Fic: Crossing the Bar (19a/?)
Aug. 6th, 2006 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratAuthor: Honorat
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Norrington, the crew of the Dauntless
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria somewhat. Jack/Pearl most definitely. None in this chapter
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: On the Dauntless Norrington is on the hunt for the Black Pearl. This is a short chapter. Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does?
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geek_mama_2 for the beta help.
1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
8 Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
9 A Special Providence in the Fall
10 For Where We Are Is Hell
11 To Beat the Surges Under and Ride Upon Their Backs
12 One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts
13 Though the Seas Threaten, They are Merciful
14 He Jests at Scars Who Never Felt a Wound
15 To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And Not To Yield
16 A Kind of Alacrity in Sinking
17 A Fine-Baited Delay
18 To Watch the Night in Storms
* * * * *
19a The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
The dawn had barely raised the curtains of night sufficiently for Commodore Norrington to make out the pale ghost of the main course before he was pacing the weather side of the quarterdeck, his tongue firmly battened down between his teeth so that he did not frustrate the lookout with needless queries when the poor man could in no way have reasonably caught sight of anything other than the portions of spar and canvas closest to the maintop.
He’d spent a sleepless night, enduring the sounds and sights of the previous day’s work repeating themselves in gory succession on the insides of his eyelids. In his dreams the crimson-tinged water pouring from the Black Pearl’s washports turned the seas to blood. The spray of red dashing over the bow of the Dauntless spattered his uniform and his face until he could get neither his clothing nor his skin clean no matter how many nightmare hours he scrubbed.
Norrington had actually been grateful for the storm, arriving on deck several minutes before it actually struck. It was a relief to have something he could fight, even if it was only the elements.
But now as the sky reluctantly faded to a pearly grey, he found himself and his ship alone on a steel-colored circle of sea bounded only by horizon. Of the Defender and the Black Pearl there was not a trace. He hoped that Captain Walton was not undergoing a similar experience. As for Captain Sparrow, God only knew where he’d flown to. And Norrington had his doubts about that, though it was entirely possible the Devil would know. That pirate could very easily have altered course during the night, in which case the Dauntless could charge along as briskly as she pleased and never cross paths with that dark ship though she circumnavigated the globe.
If Sparrow had managed to elude the Defender, he would no doubt be whisking into some secret harbour to repair his ship as soon as possible. Which meant he could be in any of a thousand known or unknown hideouts in the scattered clusters of islands in this part of the Caribbean. The thought made the commodore’s head ache. If Walton did not have the Black Pearl in his sights, they were back to where they had started months ago—trying to find reliable intelligence on the pirate’s bolt holes. And then trying to find that slippery ship occupying one of them.
Reliable intelligence. A thoughtful frown creased Commodore Norrington’s brow. He had a source of intelligence aboard his ship at this very moment. His previous efforts to question the boy had not been remarkable for their success, but the child had spent a night seriously injured. He might not be so capable of resistance. Tiny prickles of conscience reminded Norrington that such a course might not smack so finely of honour, but he was tired and frankly desperate, so he ignored them.
It couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions.
As he approached the surgery, the odour reached out and twisted the commodore’s senses like a tangible claw—the too-familiar stench of decaying flesh. He knew before he opened the door that Samuels’ report would not be positive.
Peering into the dimly lit room, trying not to breathe, he caught the doctor’s eye and motioned for the man to join him outside.
“How is he?” Norrington asked in a low voice, when the door had closed behind Samuels.
The doctor simply shook his head.
“It is gangrene?” The commodore looked towards the closed door and wrinkled his nose.
“Yes,” Samuels sighed. “I’m going to have to amputate.”
“Damn.”
“It’s hard enough when they’re your own,” the doctor said, leaning an elbow against the bulkhead and rubbing his hand across his eyes. “But at least they have their mates, people they trust. This poor child is all alone here. Oh, he’s trying to act brave, the cheeky little blighter that he is, but he cries for that captain of his in his sleep.” The doctor paused and frowned. “Something puzzles me about that. That child has been beaten to within an inch of his life at some point in the past. More than once. He’s got scars worthy of a Navy hardcase. And yet, he seems quite attached to that pirate.”
