with a gleam, “can you remember what he said?”

To my surprise and consternation, she blushed, “weren’t nothing I’d like rightly to say in front of gentlemen such as yourselves…”

“Please, miss.”

“Well… le’s jus’ say if Jack’s chainin’ this Jamie up, it ain’t ‘cos ‘e’s frightened of ‘im getting away.”

A shout of “wench” had her scurrying away- leaving us standing there, with neither of us willing to follow the trail of her innuendo.

“andy? If Sparrow is here…where’s the Pearl? Why didn’t we see her when we moored….”

Perplexing… “maybe…maybe he anchored somewhere else and…”

A woman in a deep red dress and heavy make-up came over to us, “You the fellas lookin’ for Jack Sparrah?”
Ted, courteous as ever, bowed, “yes, madame.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, and I’d do it meself, but I’m working, when you catch up with him, could’ya give ‘im a message from us?”

The slap made a sound like wet meat hitting stone, and as I reeled backwards, I put Jack Bloody Sparrow further up my Vengence Pending list.

***

The Fiddler’s Elbow is a wonderful pub... noisy, smoky, lots of people and none of them care about you enough to want to kill you. I wasn’t really upset about Jamie. Nah.. not really. It’s not like… we were jus’ useful for each other.... yeah. Tha’s it. In the Elbow, I sat about, wantin’ him to come back- Liz and Will are lovely company, infinitely good friends, but they ain’t… At the same time, I didn’t really want him there. Except I did. Lots, when I think of it. I wasn’t drinkin’ so much and that was makin’ me a bit glum, but then…

I smiled when he I saw him come in. He’s good to look at. Like a good meal. Contemplate, before devouring….He looked at bit concerned, anxious, worried…

“Norrington Jamie!” He perked up a bit, hearin’ me. That made me feel all fuzzy. We shuffled up the bench to make room for him. I passed him an ale,

“We got the hold pretty well stocked. And we’ve found a man to do the sail tomorrow…” He wasn’t lookin’ at me. He was lookin’ at the table in the corner, where two blokes were sitting. Familiar lookin’ blokes. 

“Excuse me, one moment.” He strode over to them. All I heard was, “what the devil are you doing here?” some talkin’… Jamie frowned, suddenly frightened lookin’… more talkin’…Saw some gesticulatin’  Then they got up and made to leave. And then Jamie grabbed the pair of them by their collars and dragged them over to us.
”Captain Sparrow, may I present First and Second lieutenants Groves and Gillette?”

“’ello.”

They gave nervous salutes. Bless.

Jamie was smilin’ that sugar-sweet your-all-for-it-and-you-know-it-why-don’t- you-try-and-wriggle-out-of-it smile, and even in his filthy shirt and torn breeches he looked like a leader, “Andrew, Theodore- why don’t you tell Captain Sparrow why you’re here?

They looked at each other. “Well…” the one with the sort of sandy hair coughed, “Lord Beckett is looking for you, you know. And we’re here to warn you of that. Also, to tell you that he’s surrounded the Pearl, with his men, and is intending to wait until you  return and shoot every single one of you, except Captain Sparrow, who he will take back to Port Royal and hang, mainly to get one over on James. Who failed miserably in that respect.” Jamie kicked him in the calf, “Ow! Also, that we are quite willing to help you in whatever response you concoct.”

I waved my mug about, “Well boys, sit down and we’ll see what we can do.”

So what we did was, I left Lizzie and Will hiding in my room, wiv the door locked. Then I took Jamie’s arm and twisted it behind his back an’ put a gun to his temple. He muttered, “If this doesn’t work, Jack, you’d better shoot me. Because I am not going back.” An’ then me, Andy and Ted, marched out to the docks. Beckett’s men almost shot on us, but he called them off. “A swap, Lord Beckett.” Tha’s an insult, by the way. I should have called him Lord Cutler Beckett. “You get Norrie, I get to go free with m’ ship and m’ crew.” He turned to Jamie,

““I trust you have not been mishandled?” and, on cue, perfectly rehearsed, Ted snapped,
 “Sparrow, I swear to God, if you’ve hurt him…” and Andrew shushed him.

“Gentlemen, please. I was treated as nothing but as guest, and Jack was the perfect host. The gun is for your benefit.”  Beckett was looking at me, I looked back at him, and smiled. If this didn’t work I would shoot Beckett, and then Jamie would have to come with me.

“Jack? That’s a familiar isn’t it, Mr. Norrington? You haven’t turned pirate on us, have you?”  and if that wasn’t enough, “Or perhaps Mr. Sparrow has found some other way of entertaining you while you were aboard his ship.” Now, was that a bonus?

And Jamie pulled it off perfect; spine snapped straight, frown came down, “I’m not sure I like what you are insinuating. In fact, I find it downright offensive. I think I have the right to demand satisfaction. A duel, sir. In the town square, at noon. Do you accept the challenge?”

Beckett looked a little surprised, but, arrogant bastard that he is, not particularly frightened. He inclined his head slightly, “If you feel that is what is necessary, Mr. Norrington, how can I refuse?”

In my office, which is really a small room near my cabin, Jamie was buttoning up his coat. The taller of the two lieutenants and, for the life of me, I can’t tell ‘em apart had leant him a shirt and some breeches. The trew were a little short. I sat on the bed and watched him tie his cravat, and his shoes an’ put on that horrible, horrible wig, an’ straightened the hat, which was beaten up, but we’d sponged out the stains best we could an’ watched him turn into Commodore Norrington, an’ take himself further and further away. He turned, “Well, Captain Jack, do I pass muster?” He had a bit of soap, where he’d shaved and I leant to wipe it off.

“I still don’t like it. It’s all too risky, what if he wins?”

“then I will die, and you will have to think of something else. Which you will, because you are-

“Captain Jack Sparrow. Yes. I know. But…”
 “It has been an hour; I should go…Teddy is going to be my second”. I caught his wrist,

“Wait” an’  pulled one of me lucky charms out of me plaits, and slipped it into his pocket, “For you, for luck…an’… so you remember…when you’re playing smuggler.”

He pulled me to him alluva sudden and gave me the biggest, best kiss I’ve had since the Pearl sank, “For luck, and in case it all goes wrong.”
An’ I felt like I was chained to the mainmast again.

                    ****

“You didn’t do anything wrong…”

I think when he said that something snapped. I couldn’t bear having him so close, with his finger on my face like that without…. There is something so intimate about somebody’s fingers on your lips… I didn’t want somebody to tell me I was a good man, I’m not, I just wanted release. But I did need him to say I didn’t do anything wrong by Charlie… even though it wasn’t true. His skin tasted of rum and sweat and coffee and the sea and sugar and salt, and horizons and freedom... he pulled off my shirt as I ran my tongue along his jaw line. I kissed and nipped my way down his chest and stomach, fingers fumbling with the ties of his trousers, sliding them down, kissing up his thighs,

“God…Ja-mie...” His hands twisted in my hair, gasping and… Why am I describing this?  I suggest you find your own pirate captain…this is rude! A real gentleman should never, would never…

I opened my eyes to sunlight streaming through the window. My head ached, but otherwise I was completely relaxed. I would be found.  I was going to die. There was a weight on my chest; Sp- Jack – was sprawled across me head buried in my neck, arms everywhere. My hand was curled around his back, which was muscular and golden tanned, like honey or rum, laced with tattoos. I stroked around the outline of the Pearl; he shifted, woke, and mumbled, “well, whoever done it, it weren’t me…” . This couldn’t last, this couldn’t

I smiled and wriggled down a bit so I reach his mouth more easily, “Oh yes? Well, I suppose I should leave to find the pirate captain who did do it. So I can thank him…” His lips were chapped and rough, and his body was lithe and wiry under my hands.
 “Wait, it’s all coming back to me now, it was definitely me. Absolutely, sir.” He stared groggily at me, with that smile that was probably stolen off a drunk devil. But come things as they may.

