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A Spirit from the Vasty Deep

by Rennie
Written for Melusina's Halloween Challenge, October 2005

Part the First
Part the Second
Part the Third
Part the Fourth
Part the Fifth
Part the Sixth
Part the Seventh
Part the Eighth

Part the First

Nothingness.

No up, no down; neither lightness nor darkness; no sounds; no feeling. In fact, no sensations at all. Which was odd in itself, as he was not entirely certain he knew what he was missing nor how he knew something was not there. He had wisps of images that formed although he did not know where they were coming from or where they were going; there would be nothing and then there would come a picture. There were glimpses of faces with wild eyes, action all around him, haze and smoke and fire, things that just drifted in and out of wherever this was.

Time passed; at least he thought it might have. He was increasingly aware now of how strange this place was and was beginning to recall more of his own memories, if that was what they were. The images became more detailed and intrigued him, in a mildly curious fashion. He watched the faces when they drifted by, some drew his attention more than others. There were ships now in the pictures he saw, though how he knew they were ships escaped him; it did not seem to matter, it was sufficient that they were ships floating on the sea.

There began to be one particular ship that loomed through the haze more frequently, a large dark ship with tall masts and a presence that shone through the wisps of cloud. Intrigued, he began to look for it to reappear. Each time the ship came into his sight, it had more depth and sharpness to it; he could see more details of her rigging and ornamentation. Quite ostentatious, he thought, and then had to wonder how he knew. He felt that the ship was lonely in some manner and fey enough to have an awareness of her own to judge from the sensations he felt emanating from her when she passed him by. The next time she loomed up toward him, he acted upon his impulse.

“Ship,” he thought at her, “what are you that I can feel you?”

The awareness he had felt from her on previous passings-by now focused on him; the feeling was very peculiar, somewhat itchy in sensation. The great carven figurehead with its outstretched hand seemed to look at his location directly, her salt encrusted eyes eerily bright in the gloom that formed his existence for the nonce. This time, instead of continuing by him, the ship seemed to hesitate in its course, a faint phosphorescence frothing up below her stem and along a black hull. That’s interesting, he thought, I can see the waves much more clearly now where I could not do so before.

“What am I? I am the Black Pearl,” came the reply, as if that said it all and perhaps it did.

“That is a lovely name but I am unable to comprehend how we are able to sense one another here, whatever or wherever here may be.”

“We sense each other because we are in a between place, neither fully alive nor wholly dead. Here much is possible that others in their real world would not give credence to.”

“You are saying, if I understand you correctly, that you are alive more so than other ships and that I am among the dead, in some fashion?”

“Yes.”

“Would you happen to know how I died, if that is indeed the case?”

“No, I do not know how you may have died or how you came to be here.”

“Oh. Would you happen to know who I am?”

“Do you not know who you are?”

“No. I just seemed to be here, in this fog and murk, and then things began to appear out of the mists. Until you came, the other images, things or whatever they were, just passed me by. You are the first to stay and talk to me.”

“You I have seen before, out in the real world where I ride the seas. You are a sailor but unlike those who have been my crews.”

“A sailor, you say. That feels right somehow.”

He pondered that for a while then inquired, becoming more curious, “How am I unlike your crews?”

“I am not part of any king’s navy or fleet. I am a pirate ship. My crew are of the Brethren, at least, most are. Sometimes those who come aboard have lives elsewhere but for a time they belong to me.”

“It would seem then, by your intimation, that I was part of a navy and thusly anathema to a ship such as yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Would you know my name or what I was in that navy? There are memories beginning to reappear but I am woefully unable to recall who I am, or was, rather.”

“You I knew as The Commodore. My captain and others knew you as a hunter of their kind but most had respect for you as well as fear of you. When word came of your death, he paced much upon my quarterdeck, talking to me of what you meant to him and to the young ones.”

“I do not perfectly understand you. Why would a pirate captain mourn the passing of one who would hunt him?”

“When he escaped his hanging, you gave him one day’s head start before resuming the chase. He was told of that by the young ones when they met up with us later. Since then, we have played many games, my captain and you, your ship and I. The dark years with the other captain were cruel and that one treated me badly. It felt good to play merry chases with your Dauntless, even though he is so serious in his thoughts and habits; he is a handsome ship and worthy of my attentions.”

“The Dauntless…was that my ship?”

“Yes.”

He pondered about that for a time. His fellow traveler, or whatever she was, seemed to reflect on her acquaintance with his ship with fondness and amusement. Very odd, that. He decided to ask more of her, seeing as the Black Pearl was in a forthcoming mood.