Norrington shrugged. “He would not have been beaten on the Black Pearl. While I would never have considered Jack Sparrow as a father figure, he is not the type to abuse his crew.”
“Ah!” Samuels nodded, enlightened. “Well that makes some sense then. You never know about these pirates—some of the stories one hears . . . The boy would feel a sense of obligation to anyone who removed him from whatever situation left those scars.”
“Is he awake?” the commodore asked.
“Depends what you call awake,” Samuels said dryly. “He’s been drifting in and out all night. Feverish, you know. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to know where he is. He’s conscious right now, if that’s what you mean.”
“I would like to speak to him,” Norrington said.
The doctor shot him a sharp look with a touch of microscope in it. Norrington felt scrutinized, labeled and catalogued.
“That,” said Samuels severely, “was the commodore speaking. And I’m not sure he’s welcome in my surgery right now.”
“And that,” responded Norrington evenly, “was my old friend Gil speaking, when by rights it should have been the ship’s doctor.”
“Just what, exactly, do you intend to speak to my patient about?” Samuels demanded. “The weather? The latest social on dits? The criminal price of tea?”
“I have a few questions for which I am in need of answers. The boy may have those answers,” Norrington said.
The doctor’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Interrogation. Really James, I had not thought it of you.”
“I do many things you would not think of me, Gil,” Norrington said, stepping towards the door. The doctor moved to block his passage. The commodore narrowed his eyes and said coolly, “Do I need to make this an order? I would see the boy.”
“No, Commodore,” Samuels said, the frost brittling his voice. “No orders are necessary.” And he stood aside.
But he followed the commodore into the surgery.
Commodore Norrington felt like a traitor, planning to utilize a child’s pain and fear and delirium to wring information that would lead the Navy to the Black Pearl. But the opportunity to plumb those secrets was not one he could afford to pass up. His mind felt dirty, as though he needed to scrub it with sand and rinse it thoroughly in clear water, but there would be no escape from this gritting discomfort.
“Doctor, would you please leave us.” It was not a request. He knew Samuels would disapprove. But he didn’t have time for arguments.
The look in the doctor’s eyes as he ducked back out the door could have ignited wet canvas.
Alone with the boy, he saw the sheen of sweat on the slight body, the too-rapid rise and fall of the thin chest, the restless movement of small hands on the rough cover, the lines of pain on a face far too young for such lines. There were times when Commodore Norrington’s rank and responsibilities pressed on his brow like a crown of thorns. Jip’s clouded eyes looked up at him but did not see.
“Captain,” he whispered fretfully.
“Your captain is not here, son,” Norrington soothed. “I’m sorry.”
“Captain!” The boy’s voice was stronger, more desperate. “Don’t let them . . .” he trailed off. Tears squeezed out from beneath dark lashes.
“I’ll take you to your Captain, Jip. But you must tell me where to find him,” Norrington suggested, holding his breath. Would the boy reveal anything of any use?
“I don’t know where he is! Why isn’t he here?”
“His ship was damaged. There was a storm. Where do you think he might go to make repairs?”
The blue eyes opened wide, fevered and sightless. “The deepest circle of hell!” the child gasped.
What? If that was an answer to his question, he’d already waited too long to ask it. Although the answer made a certain amount of perverse sense . . .
Jip closed his eyes again. “For betrayers.”
Oh.
“I will not tell you,” the boy whispered through clenched teeth. “I will not tell you anything.”
Norrington left the sickroom, his own face burning as though he shared Jip’s fever. He hoped Jack Sparrow appreciated just what kind of loyalty he possessed in this one smallest crewmember.
The doctor met him outside the door.
“Didn’t tell you a thing, did he?” Samuels was looking entirely too smug for a Royal Navy man. “Pluck to the backbone, that one.”
“Oh he’s a game one all right. It’s rather too bad that he’s on the wrong side.”
Samuels put a hand on the commodore’s arm. “Come on, James. Look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t glad he held out on you.”
Norrington’s mouth twisted wryly. “It is my duty to get that information any way I can, Gil.”
“Truth, James,” Gilbert Samuels persisted.
“Truth?” The question was thick with irony. “What is the truth? The truth is I failed. The truth is I set the perfect trap and Sparrow still flew it. The truth is I don’t believe Walton will take him. Not now. Not after that. And the truth is I have no idea where to start looking again, thanks to one stubborn child.”