   ***

“I’ll kill him. The next time you see the bastard his pieces will be strewn across the town square.” Andrew paced around his office, red in the face, eyes flashing angrily. I was half sat on his desk, legs crossed, eyebrow arched.

“Oh really? And do I get a hand in it, or do I have to be gushingly grateful as you defend my honour? Perhaps I should get a bonnet and a corset? Which colours suit me best do you feel? He attempted to fondle me, and that’s all. Worse things happen at sea.”

He crossed to me in a heartbeat and yanked up my shirt, “That is not the result of somebody “attempting to fondle” you”. There were some nasty yellowing, fist shaped bruises on my stomach and ribs.

“No, that is where Mr. Mercer beat merry hell out of me. And I will deal with that vulture when I get the opportunity. I don’t need you to defend me, Andrew.”

My words stung and I knew it. I stood up, tight to him, so close I could feel his breath on my face, “You weren’t assigned my protector Andy. It’s not the best idea to get so attached to me, so frightened for my safety- anything could happen.” I drew his hand to my waist, which a foot length battle-scar had adorned for the past five years, at the same time finding a similar one on his leg. “Hmm?”

Oh, I am a hypocrite. I could hear his heart beat, slightly faster, hear his breathing, smell that tobacco he uses. I don’t know what I’d do, if he died- if anyone ever hurt him. Sometimes, when he’s asleep, and I have the chance to be lying with him, I tell him, in whispers, everything that I can’t say aloud. You should see him, when he’s asleep all his daytime worries that weigh so heavily on his face disappear. His hair sticks up in little tufts. He has this way of breathing that’s completely… he… he…

I know. I’ve become attached, haven’t I?

***

“I am going to kill you!” and I heard something smash. In normal circumstances, I would be worried. I may even have gone to investigate. However, the voice was not shouting at me, and the smashing was nothing of mine, but her nearly-but-not quite husband, and hopefully something of his,  and I was rather caught up in a very, very important test of wits, honour, and creativity with Mr. Sparrow. I was not about to loose my concentration, and thus be outdone by a pirate, just because Elizabeth was in one of those moods.

It had started when I was oiling my pistol. I had taken it from the barrel of spares and it was perfectly disgusting, where we stopped to satisfy those sailors not content with each other. It was rusting and old and… I felt Sp- Ca- Jack staring at me- and of course I looked up because after three delightfuldays, not doing so would just be rude. Yes, on that… I was a little concerned that the Navy hadn’t caught up with me in a month and a half. I don’t like to think of them be that badly trained… maybe the Pearl is just invisible when she wants to be. It would explain so much. But I digress. Making sure he had my full attention, he pulled off one of those ridiculous clunky rings held it between two fingers and slowly, deliciously slowly, slid the index finger of his other hand into it. I smirked, poured oil into my hands, rubbed them together and stroked them along the barrel of the pistol. He looked pained, then turned, talking to somebody, looking every inch like he was hanging on to their every word, finger to his mouth. I think only I saw him lick the tip. Sighing, I stood up and stretched, rolling my shoulders and just generally acting…

“ Jesus wept…  Norrington, you harlot, jus’ get on with whatever you’re s’posed to be doin’ an’ save tha’kind o’ thing for Tortuga.” Gibbs' voice made me jump. I  saluted sloppily, a parody of a navel salute. He opened his mouth to say… something about bad luck, no doubt. I will never know, because at that moment Miss Swann stormed past, making us draw back, and Master Turner ran behind shouting, “Elizabeth! Lizzie! Darling…” As much as I like the boy, I had to laugh. 
“Now then, what’d’you s’pose has got into her?” Gibbs shook his head, “Women…” and wandered off.
I had a very good idea what had “got into” Elizabeth. William Turner had “got into” Elizabeth. Not that that in itself was the problem of course.

I belted my pistol and followed them. Elizabeth was resolutely climbing up the rigging and ignoring Will’s pleas to “go below decks and talk sensibly”.  One day the boy will learn sensible isn’t a word Miss Swan-Turner is familiar with. Will gave up and stalked off, all injured pride and curly hair. I swung myself into the rigging and came to rest beside her.

“So then, how many months?”

Her head whipped around, “oh James, you startled me.”

“No I didn’t. So?” I do hope she isn’t going to say “I don’t know what you mean”.

She nodded, “Two.” Good girl.

“And what are you going to do?” I am so glad I didn’t marry her, lovely as she is.

“I…don’t know. I don’t have much of a choice. I can’t stay on the ship.” I rolled my eyes.

“And what? You’ll slip away into the night? Go and live on Tortuga? I’ve tried it, there’s no future in it.” She slid down to the decks; I jumped after her, “Oo, careful madame, you mustn’t stress yourself in your condition.”

“Oh fuck you then, if you’re just going to be as stupid as your damn catamite.” A mock gasp- as if anything she did would shock me now.
 “I’m younger than him, so it’s more like I’m his and I’d really rather you didn’t. We wouldn’t want the father to get jealous, or to start looking for someone else to blame.” That made her stop- I think she still thinks I would bed her if the opportunity arose. I stood behind her and spoke a little more gently than I am accustomed to, “Come on, old love. You can stamp around all you like, but it isn’t going to change the situation. What are you going to do?” She turned to me, and I discovered she could shock me after all. Her eyes were glistening and she was biting her lip.

“I’m scared, James. I’m really, really frightened. More than I have been in my life.”

The best thing about being a pirate, and sleeping with another man, is that suddenly things you would have once considered improper, such as hugging your former fiancée, don’t matter any more.

I pulled back from her, “Elizabeth, women having been doing this since there were women. Probably even before that. You’ll cope.”

“On a ship? I don’t want to have to give up this life. I don’t want to have to become a wife and a mother and “kinder, kuche, kirche”” I didn’t know she spoke German.

“It’s not going to last forever you know. Piracy…it can’t. The world is too small.” How sad that made me feel.

A pair of boots, “And why did you bugger off, young Jamie?Now I’ve gone and bloody forgotten where we were.”

“Oh, I’d won.” Unwittingly, I felt lips turn up. 

“Not likely. Anyway I'm not here to exchange pleasantaries, and pleasant as they are. The pair of you. My office. Five minutes ago.”

***

Jamie took Lizz’s arm, and walked in that courtly, proper way of his. I think he was thumbin’ his nose at dear old Jack, “look, I can still walk like a gentleman. Ha!” He opened the door for her. Will was sittin’ at the desk, glowerin’ like the crack of doom and he’d been shoutin’ and generally carryin’ on. There was an awkward, awkward silence for a semi-minute and then,

“Look. Everybody is being perfectly ridiculous. We have a problem and we have to fix it and I think I have just the glimmering of an idea.” And the Commodore was back. All straight spine, and hands clasped behind him and measured pacin “You two -are you married yet? I seriously doubt it. Captain Sparrow, if you will see to that, it will avoid unpleasantness when they have to settle down. Which they do. Now. I have a small, but well enough appointed house in West Bay, in England. You are welcome to it. From there you can set-”

Will cut in “excuse me just one moment, go back? To England? Just like that?  Stop living like this? You can’t be serious, as if either of us would give-”

“Will you listen? Stupid, impetuous, rash.... whelp. Now, can I finish? Is that amenable? There is an incredible smuggling tradition there. People automatically mistrust “King George’s men” so if you present yourselves, covertly enough, as smugglers and pirates, who will do favours, such as the carrying of letters, tax free brandy, and so forth no one will give you up should anybody unwanted come calling. Piracy is dying out. However smuggling is never going to, because it doesn’t rely on there being unmapped territory, it simply relies on taxes being too high, and people being to poor to pay them. And that will always happen.” He’s impressive once he’s in full flow. Can’t say I was listening as such, though. I was watching his legs and ankles and runnin’ my eyes all over his body and wishin' the other two weren't there. Why is he being so formal now- maybe it helps him think. Like me 'n' rum...