“Did we ever catch you?”

“Not if I did not wish it.” The reply came smugly, for all it was heard only in his mind. Smiling, he elected to make a request of the ship.

“I have greatly enjoyed our conversation, my Lady Pearl. Seeing as how I am stranded in this condition of being nowhere, do you think it possible that I might accompany you on your journey? If that would not be an inconvenience to you, that is.”

Pleased with his courtesy, the ship seemed to consider the request in all seriousness. He waited patiently for her to answer; it was not as if he had anywhere to go, especially if he were truly deceased. The silvery gaze of the figurehead rested upon his non-corporeal form; although the expression in the carved face did not alter, the Commodore was aware of a lightness in the mists surrounding them.

“Yes, I would be pleased to take you on board. It will be pleasant to have someone with whom I can converse easily. It will be less lonely for both of us, then.”

“Thank you, Madame, for your kindness. Ah, would you happen to know how I may come aboard?”

“It is simply done, merely see yourself being upon my deck and you will find yourself there.”

The Commodore did as instructed and was pleased to find it was as easy as the ship had stated. There was no transition or sense of movement from one place to the next, he was just there, albeit the sensation of physically standing on the wooden deck was lacking. The best part was that he was no longer alone, stranded aimlessly in the mists. He might be dead, but at least he was aboard a ship again, and a fine ship at that, one which was sentient in its own fashion and willing to communicate with him. He had had quite enough of the nothingness and much relieved at his change of status.

“This is much better than where I was. It would appear everything is becoming more substantial; as we conversed, the mists seemed to thin and the pictures became much clearer. Now that I am here on your deck, the degree of clarity is definitely improving.”

“Perhaps it will continue to improve as you sail with me. You have my leave to explore as you wish.”

With that, the Black Pearl withdrew her attention from him as she returned to the business at hand. She had a course to attend to and her new passenger had taken enough of her time for now. He could wander over her decks or up into the rigging however he wished, or even down into the bilges and the holds. They would continue their conversation at another time.

The Commodore was rather amused by the ship’s dismissal of her new passenger but he had no argument with her. He was now somewhere, rather than in the nothingness where he had become aware of his new status in the world. He was able to see the crew going about their duties quite clearly; although it was disconcerting when one passed directly through him, he did attempt to step aside as a matter of courtesy. At the start, he could not hear their voices or the sounds they made performing their tasks but he discovered that if he concentrated on a specific crewman, then he could hear that man. After the first week or so, it had become very easy to separate out individuals wherever they happened to be on board the ship.

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As he began to know them better, the Commodore learned their names and the duties each seemed assigned to perform. Accustomed as he had been to Naval discipline, the casual manner in which those tasks were done seemed peculiar but he could not dispute that it worked. The Black Pearl was obviously a well-found ship which would indicate her captain and officers knew what they were about. The sailing master, an older man with a fine set of salt and pepper whiskers, was someone he had known long ago. He had lost track of the man but was pleased to see he survived yet, even if a pirate. The bosun was a surprise; it was the first time he had seen a woman, and a woman of colour at that, in such a position. Clearly she was capable of fulfilling her position but he was not entirely persuaded her temper was an asset.

It intrigued him no end to pop in and out of places; he just had to picture where he wished to be and there he was. If he had not seen a particular location he merely went along and stuck his head through a bulkhead or door. The Commodore was finding it easier with practice to think across planes and extend the limits he had known as a living man, rising through decks as he willed. Even when perched up at the very pinnacle of the masts or on the outboard end of the jib boom, he could feel no danger of falling or any other insecurity. Quite pleasant, all told. The only place he declined to peer into was the Captain’s cabin. He had always valued privacy aboard a ship as a rare commodity and, for now, he decided to treat Sparrow as a fellow captain and respect the man’s quarters.

He made no promise to himself that there would be no such incursions in the future.

As he became more accustomed to his new status as unseen passenger, after all he was not a working crew member; he began to wish for more things to keep him occupied. He had known a life of duty where he had had much to fill his days and other things, such as books and music, with which to amuse himself in moments of leisure. It was difficult to be idle when all around him were busy doing. Often in the evenings, the crew would persuade those who could make music to play, others told stories or sang. The Commodore would listen along with the crew, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere as much as the entertainments.

The conversations he had with the Pearl were his only interaction with another being. She was unlike any ship he had known in his previous existence and he loved listening to her accounts of voyages and places but he sensed her distress any time he inquired about the years leading up to her recovery by Jack Sparrow. He mulled it over for a time and came to understand she was shamed by how she had been used and that she had permitted Barbossa to maroon her captain. He tried to reassure her, that she had been younger then, less able to make her presence known to those who remained on board, but she remained unconvinced.