“So?”
“So, you thorn in my flesh, yes. The truth is that in spite of it all, I am glad to find honour among thieves. Are you happy now?”
“I’m always happy when you cease trying to wriggle away from your humanity, my lad,” Samuels said gravely. “That boy may be a pirate and a source of information, but he is also a child who is injured and who has lost his only home and family. Remember that. And now that I’ve got you where I want you, I have a request.”
Norrington eyed him suspiciously. “Is this some sort of a trick?”
But Samuels did not have the look of a man who wasn’t serious. “I’d like you to assist me with the amputation, James.”
“What?” Norrington was startled, not only because that was not in the least one of the commodore’s normal duties. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it. He’d been involved in more than sufficient surgical procedures since he was a mid. But, “Why me?” he asked bewildered. “I did not think you would trust me with that boy.”
“Whether or not I trust you is a moot point, Commodore,” Samuels said. “Jip trusts you. Thanks to the recommendation of that pirate you’re pursuing. He’s got no one else on this ship whose name he even knows. I’m asking this for him, not you.”
Norrington raised an eyebrow at him. “I guess that has put me in my place.”
Samuels smiled ruefully. “You are a good man James Norrington, even though sometimes you lose your way in that labyrinth of gold braid.” He tapped the offending material on James chest. “Will you lend a hand then?”
“Yes, of course,” the commodore agreed. “And might I suggest Lieutenant Groves as well. The boy may not know him, but Groves appreciates his spirit and dotes most unprofessionally on that pirate captain of whom Jip is so fond.”
“Thank you, James. I’ll do that.” Samuels turned to head in his surgery door; then he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Though, Commodore, if you open your mouth to ask that child a single question while he’s under my knife, the next thing that is coming off is your tongue.”
* * * * *
TBC
19b The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Norrington, the crew of the Dauntless
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria somewhat. Jack/Pearl most definitely. None in this chapter
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: On the Dauntless Norrington is on the hunt for the Black Pearl. This is a short chapter. Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does?
Thanks to
geek_mama_2 for the beta help.1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
8 Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
9 A Special Providence in the Fall
10 For Where We Are Is Hell
11 To Beat the Surges Under and Ride Upon Their Backs
12 One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts
13 Though the Seas Threaten, They are Merciful
14 He Jests at Scars Who Never Felt a Wound
15 To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And Not To Yield
16 A Kind of Alacrity in Sinking
17 A Fine-Baited Delay
18 To Watch the Night in Storms
* * * * *
19a The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
The dawn had barely raised the curtains of night sufficiently for Commodore Norrington to make out the pale ghost of the main course before he was pacing the weather side of the quarterdeck, his tongue firmly battened down between his teeth so that he did not frustrate the lookout with needless queries when the poor man could in no way have reasonably caught sight of anything other than the portions of spar and canvas closest to the maintop.
He’d spent a sleepless night, enduring the sounds and sights of the previous day’s work repeating themselves in gory succession on the insides of his eyelids. In his dreams the crimson-tinged water pouring from the Black Pearl’s washports turned the seas to blood. The spray of red dashing over the bow of the Dauntless spattered his uniform and his face until he could get neither his clothing nor his skin clean no matter how many nightmare hours he scrubbed.
Norrington had actually been grateful for the storm, arriving on deck several minutes before it actually struck. It was a relief to have something he could fight, even if it was only the elements.
But now as the sky reluctantly faded to a pearly grey, he found himself and his ship alone on a steel-colored circle of sea bounded only by horizon. Of the Defender and the Black Pearl there was not a trace. He hoped that Captain Walton was not undergoing a similar experience. As for Captain Sparrow, God only knew where he’d flown to. And Norrington had his doubts about that, though it was entirely possible the Devil would know. That pirate could very easily have altered course during the night, in which case the Dauntless could charge along as briskly as she pleased and never cross paths with that dark ship though she circumnavigated the globe.
If Sparrow had managed to elude the Defender, he would no doubt be whisking into some secret harbour to repair his ship as soon as possible. Which meant he could be in any of a thousand known or unknown hideouts in the scattered clusters of islands in this part of the Caribbean. The thought made the commodore’s head ache. If Walton did not have the Black Pearl in his sights, they were back to where they had started months ago—trying to find reliable intelligence on the pirate’s bolt holes. And then trying to find that slippery ship occupying one of them.