“So, if everyone is acquiescent, I suggest, Captain Sparrow, we set a course for England.”

My lovely daydream was shattered… “eh? What?”

Lizzie and Will were completely taken in by it, sitting, staring, and nodding and after he explained it again to me and made sure I listened, I found I was doin’ similar and  I thought I was supposed to be the silver tongued demon.

                         ***

When Lizzie told me that Gilt Arse himself had woken up, I told Gibbs to keep watching the horizon, and strode into my office. On seeing me Norrington stares a second and then starts shakin’ his head and laughin’ and mutterin’ “no, no, no. this is not happening… I did not do all that to end up back here” and such like, rather hysterical.

And, because I don’t like wastin’ time, I pulled out my pistol and waved it at him. A trifle uncertainly. He stopped, very, very suddenly, “Mr. Sparrow-” Gods, his voice sounded  awful.

“Captain, if you please.”

“Indeed. Captain Sparrow- why aren’t you dead… Oh never mind... if you are intent on killing me, I would rather you got on with it. Likewise if you want to beat me to a bloody pulp. Although, you won’t find….” And then he smirked and shut up. I held the pistol at him and then threw it on the desk dejected. We both knew that wasn’t goin’ to happen. I just didn’t have it in me. Will might of course; that was why I had forbidden him to come into the cabin. But he’d been so bloody… sneaky about the heart. You had to hand it to him.

 I sat on the edge of the desk and scowled.

“Is there something amiss, Captain Sparrow?”

 “Well, now what am I supposed to do with you?”

                                               ***

 “Do with me Captain Sparrow?” I frowned, confused, and all the reasons why the man infuriated me- why I hated him- rushed back. Surely the little idiot had some plan when taking me hostage?

“Do you mean to say you don’t know? Pease, Sparrow, tell me you did not just kidnap me off my ship, endangering my life, and the life of a dear friend, on a whim!” I was pulling against the chains a bit. “of all the irresponsible, nonsensical…” I trailed off and coughed a bit.

 He got up and staggered about in that stupid, drunken way of his, “no, no! I had a plan. But now you’ve gone and buggered it up! Anyway… what friend? Why?”

“None of your concern.” Please, Teddy- please have gone to Boston.  He'll be fine Jamie, he'll be fine.

“We left a note.”

I raised an eyebrow, and stared at him. “A note? You left a note? And what, precisely, did this note say? Sorry, chaps, we’ve got your commodore, just manage without him, until we decide to give him back. All the best, captain Jack Sparrow? “

“Pretty much.”

I rested my head against the back of the chair, “you’re impossible. You’re just- you…” I was a little worried I would start that laughing again, which was not the image I  wanted to project and in any case hurt my throat and ribs, so I closed my mouth and thought.

“Norrington…”

I tried to hold up a hand to shut him up, but the chains restricted me. I settled on slightly raising a finger. 

Cutler Beckett had the heart. Yes. We knew that. So… why follow me…? I had nowhere to go…

“Sparrow- yes, yes, captain Sparrow, do you know Lord Beckett?”

 “Well enough. He gave me the brand.” He waved his wrist at me. The white of the P was stark against his otherwise dark skin. 
The Falcon following the Mercury. Why? Beckett wanted something… wanted… Sparrow wanted the heart back…  Beckett wanted Sparrow to… Beckett wanted Sparrow?… Beckett was following us…he knew I...

Oh. I was bait. For Sparrow. Because Beckett knew they would come for me.

“ Sparrow!” I barked, “Get on deck now, and look back the way we came”.

He looked completely unconcerned, “You ain’t in charge of this ship, commodore”. I clenched the sides of the chair and bit out, “Captain Sparrow. One of Lord Beckett’s ships is following us. If you value your ship and your life and your crew you will go on deck, and look back the way we came. I would also advise you to put as many leagues between us and that ship. Do not attempt to engage it, you will be blown out of the water. Understood?”

He gave me an odd look and sauntered nonchalantly out.

Agonising minutes passed. I heard shouting and the ship surged. What should he do with me? What did I do with me? I could always… yes… I could always… I didn’t want to go back to Port Royal. Save to kill Lord Beckett. And yes. I did want to do that. Very much.

 Sparrow returned after about an hour looking shifty, crossed to the deck, and took out some charts.

“I take it I was right?”

“Are you still here? I wouldn’t be.”

I sighed, “no doubt some naïve sailor would have helped you escape and stolen a life boat to go and chase….mermaids or something. However, we are not all as lucky as you are. In my defence I’ve had far less practise in seducing the foolish as I end up in prison far less often than you do.”

“That’s ‘cos you never do nuffin wrong.”
 “That’s because I rarely get caught. In any case, I have been considering your problem-”

“My problem?”

“What to do with me. Let me join your crew.” Teddy was perfectly capable of fending for himself. I was not going back to that. Teddy would fine. Absolutely fine. Yes.  Beckett had nothing to hold against him anyway. Exaclty. He'd be fine...

Sparrow dropped whatever it was he was drinking.

“What did you say?” Probably rum.

“Let me join your crew. As a pirate. I don’t care how menial the tasks.” Generally was rum.

“Why?” Good God I needed a drink.

“Because I can’t stand not being on a ship any more.” He was quite handsome when the sun shone on his face and he looked confused. Quite beautiful, in fact.

“You’re a commodore. I just stole you off’f a ship. Seems to me you was on it.” I did not just think that. That’s bloody Sparrow, James Norrington.

“The first ship I had been on in months. And in two weeks that would have been over, and I would have gone back to another six weeks of papers and no sea. And…” No, I was not going to tell him that. “Secondly. I propose the first thing you do, captain, is find someway of getting back the heart, then give it to Will, who can then destroy it destroying Davy Jones, and a  dangerous amount of power, and preferably kill Beckett. Incidentally, if you capture him, I want the pleasure of killing him myself. If that’s perfectly alright.”  He gave me a look at that, but didn’t ask anything. He stood up and paced about a bit... “Well… I got no problem with it… the crew might, I’ll have to talk to them of course but... hang abaat… afore I say yes we need to have some sort of accord.” Shouldn’t lust after your Captain, Jamie. Always bad for you.
 “Captain Sparrow, in return for your unchaining me, giving me a job and berth aboard your ship I will name you my captain, will obey your orders, and not attempt to kill you and keep as civil and respectful as possible.”

He appeared to be thinking about it, but with Sparrow, who can tell? “No, scrap that last part. The last part is silly. You won’t keep to it anyway.” He shook a warning finger in drunkenly in my face, “And I’m not letting you go ‘til we’ve decided on it as a crew.” He stood up and went to leave.

I called after him, “hurry back”. Damn pirates - what’s the point in being an all powerful leader of a ship if you can’t… yes, I know. That’s the type of attitude that leads to mutiny and “all powerful leaders” hanging from main masts.

He left. I heard shouting. I couldn’t work out whether it was positive or not. He came back in twirling a key.

He unlocked my manacles. “You get a hammock on second deck. Leave that stupid coat here. And the wig. I advise leaving your shoes, but only because I want to flog ‘em next time we’re in Tortuga. You may keep the hat.”