Reliable intelligence. A thoughtful frown creased Commodore Norrington’s brow. He had a source of intelligence aboard his ship at this very moment. His previous efforts to question the boy had not been remarkable for their success, but the child had spent a night seriously injured. He might not be so capable of resistance. Tiny prickles of conscience reminded Norrington that such a course might not smack so finely of honour, but he was tired and frankly desperate, so he ignored them.
It couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions.
As he approached the surgery, the odour reached out and twisted the commodore’s senses like a tangible claw—the too-familiar stench of decaying flesh. He knew before he opened the door that Samuels’ report would not be positive.
Peering into the dimly lit room, trying not to breathe, he caught the doctor’s eye and motioned for the man to join him outside.
“How is he?” Norrington asked in a low voice, when the door had closed behind Samuels.
The doctor simply shook his head.
“It is gangrene?” The commodore looked towards the closed door and wrinkled his nose.
“Yes,” Samuels sighed. “I’m going to have to amputate.”
“Damn.”
“It’s hard enough when they’re your own,” the doctor said, leaning an elbow against the bulkhead and rubbing his hand across his eyes. “But at least they have their mates, people they trust. This poor child is all alone here. Oh, he’s trying to act brave, the cheeky little blighter that he is, but he cries for that captain of his in his sleep.” The doctor paused and frowned. “Something puzzles me about that. That child has been beaten to within an inch of his life at some point in the past. More than once. He’s got scars worthy of a Navy hardcase. And yet, he seems quite attached to that pirate.”
Norrington shrugged. “He would not have been beaten on the Black Pearl. While I would never have considered Jack Sparrow as a father figure, he is not the type to abuse his crew.”
“Ah!” Samuels nodded, enlightened. “Well that makes some sense then. You never know about these pirates—some of the stories one hears . . . The boy would feel a sense of obligation to anyone who removed him from whatever situation left those scars.”
“Is he awake?” the commodore asked.
“Depends what you call awake,” Samuels said dryly. “He’s been drifting in and out all night. Feverish, you know. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to know where he is. He’s conscious right now, if that’s what you mean.”
“I would like to speak to him,” Norrington said.
The doctor shot him a sharp look with a touch of microscope in it. Norrington felt scrutinized, labeled and catalogued.
“That,” said Samuels severely, “was the commodore speaking. And I’m not sure he’s welcome in my surgery right now.”
“And that,” responded Norrington evenly, “was my old friend Gil speaking, when by rights it should have been the ship’s doctor.”
“Just what, exactly, do you intend to speak to my patient about?” Samuels demanded. “The weather? The latest social on dits? The criminal price of tea?”
“I have a few questions for which I am in need of answers. The boy may have those answers,” Norrington said.
The doctor’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Interrogation. Really James, I had not thought it of you.”
“I do many things you would not think of me, Gil,” Norrington said, stepping towards the door. The doctor moved to block his passage. The commodore narrowed his eyes and said coolly, “Do I need to make this an order? I would see the boy.”
“No, Commodore,” Samuels said, the frost brittling his voice. “No orders are necessary.” And he stood aside.
But he followed the commodore into the surgery.
Commodore Norrington felt like a traitor, planning to utilize a child’s pain and fear and delirium to wring information that would lead the Navy to the Black Pearl. But the opportunity to plumb those secrets was not one he could afford to pass up. His mind felt dirty, as though he needed to scrub it with sand and rinse it thoroughly in clear water, but there would be no escape from this gritting discomfort.
“Doctor, would you please leave us.” It was not a request. He knew Samuels would disapprove. But he didn’t have time for arguments.
The look in the doctor’s eyes as he ducked back out the door could have ignited wet canvas.
Alone with the boy, he saw the sheen of sweat on the slight body, the too-rapid rise and fall of the thin chest, the restless movement of small hands on the rough cover, the lines of pain on a face far too young for such lines. There were times when Commodore Norrington’s rank and responsibilities pressed on his brow like a crown of thorns. Jip’s clouded eyes looked up at him but did not see.
“Captain,” he whispered fretfully.
“Your captain is not here, son,” Norrington soothed. “I’m sorry.”