                                      ****

“WHAT?”

Midshipmen Edwards flinched backwards, “I’m sorry, lieutenant Gillette, sir, Commodore Norrington told me to come and wake you, so I did… only I heard this thump, so I turned around and he was gone and there was this letter.” He held it out, hand shaking. Memo: Must stop loosing temper so bloody easily. I took it and read it out, growing more disgusted by the second, “Have commandeered your commodore. Not for ransom- you couldn’t afford it if he was. Mind you, if you feel like scraping together a decent amount of gold, we’ll consider giving him back more readily.  If not, we may or may not return him as and when and in such state as we see fit. Yours faithfully, Captain Jack Sparrow.”” I dropped the letter, turned around, crossed the room and started rhythmically banging my head against the wall. I stopped only when I feared mild concussion and also realised that young Edwards was staring in absolute horror.

“Are you alright, sir?”

I laughed a little, mirthlessly, “Yes, yes, son, fine. Now- why were you to wake me up in the first place?”

He carried on staring.

“Mr. Edwards!”
“Oh, sorry sir….the Falon's been following us, sir.”

                       ***

Okay, okay, so mainly, I was hoping that he’d get pissed off with being forced to mend sails half way up a mast, and tarring decks and scraping barnacles, and then we could dump him on Totuga and he could drink himself to death, oooooooor we could arrange some trade with Beckett. Norrington for the heart- no, I didn't think that would work. Even if we tarted him up a bit.
Anyway, of course he didn’t get bored.  Bloody persistent bloke, our commodore.  Happy as a sand crab, back on a ship again. Yes, I sympathised. He raced up the rigging faster than Barbossa’s damn stupid monkey, and always did everything so…thoroughly. I had worked pretty hard convincing people to accept him being on board- but only because I didn’t want a prisoner. Better to have someone working for you and earning the food they eat, than just taking up space and drinking your rum. Not that we had a massive problem with the crew anyway. He can be very personabibble if he tries.

Gibbs said he woke up crying sometimes. That he writhed and rolled in his hammock, and talked a little in his sleep.

He drank a lot. More than most. Not more than me though.

Something had happened to him.

But that icy composure never slipped. It was just a different kind of composure now, savvy? He was laughy and happy and he never, ever, ever looked upset, or angry or any other emotion than completely perfectly content with his life.

He spent a lot of time with Will and that began to annoy me. They fenced together, which had started with Norrington saying “we never really finished that fight on the island, did we?”- hang on, hang on, there were three involved in that little game, weren’t there?- and they talked together, and they ate together and I don’t know why it made me so angry.
 I prefer women. But that don’ mean I don’t like men. Sometimes. And, let’s face it, he’s a fine man.  Everywhere.

I pulled my eyes away from watching him sand a deck plank he’d replaced. Damn. Jack Sparrow you are not attracted to that man. You. Are. Not.

  Why would any man wear a shirt at midday? In the Caribbean, I mean. Not midday in winter in England.  He was sweating and it was clinging to…NO! I said it, Jack Sparrow, and I mean it.

Lizzie appeared at my elbow, “what are you thinking, Captain Sparrow?”

“Young Norrington. What do you know about him?”

“Well… I’ve known him since I was eight. He worked his way up to Commodore from midshipman...he’s nice like this, isn’t he?”                                                                                                          

“I don’t know what you mean.” Yep, on his hand and knees…

“Yes you do. If you want my advice, I’d say wait for the opportune moment and pounce. He’d appreciate it, I promise.”

“Elizabeth Sawn you are being ridiculous.” She smirked and turned to go, “oh by the way, if you feel like it, tell everyone we’re stopping off at that island.”

“What island?”

“Oh… the closest one.”                                                                   
    ***

We ran up a white flag, and The Falcon came along side us. Lord Beckett himself was on board. I crossed to his ship with Edwards- who was really the only witness- and we stood in his office feeling like errant schoolboys as he read it, gave that smile which that me shudder, and screwed it up. Teddy- that is, lieutenant Theodore Groves- stood behind him. His eyes were dull, but when he caught me looking at him he flicked me a smile.

“Well Mr. Gillette”, why can’t he call me Lieutenant, hey? It wouldn’t cost him anything to offer the Navy that respect at least. I can’t tell you how much I loathed the East India Company. Arrogant bastards- they’d make pirates look shiny. “It appears Sparrow has us at a disadvantage.  However, we know his haunts. This is what I propose we do- you take Mr. Groves here” Here, Ted looked up and he looked… excited? I don’t know. There’s something odd about Beckett. Something about him made me want to pull young Edwards towards me protectively. “And search the area from here to here” He drew some marks on a map“, I will take The Falcon and search in this area.” He drew some more marks.” No one could use the phrase “botched job” in connection with him, could they? I kept my eyes on Ted. “I didn’t know Lieutenant Groves was to sail with you anyway. I believe Commodore Norrington made it quite clear that he was to take the next two weeks as holiday, having coped so well in the last few months of his absence.” I won’t pretend I resent Teddy his success, it’s not as though I’m that far behind him. “And Lieutenant Groves is known to follow orders.” I was quite worried about how pale Ted had become.

“I’m afraid Mr. Norrington is no longer in a position to make such decisions.” And that, I think tells you all you need to know about Beckett. Arrogant bastard, as I said.

Teddy stumbled a little as we crossed back to the Mercury- who I think I was beginning to fall in love with, as much as I had the Interceptor. The Dauntless was always James’ ship- I caught him under his shoulder and steadied him. I noticed the almost imperceptible wince when I touched him and made a mental note to ask about his stay on the Falcon. If Beckett had hurt him... nobody hurts Teddy.

                         ***

We stopped one night at an island. Somebody started a bonfire, and slaughtered a cow. Ships with live meat on are a God send. There was singing: Elizabeth stood up well to “My Thing is My Own.” (“A master of music came with an intent to give me a lesson on my instrument, I thanked him for nothing and bade him be gone, for my little fiddle will not be played on”-oh ho ho, double entendre’s are so amusing.) Sparrow’s rendition of “Heaven’s A Bar” – down by the docks, where there’s liquor for all it’s free-(predictable) was surprisingly beautiful.

The skinny man with one eye- Ragetti- brought out a violin. It was hopelessly, hopelessly out of tune, but he strangled out a tolerable jig or so and there was dancing, which I didn’t take part in, but drank to steadily. Then Will said, “James, don’t you play?”

And Elizabeth said, “Yes, he does! He's marvellous" When did that woman start to gush so? I blame Turner. I  do hope she isn't pregnant. "Oh James, say you’ll play.”

I refused, drunkenly, was pestered drunkenly, and accepted, drunkenly. First things first, tuning. A string fine. E- hideously sharp. D-horribly flat. G- I don’t even want to know what Rag did to it to make it sound like that, maybe used it to pick things out of his toenails.  Right, now… My oh my, doesn’t Sparrow look…  ahem.

As I tuned up, Sparrow leapt to his feet, “so gents and lady, what’s it to be? A jig, a reel or a hornpipe? A shanty? A…”

I started to play. It was tune I had composed for something a whaling friend of mine had written during a storm. Many of his men never made it home.  “Play Jamie, play! Go on…Play for me” I slide my hand between the gap in between his shirt buttons. I can’t believe I’m thinking about this now. I really am a lecherous bastard. I hurt. “I can think of things I’d much rather be doing.” My arms hurt from where That Man had gripped them so hard. I didn’t show it.  He skittered away from me, “go on. Play.” So I did, and then he was wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck, “I love you.” I put down my violin, and turned to him, “I am going to write something that describes exactly how you make me feel. Everything. From when I’m watching you in the rigging, to when we’re together and you make me cry out and I’ll only ever play it for you, because it’ll be far too personal for anybody else.” I finally worked out the trappings of his breeches. I found myself playing those crashing chords, and the slow crescendo…

“Sorry…” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have got… carried away…I have to go back the… to get a thing…… I’ll be back in a- later.”