“Captain!” The boy’s voice was stronger, more desperate. “Don’t let them . . .” he trailed off. Tears squeezed out from beneath dark lashes.
“I’ll take you to your Captain, Jip. But you must tell me where to find him,” Norrington suggested, holding his breath. Would the boy reveal anything of any use?
“I don’t know where he is! Why isn’t he here?”
“His ship was damaged. There was a storm. Where do you think he might go to make repairs?”
The blue eyes opened wide, fevered and sightless. “The deepest circle of hell!” the child gasped.
What? If that was an answer to his question, he’d already waited too long to ask it. Although the answer made a certain amount of perverse sense . . .
Jip closed his eyes again. “For betrayers.”
Oh.
“I will not tell you,” the boy whispered through clenched teeth. “I will not tell you anything.”
Norrington left the sickroom, his own face burning as though he shared Jip’s fever. He hoped Jack Sparrow appreciated just what kind of loyalty he possessed in this one smallest crewmember.
The doctor met him outside the door.
“Didn’t tell you a thing, did he?” Samuels was looking entirely too smug for a Royal Navy man. “Pluck to the backbone, that one.”
“Oh he’s a game one all right. It’s rather too bad that he’s on the wrong side.”
Samuels put a hand on the commodore’s arm. “Come on, James. Look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t glad he held out on you.”
Norrington’s mouth twisted wryly. “It is my duty to get that information any way I can, Gil.”
“Truth, James,” Gilbert Samuels persisted.
“Truth?” The question was thick with irony. “What is the truth? The truth is I failed. The truth is I set the perfect trap and Sparrow still flew it. The truth is I don’t believe Walton will take him. Not now. Not after that. And the truth is I have no idea where to start looking again, thanks to one stubborn child.”
“So?”
“So, you thorn in my flesh, yes. The truth is that in spite of it all, I am glad to find honour among thieves. Are you happy now?”
“I’m always happy when you cease trying to wriggle away from your humanity, my lad,” Samuels said gravely. “That boy may be a pirate and a source of information, but he is also a child who is injured and who has lost his only home and family. Remember that. And now that I’ve got you where I want you, I have a request.”
Norrington eyed him suspiciously. “Is this some sort of a trick?”
But Samuels did not have the look of a man who wasn’t serious. “I’d like you to assist me with the amputation, James.”
“What?” Norrington was startled, not only because that was not in the least one of the commodore’s normal duties. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it. He’d been involved in more than sufficient surgical procedures since he was a mid. But, “Why me?” he asked bewildered. “I did not think you would trust me with that boy.”
“Whether or not I trust you is a moot point, Commodore,” Samuels said. “Jip trusts you. Thanks to the recommendation of that pirate you’re pursuing. He’s got no one else on this ship whose name he even knows. I’m asking this for him, not you.”
Norrington raised an eyebrow at him. “I guess that has put me in my place.”
Samuels smiled ruefully. “You are a good man James Norrington, even though sometimes you lose your way in that labyrinth of gold braid.” He tapped the offending material on James chest. “Will you lend a hand then?”
“Yes, of course,” the commodore agreed. “And might I suggest Lieutenant Groves as well. The boy may not know him, but Groves appreciates his spirit and dotes most unprofessionally on that pirate captain of whom Jip is so fond.”
“Thank you, James. I’ll do that.” Samuels turned to head in his surgery door; then he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Though, Commodore, if you open your mouth to ask that child a single question while he’s under my knife, the next thing that is coming off is your tongue.”
* * * * *
TBC
19b The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-08-06 11:15 pm (UTC)You have such skill with creating original characters, it's hard not to like them. And I do like the doctor quite a bit. His relationship with Norrington does seem reminiscent of Aubrey and Maturin despite the age variable.
It's too bad Jip has to lose his leg, but I have a feeling it won't slow him down much. It sounds like he's going to make some mischief on the Dauntless, too! What fun, I can't wait.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-06 11:21 pm (UTC)I haven't read the books, but from what I saw in the movie, Maturin does have that irreverence for the service that seems so common in literary naval doctors. They wouldn't be such good doctors if people weren't more important to them than regulations and wars.
Most of this story after about chapter 8 is Jip's fault. I had to write the rest of it to get him where he could play his scenes. :D Little pirate!