  ***

He took the fiddle and his entire demeanour changed, his back straightened and he looked like the Commodore. He played some fairly ordinary stuff and then this beautifully fantastic… I guess it was a – I don’t know. It wasn’t a song. It was like… imagine every time you’ve had a tumble, and then imagine every one of those was with the love of your life and multiply it by about twelve.

 He stopped very suddenly, crumpled, made some mumbling excuse and ran back to the Pearl. Elizabeth grinned at me lewdly and mouthed “opportune moment”- I flashed her a smile, finished me rum, finished someone else’s rum, and staggered off towards me ship.

I found him leaning over Pearl’s rails; like he’d been being sick. I slipped my hands around his waist, “alright, darlin’? What’s a lad like you doing alone on a night like-”

The reaction was not quite expected. He jerked back, swung round and punched me in the face.  “get off..-!” Then he saw me, “oh god, captain. I’m… so…my apologies, I didn’t ..I…” He held out a hand and helped me up. I wiped my face and leant next to him.

“Don’t worry… we want you back at the fiddle, mate, before Rag starts his cat strangling again. You know, you’re really very good.”

He snorted, “Yes.., fat lot of good it’s ever done me...”

“What was that thing you were playing?”

Even in the dark, I could tell he was blushing… “Sorr…It was called Row On. A friend of mine wrote the words... Elizabeth knows it. Get her to sing it for you.”

I swigged back the rum I’d nicked off some one as I’d come here, “Nah, mate… not that one.”

He stroked the rail, and I felt a pang of jealousy, although at who I ain’t sure, “she’s a truly beautiful ship, Captain.”

“What’s your relationship with Beckett? Beckett never really understood ships. He never gave them any time.”

He stiffened visibly, “Being without her for so long must have been…awful, sir.”

I sighed, his obsessive sir-ing and Captain- ing was getting on me nerves. “Call me Jack, eh?”
 He gave me the slow stare of the inebriated, “you’re my captain, sir. I signed the bloody contract didn’t I? Nothing’s happening that I didn’t agree to…”

“Steady on mate, you make me sound like some molly-house madame.” For some reason, he found this hysterically funny. He started that laughter again. And I felt it probably wasn’t the best idea to pull a gun on him, not if I wanted to wake up with him tomorrow. Which I did. A lot.

“Gi’us a swig, ma’am- jus’ to see us through th’ night, eh?” He put on a Liverpudlian accent.  I liked it. It made me think of docks and opium dens and the fun things you got around them

 “I think you’ve had more than enough, love.” He lurched for the bottle, I yanked my hand away. It was mine. “Nah- ah, now, now, that’s not nice. Stealing’s wrong, remember.” He fell into my chest. Stared at my face for a minute, like he weren’t quite sure who I was or why I was there, with his eyes all shining green like the sea, “Captain...would you mind terribly if I...” and then he kissed me, chastely, somewhere between my lip and my cheek. very courtly, very proper, very much less than I wanted…

“Maybe you do need some more rum, former commodore. Shall we adjourn to my cabin?”
 He smiled at me, you know that way he has- he has truly charmin’ smile when he bothers, “yes. That would be nice. For rum.”

I slipped an arm under his shoulder, “come on then, the bottle’s a callin’.”

   ****

There were many reasons, besides the legal and biblical why this was a stupid idea. I had not done it for well over ten years (by God, Jamie- that long?) and I was rather more drunk than I should have been, and… Sparrow gestured and smiled magnanimously - “sit where ever you like”

“How generous of you, Jack.” How do I manage to retain my sarcasm, even when I’m drunk and in someone’s bedroom? It' s just not right.

The room was low lit, well enough to see by, but casting deep shadows in the corners. I perched on the edge of his bed as he rummaged in cupboards. I watched his back and his legs and the way his clothes hugged his body and felt more lustful than I had in years and he swayed over to me put an arm around my shoulder and tipped a bottle against my lips.

It was water. I think I made some petulant disappointed cat noise, but I’m not sure.

“Come on mate… you’ve been putting it away for a month solid now.”

“Mean bastard…” He was so close and warm and alive…

He leaned into me, lips on me, working their way across my face, I could smell the rum on him, not unpleasant, feel him on top of me…

Weight bearing down on me, as his hands tore at my…

I shoved him off. He fell back willingly, to sit by my side, arm slipping from my waist to the bed.

“Alright, love. I wouldn’t do anything more than you want…” I ran my hand through my hair, “sorry…I…let’s just..” I leant for him. He put a finger on my lips.

“Hold fast there,”  He held my shoulders lightly, unthreateningly, as if he…knew. He searched my face, dark, rummy eyes scouring my soul. “What do you want, James Norrington? Because I want you, so badly. Have done ever since you got here. Do you know how temptin’ you are…? Yeah, I want you. But not if you’re scared o’ me”.

 I frowned, “I’m not scared of you”.

“Who then?”

I looked down; I didn’t want to tell him.

“I’m not scared of…anyone.” Except that I did. I was tired of never letting anybody get close to me.
He really has the grin of a devil. A charming devil. One you wouldn't mind giving in to. "Liar."

I looked at him askance, “You really think I’m….”

“temptin’. Really temptin’”

. I turned away, so my back was to him and slowly peeled off my shirt.

 “Holy Mary, mother of God!”

                                 ****

His back was a crisscrossing of whip scars and wheals and knife marks and burns. Some of them were new, most were ancient. I cursed. I’m good at cursing. But then, I’m good at everything.

 He gave a tiny chuckle, “I didn’t know you had Catholic connections.”

I felt my throat dry up, like the time I tried to drink seawater- I didn’t know it was seawater at the time, I thought it was rum. “Who… did this to you?”

He pointed silently at his side; my eyes followed his hand’s path. A  CB was burnt just under his rib.

“Oh” Beckett. Always bloody Beckett. Should have known from the beginning.

“Still tempt you?”  There was that note in his voice which said “Of course I bloody don’t.”

Whatever you do Jack Sparrow, do not say or do the wrong thing at this point in time. But I’d waited silent too long. He stood up, pulling his shirt back on.

“Sorry to be a disappointment, Captain.” Damn and buggery…

I leapt up, “no, no! Wait! Stop! Arret! Ne pas marche! Fermez la blereau, s’il vous plait! Don’t…” I managed to get in front of him and grab him by the hand, “please stay. Even if it’s just for a cuddle, eh? Someone to hold?”

For one awfully awful moment I thought he was going to push me out of the way and leave and go back to the beach, then he sighed, and turned back for the bed. His face crinkled up, “Please close the badger?”

“door” I saw his lips form the word “porte” which of course is what a door is, unless you're me, whch of course you aren't, which is a good thing, because otherwise I wouldn't be. I should have left it there, I should have just kissed away that confused frown and everything would have been good, cos we’d have both been getting exactly what we wanted…. But I’m Captain Jack Sparrow and I don’t do that sort of thing. “What…I mean when… how …” I paused. Trying to be sensitive just doesn’t work, “what in blue blazes happened to you, mate?”

  "I was about fifteen, on my first ship. I was a midshipman aboard HMS Penitence- a convict ship, bound for Australia. Anyway… there was another boy there, about my age.” He smiles, sort of fond and sad at the same time. “His name was Charlie- Charles. And…I guess I liked him straight away. He was funny and clever and…and we talked about music and books and what we were planning to do with our lives… and… one day, it just got to much- being without anybody, and…what I mean to say is…one night we… and it was amazing, and I’d never realised how much I liked him. And in what way… after that it was mainly looks and touches. Brush against the hand in line up. Accidentally “trip” into him. Then I found him alone in the grain store, and I rather…I… talked him into…except he wanted me too… and I was kissing him and we were really just rubbing against each other. Twenty year old lieutenant Beckett found us. And I thought we were for the noose, I really did. I remember holding Charlie’s hand as he took us to his office, because it didn’t matter anymore. But he didn’t hang us. He said to me, do what I say and I’ll overlook your tendencies and both of you may have brilliant careers to look forward to. And then he made me choose- who was it to be? Who was to be his whore? And I said me. So that was that. For the first few months he just called me to his office, buggered me, and sent me away again. I could cope. I’m good at” He spat bitterly “coping. Charlie made it better, liveable. Then he started cutting me. Slicing up my back. Those whip marks are where he thought taking the cat to me might be fun. Watch me skip about out the way. There’s some on my legs too. He never told Charlie. I never told Charlie. I worked out that I could keep it from Charlie if I wrapped an old bit of sail cloth around my back, the blood wouldn't soak through. I still wanted Charlie to want me. I couldn’t keep on doing it. I said I was coping, but not really. It got to the point that I used to go white and start shaking every time I saw Beckett. I didn’t escape. I applied for a transfer. I got it. I didn’t tell Charlie about that either- because he’d have wanted to know why, and I’d have broken down and told him, then he’d have confronted Beckett and then he’d have died. I was transferred to a ship that was sailing up in Moonfleet- you know the place? Lots of smugglers. If you ever feel like going back to England, you should try your hand around there- you'll probably be cannonised by the locals. "Oo arr, he's not only a pirate, 'e's been to for'n parts and 'e can talk his way into bed with anything- 'e shall be saint Jack, patron of the carnal arts, hair and hats" We were really  loathed around that area. Fair enough I suppose. We were probably destroying people’s livelihoods. Beckett left the Navy rather suddenly and became part of the Trading Company.  And now I’ve done the same thing again. I went back to Port Royal and whored myself to that…devil-spawn bastard, so I could have my life back. Charlie’s…dead. I think. That’s what Beckett said.”

I really didn’t want to make the same mistake of saying nuthin’ again, “I… don’t…”

He gave me small smile, “don’t. I'm all right. I've managed a good few years without committing suicide or going mad. And I will kill Beckett, when I get the chance.” I took his hand and kissed the palm, ‘cos that seemed the right thing to do. Can’t think why- actually it’s pretty illogical when you think of it. This was one of those moments where I was supposed to prove myself a good man or something, I’m sure. But I was still very, very, very much wanting him… but still… he’s not going to want to now, bit of a mood killer I suppose, reflecting  on traumand…oh, bugger.

“You’re still a fine man, Jamie, love.” How could I say Jamie, I think you are the most handsomest man that’s ever sat on me bed with all his clothes on. Oh, that’s how.

“Jamie, you are the most handsomest man ever to sit on my bed with all his clothes on.”

He gave me one of those I- bet- you- say- that- to- all- the- vulnerable- sailors- who- end- up- in- your- cabin looks. “As kind as that is, Captain Sparrow… are you not the slightest bit disgusted with what I did? I sold myself… I betrayed my lover…I…”

I feel terribly guilty about writing fanfiction. Like theft or something. But I wanted to have a play with the characters. And I’ve never done this before. Like that bloke said, “One should try everything in life, except country dancing and incest.

****                                                                                                             

When rumours of Jack bloody Sparrow’s death filtered down to me, I was languishing in a cell, wrists chained and physically a bit worse for wear. I was bored. And irritated with myself. I have never suffered fools lightly, and I wasn’t going to change my habits now, even if I was the fool in question. One does not do deals with Beckett. It’s like sticking your hand inside a live tiger. You can do it, but you’re a pretty fool if you do. But the other, more pressing reason I was angry was… it was Beckett. My fingers traced the ancient burn mark on my side. This particular One had far more personal reasons for not doing anything with or for Cutler Beckett. I’d just whored myself for… And now Jack Sparrow- that nuisance, that ridiculous, flouncing coxcomb- was dead and it was my fault. I was annoyed. I wasn’t feeling any of the satisfaction I should have been. I didn’t kill him. I caused his death, but I didn’t kill him. What right did some ancient sea-monster have to kill him? What did it do to earn it? I never wanted to see him hanged- I had wanted to kill him. Not for long. All of a year or so. Not any more. Now I just had… Sparrow indifference.

Sometimes, when I slept, which didn’t happen very often, I dreamt of… someone very important to me. Often they were nightmares, with crying and strange hands, but sometimes they were the sort of dream where you wake up smiling and content, with until you realise that the hand you’re clasping, the body your arm is wrapped around, is you own.

There was nobody else in the cells; that was curious. One might even say interesting. Very interesting.

                              ***

When rumours of former commodore, scourge of pirates, fine figure in a navy uniform and wig, finer figure tanned without wig, and tattered coat, James Norrington’s incarceration in the personal cells of his Lordship Cutler Beckett, I thought to meself, let ‘im rot. For a bit. Just a little. I mean he- and then I thought, ‘Lizabeth chained me to a mast and let some great beastie eat me and I forgave her. On the other hand, she had braved seven hells and Barbossa and squid creatures to bring me back. I won’t go into that  you don’t need to know. It’s a chapter of my history I’d rather tear out. And she is very attractive. Be bloody ungrateful of me not to rescue her friend. Ok, he’s not really her friend. Anymore. And maybe….well, I could always give ‘im a good kicking and square it up, eh? Besides, I needed the heart. Well, more than that Will wanted the heart and seeing as ol’ Davy had said “your debt is settled” the squid beastie weren’t chasin’ me any more and I wanted Cutler Beckett to find himself lacking the heart. So we could always work saving the ex-commodore into our plans. Anyway, it’s nice having someone who thinks you’re scum on board- gives you a chance to prove them wrong.

                                   ****

Eventually, I heard the tales of Sparrow’s resurrection. These I at first dismissed as superstitious nonsense- stilling the hope that fluttered like a mutilated bird at my chest- and later- after thinking about undead pirates and fish monsters- came to accept as yet another example of the pirate’s damnably good luck.  It made little difference to me. Not buried in guilt down here beneath Beckett…’s house.

   What did he want of me?                                                                                                      

Eight or so weeks of sitting staring at a wall, drinking grey water, eating grey bread, and urinating into a bucket (grey), being beaten up at irregular intervals by bored guards (who avoided my face), I was told that Beckett “requested the pleasure of my company”. I looked up from picking the weevils out of a lump of bread and said, “tell his lordship I‘m terribly sorry, but I’m very busy and shall have to decline.” Guard thumped me in the stomach, and led me off.

The room was… immense. It over-looked the harbour, and the beach…and the sea.
It was designed to give one the impression that the owner had money, lots of it, and didn’t really care. That he had far more ambitious plans than having the power to make five major banks crash.
I stared out the window. At the sea. God, what I would have given at then to have the Dauntless beneath my feet, to feel the waves slapping against the hull, taste salt on the air and…

“Won’t you sit down, James? Have a drink- we have rum.”  The barb might have punctured my skin, but it failed to hook because I was somewhere else with …

Wind tugging at my hair and…

“I really must insist you answer me, James.”

I closed my eyes. “I’ll stand. I’m not thirsty.” My body screamed in protest. “And it’s not James. My friends call me James.”

He smiled an evil smile, “oh, but I know you so much more intimately than most of your friends.”

My hands clenched at the manacles. “Sit down James.” I obeyed. What else could I do? There was no point in being defiant. It was his house, his room, his chair, his chains at my wrists, his guards outside. And I was scared of him. Still. Even now, when I was a head and a half taller than he was. He stopped writing and continued looking at me, eyes roaming from my face to my chest, to… lower down.

 “Shall I tell you how he died? Would you like to hear it? He got a fever…you know what things at sea are like… never did understand why you left him there.”

I could feel the muscles on my neck sticking out. Relax, James. Don’t give him the pleasure of…

“He lay for months mumbling and crying out. Terribly sad. Talked about you… he was very bitter about you leaving him there. In the end we just threw him overboard.”

I didn’t leap at him. Or scream or cry. I was suddenly so, so tired.

Through a voice corroded with disuse, dehydration and clogged with fury- or perhaps one too weary to care, I sighed, “what do you want?”

He was toying with an ornate silver letter opener, “hmmm? Oh yes. You can have your job back- Commodore.” I drew breath sharply..

“Provided you make the right decisions. It’s all relatively simple really. You have two choices; one involves your hanging as a pirate. The letters of Marque have been put somewhere safe.” I frowned. Bit unfair really. I did bring the little bastard the heart. “The other; you live, back in the post of commodore….”

He hesitated. He never liked talking about it.

I allowed myself a small private smile, “Do go on. I’m intrigued.”

Later, I would draw up the meaningless triumph of making Beckett uncomfortable, from the pit of my psyche, and revel in it. A small amount.

                     ****

Eventually, we found ourselves nearly a month’s sail from Port Royal. What? We was far away to begin wiv, aaaaaaaaaaand there was a storm. And an island. With rum. And beautiful… no wait, that was the rum. Whatever bloody Beckett wanted the heart for; he hadn’t started using it yet. I was in no hurry. I take things at a leisurely pace. Especially when I’m going somewhere I just might be locked up and hanged at.  

And besides, if I left it just long enough I maybe wouldn’t have to risk my neck for someone who had tried to ‘ave it stretched so bloody often. Anyway. He was commodore again. So that just left getting the heart. He might have made a good hostage though… and there was still the matter of the kickin’. I was still bloody fumin’ about him bein’ such a pirate at the Ilsa Crusez.

                            ***

I was installed in a spare room. It was windowless, there was a bed, a desk, a huge chair, a large amount of books and very little else. There was also a violin, in a case, sitting on the bed. My fingers itched to open the case, to fit it under my chin, draw the bow across the strings and…but Beckett had bought it, and I wouldn’t sully my hands with it until he forced me to. Which, knowing him, he would.

I was given a bath – Sparrow had been right I did smell funny- and new clothes. They were good clothes. I washed and shaved and tied back my hair, then went and sat on the bed, and stared at the wall.

It started that evening. Beckett sauntered in, pistol in hand.  Why did he need it? I had already said I would do this… but then… I had no qualms about killing the man who had made my life aboard my first ship a living hell, and if he and this sardonic aristocrat in front of me happened to be one and the same…

“James! I trust you like the accommodation.”

I tried to inject as much sarcasm as I could muster, “Yes, it’s positively delightful. Where did you get the idea to exclude natural light?”   

He threw himself onto the chair, “I haven’t forgotten what an excellent musician you are”.

I smirked, “In that case, I assume I’ll have no need to refresh your memory.”

“Oh no... you will however be playing. Now.”

“You know, I’d really rather not. I’m tired and I-”

“I’m not sure you’ve quite understood the terms of our agreement- you’re here to agree to my….every whim. If you don’t want to do this, I’m sure the hangman can fit you in tomorrow morning.”

I sighed and pulled open the case. I rubbed rosin across the bow, taking a deep breath, I played. And for a few minutes, I forgot where I was.

That night it was almost gentle. Compared to others. I set down my violin; the pistol was suddenly at my skull, led over to the desk. During I tried to focus my mind on the music, try to get back to the place where I wasn’t….

After, it would be nice to say that I peeled myself off the desk and cried. Or sat on the floor and stared at the wall. I stood up, pulled up my breeches, picked a book off the shelf, lay on the bed and read until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. Then I slept in a dreamless blackness. Not peace, just a barrier from the nightmares.

I think I should- and shall- skip some of the passing weeks. There is nothing there I should describe in detail. Beatings, violations. My stomach became a nasty mass of bruises; I acquired some new burns, some interesting scars. Perhaps if you get me very drunk one day I’ll show you. And I forced it all down and concentrated on things like music, and the clean bed, and clothes that were washed.

It is impossible to describe how interminably dull the reading of missals on the current political and diplomatic state between two countries is. It’s like reading Christmas letters from your mother on the doings of your siblings and their spouses.

 I ached. I missed my ships. The door stood invitingly unlocked. From there it was just a brief run to the docks. And from there…

But from there I would have nowhere to go. Here I had a job, a position, a life- albeit a life controlled and abused by Lord Cutler Beckett. Out there I was nothing. Here…well, I was still nothing, but I was nothing in a uniform and a wig, with a title. At least that way I could believe one day it wouldn’t be like this… after all, men are mortal are they not? Cutler Beckett would doubtless meet with an accident…

“Brandy, James?”

Thank God for Teddy Groves.
 “Thank you, Teddy.” He filled two glasses. “The French are threatening...one of our colonies. Again. Or possibly we are threatening theirs.”

“James…?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you…quite alright? I- you seem a little… distant. Less focused. Not the same flair for the job.”

For a split-second I considered telling him every humiliating detail. Just a split second. But as trusted as Teddy was- as fond of him as I was- how does one say something like that “I’m back because I’m letting Lord Becket of the East India Trading Company bugger me. And that does tend to take the shine off any job”? Some how, I couldn’t quite find a way to begin that speech.

“I’m just tired. I’m finding getting back into things quite hard. This is a far cry from some drinking den in Tortuga.” I tried to smile. “Of course,” here I lowered my voice, conspiratorially, “I also find being a ‘commodore’ and not being on a ship for six week somewhat akin to being a cavalry officer who can’t ride and having John Company ordering us around, controlling my docks somewhat annoying. I’m rather thinking along the lines of ‘if their ships keep getting attacked, maybe they’ll leave.”

He gave me an impish grin. We drank.

“I wanted to come and see you, you know. When I heard you were here. Didn’t quite believe it at first. But then… after a while. Anyway, they wouldn’t let me in.”

 Surprisingly, this did actually make me feel a lot better, “Thank you.” It was nice to know someone cared. I finished off the brandy, just as Beckett entered the room.

Hr smirked when he saw us- did the man ever smile? Come to that, did I?-

“Mr. Norrington, I have to discuss something with you in private.”

Oh dear.

 Teddy gave him his trademark glare, “I think, sir, you mean “commodore” Norrington, don’t you?”

Beckett, to his credit, just blanked him out. There was no way a mere Lieutenant just criticised his manners. It was impressive.

I held his gaze, “If it is a Naval matter, I fail to see why I shouldn’t have my lieutenant hear it. And… what else can it be?” I was starting to get a little worried.

 “Leave now, Lieutenant.”

I closed my eyes; “Go on”.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then strode out, anger radiating off him like some furious sun. I’m not sure whether it was directed at Beckett or me. Indeed, I deserved it as much as he did.

I leant back in my chair and put my feet on the table and folded my arms.

 Interesting, I appear to be turning into Sparrow. Perhaps this is my punishment for stealing the heart- I shall become the deceased. Next week, I’ll be completely insane, the week after wearing a stupid hat. Correction, an even more stupid hat than the one I am currently wearing.

“Well mister Beckett, what can I do for you? Need help over-running some other poor island, whilst teetering on the edge of legality?”

Why was I so obsessed with catching Sparrow in the first place? I suppose he offended my pride. Not so proud now…

“Or perhaps, you’d just like to torture me… cut me up a bit? Can’t that wait? -I have important….things…. to be reading.” I mean honestly, what kind of sailor goes through a hurricane? I must have been out of my mind. I can’t really blame my stupidity on Sparrow, can I? Well… I can afford to give it a go.

Maybe I had… oh no, I hadn’t been jealous of the man, had I? How could I have? I mean… he was a pirate.

“Very droll. I want you to ready the Mercury, to sail in two days time.”

I felt like I had the day aboard the Dauntless when Elizabeth-was she Mrs. Turner yet? As far as I knew, nobody knew what had happened to them- had said “do it for me, as a wedding present”. Hoping against hope that what I wanted most was going to happen, but knowing that I was probably being manipulated.

I’m not as stupid as people make out… well… I am… because I went along with it, but…

But oh to be on a ship again.

“May I inquire as to where we are going? And why precisely did you rid me of my most trusted officer? Incidentally, are you actually ever going to do anything with that heart, or do you just like looking at it at night? Does it raise your blood, knowing you’ve got something that powerful under your control? I’m surprised- knowing how fond you are of power, how can you resist.”  I smiled at the memory of being on the Dauntless, when someone else said that to me. I missed her. Such a beautiful ship. And the Interceptor.
“We are going nowhere. You are going on patrol. Go and search for pirates, pirate hunter. You will take Gillette as your lieutenant. I will keep Groves here. I trust you’ll keep that in mind, should you make any decisions about steering off course.”

I gave him a grin. It was the grin you see on skulls. The ones that have been hanging for some weeks. The ones that have ravens sitting on them. “Of course. Sir.”

“I personally think she’s perfect. And seeing as we lost the Dauntless through your idiocy- on top of which, this is the first time you’ve been let out during what I’m assuming is some probationary period to go and do your job I don’t think you should be complaining.” Gillette was another God given blessing. As my third, and my old friend, he had a right to say things others wouldn’t dare. The Dauntless was gone; the Mercury was not the Dauntless. I had to stop comparing the two.

“Forgive me, Andrew- I just…”

“Commodore Norrington!” Oh god. Now a furious Teddy to contend with

“Yes, lieutenant?”

“I really must protest! I am being left here while you and Lieutenant Gillette go gallivanting about the Caribbean.” I almost laughed. He looked so much like a child having a temper tantrum.

 I put an arm around his shoulder, “Lieutenant… I swear to you, the next time I am forced to go “gallivanting about the Caribbean” it will be you standing here and dear Andrew standing on the dock waving the handkerchief. I want you to treat this as a sort of holiday. Try and avoid doing work that can’t be given to somebody else, go home early, that sort of thing. In fact, you should visit your relatives in Boston or something.”

And try your damned best to stay away from Cutler Beckett. I think that should be written into a guide for new marines: snap to orders quickly, don’t go through another’s things, and avoid Cutler Becket like the pox.

          ****

We was somewhere between two and five days from Port Royal, and Gibbs is on lookout and suddenly shouts, “cap’n. A sail. ‘tis the Mercury.”

I’d never heard of the Mercury, bein’ just a little dead when she was being built and on her maiden voyage from England, carrying some fresh-faced young navvies to the dear Port. So I took my glass and had a looksie and low and behold there’s young Norrington, gilted up to the nines, standing on deck lookin’ in his glass somewhere else, and I can’t see that far.

But. He hadn’t seen us. It were light enough to see by, but, it seemed no one was lookin’ in our direction. And that was because they were all lookin’ back the way they came and were more…side ways, savvy?

It would have been easier to turn the other way and go, but we didn’t.

I gave some orders. They didn’t involve cannons and grappling hooks. They involved silence and sneakin’ and cheatin’.  Lizzie looked annoyed at me and Will flamed a bit, and they both looked right pretty, but I was Captain and they weren’t, and I’d do this my own way. Because my way is best and that’s because I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.

                                      ****

It was three days into this exercise- just a trip around various islands- and I was not sleeping. Or rather I slept, fitfully, ribs hurting, my nightshirt sitting oddly and rubbing, cuts bleeding and leaving bloody smears on the sheets and the dreams came…

“Go on, Charlie… you know you want to…you didn’t mind the other night” my fingers light on a cheek that should feel soft and warm…and somewhere deep down it does. Except it’s not real.

“Jamie… I would…but do you understand? It’s a sin …”

“Then I’m dammned already and you’re  worth damnation from  here to hell and back again…” kissed his up his neck, one hand against the grain store’s wall behind me, one still against his cheek, feeling the ship roll beneath my feet and Charlie arch against me… feel him giving in, because he wanted me and he wanted me to want him, and he knew I wanted him and he wanted me for wanting him, and I wanted him for wanting me… footsteps behind us. We sprang apart.

A dry, self-satisfied chuckle, “well, well, if it isn’t my favourite midshipmen. Having fun boys?”

I jerked awake, the ghost of a curse on my lips. Swung my legs out of bed and sat up. What did Beckett want? That was what I had never understood. He took everything, and wanted more- never said what that was.

There was more to this. There had to be. He was doing this to get something.  

I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight anyway… I got up and dressed, and left my cabin. The midshipman on watch gave me a sharp salute. His name was Edwards and he was still new enough to be able to give sharp salutes at five in the morning, after being on watch since eleven the night before.

I returned it, with slightly less feeling, “anything to report?”

He blanched a little, and I could almost see him thinking now, I know how I’m supposed to reply, “Not much, sir. Except…” he looked, if possible, even more awkward.

“Go on, Mr. Edwards.”

“Well, sir… and I only say this because I noticed it earlier, there’s a ship following us.”

 “Following us, Mr. Edwards?”

“I think so sir. It does seem to be. Keeps just out of naked sight but once I caught it going a bit too fast… and…well…” I took his spyglass. A ship came into view. A ship I recognised. It was one of the East India ships.  The Falcon. So, Cutler Beckett didn’t quite trust me then. Unless…

“Mr. Edwards, would you go and raise Lieutenant Gillette? Tell him I want him up here in ten minutes.” The boy hurried off.

I didn’t see the Black Pearl pulling along side us. I didn’t hear Sparrow coming up behind me. And I was unconscious far too quickly to feel the blow of the pistol to the back of my head.

“Come on boys. Make your decision. Who will it be?”

I look at Charlie. Take a  deep breath. “Me. It will be me.”

“James!” I turn to him, trying to look brave. Put my hand to his arm.  Saw that Man’s shark like grin across the desk,

“Excellent.”

I woke up in an unfamiliar cabin. Opening my eyes, I immediately closed them, again. At first I thought it was… but then I realised I was no longer fifteen, and other memories came rushing back. My head hurt and the effort of vision made it worse. Somebody was patting my forehead with something damp. I tried to raise my hand to flap it away, and discovered it was chained to a chair. Fantastic. I was chained up on some strange boat, nobody knew where I was, and Beckett probably thought I’d run away. I tried to quell my rising panic for Teddy, and…

“oh for God’s  sake, will you cease that dabbing?” My voice was raspy, and didn’t come t as the cultured snap I’d intended, but with a sound like a stick of metal being drawn across sandpaper.

“Oh James! You’re awake!” there was the sound of footsteps and a door opening and closing.

I knew that voice. That was Elizabeth Swann’s voice.

Damn. That meant I was probably on the Black Pearl. Damn