Things continued in this manner for a couple of months. Now that he was aboard a ship again, he felt somewhat better about his condition and decided to try expanding his horizons. He recalled stories he had heard about spectres and hauntings and that sort of nonsense and had to laugh at himself since he was now one of the very things he had scoffed at when he was alive.

It was in the galley where he was inspecting the contents of the cook’s giant copper cauldron, grateful not to have a stomach requiring he partake of whatever it had been in its prior existence, when he chanced to look down to see one of the ship’s cats by his feet. That there were cats on the ship was to be expected, that this one was aware of his presence was something new. Until now, the felines had apparently been oblivious to his presence or disdained to acknowledge him if they had noticed. He peered down at the large tortoiseshell cat, green eyes meeting golden. For a short while they engaged in a staring match until the cat blinked at him in approval and began to purr. She proceeded to contort into an impossible position and began to leisurely wash a hind leg, making sure to hold her tail securely out of the road with a fore paw.

He smiled at the sight and on an impulse reached down and attempted to scratch her head behind her ears. To his surprise, he could feel the soft fur and the solidity of the round skull beneath his long fingers as she turned to allow him to reach a particularly itchy spot under her jaw. As she rose from her bath, the cat stropped along his ankle, passing back and forth several times before sallying forth from the galley out on to the deck, pausing long enough to wrap her tail sedulously around his calf. Having nothing to do for the time being, the Commodore decided to follow the cat and see where she wished to lead him, not noticing that the cook had observed the cat’s peculiar behavior. The man stood and squinted hard, trying to see what the cat was up to; failing to discern what the moggy was going on about, the cook shook his bald head and returned to his work.

Once back on deck, the long haired cat sauntered along, her unseen friend following closely behind. Here and there, she paused to inspect the work being done, accepting with regal condescension her due of a pat or kind word. Not every crewman was treated the same, some were obviously more favoured than others. Eventually the cat’s path led to the great cabin where she was met with a closed door. Sitting down in front of it, she meowed loudly and imperiously to be let in, looking back over her shoulder as if to make sure the Commodore was still in attendance. The person inside the cabin obeyed her command and opened the door for her to enter, bowing politely to her as she did so.

“Welcome, Your Highness.” The ship’s captain grinned at her when she chirruped in response to his greeting as he returned to his heavily carved chair at the ornate table. He was in the midst of doing his log book and accounts, necessary evils, and welcomed the company. The cat gave a silent meow to the Commodore as if to tell him to accompany her into the cabin and strolled along to the captain’s side, springing up into his lap and kneading his thigh until he shifted into a more comfortable lounge for her. She turned around a time or two and settled her substantial bulk satisfactorily, tidily wrapping her long fluffy tail around her white fore paws. She looked over to her new friend and blinked at him several times, meowing in invitation to join her.

“What are you up to, cat? It’s but our own two selves in the cabin right now, you know, eh?” Jack looked down at his lap warmer in amusement and then over to where she was looking. “There is nothing over in the doorway that I can see, not even so much as a lowly mouse or spider.”

She glanced up to him, derision obvious in her face as only a cat can deliver, then back to the same spot which held her interest. For a moment, he watched her and then looked again more closely to the cabin entrance. Failing to see anything at all, he laughed at himself for his imagining and returned to the bookkeeping even a pirate ship needed to run on. Taking up his quill, he sharpened the point and trimmed it to give a fine line. He took pride in his literacy and in having a fine hand befitting a gentleman in a time when most were unable to read. The tallies were quickly entered and checked, the log updated and a few notes were made in his rutter.

Whilst Sparrow settled down to his tasks, the Commodore looked around the cabin with great interest. He had resisted the urge to investigate the Black Pearl since his coming aboard and was intrigued to see how a pirate captain’s quarters compared to his own rather austere cabin on the Dauntless. He had regained most of his memories preceding his demise and he missed his ship and the freedom it gave him. However, as he was here now with his favourite pirate, he decided to enjoy the situation, grinning broadly at the irony of haunting the buccaneer who had been such a thorn to him when he was alive.

On that thought, the Commodore ventured into the cabin and began to give it a thorough inspection. He could see no reason not to indulge his natural inquisitiveness as he had been invited in, by the cat, at any rate. The heavy carving and dark wood lent the rather spacious room an exotic feel; it would not have been his own selection but it did suit both this ship and the flamboyant man who captained her. The two long cannon were neatly shrouded under canvas, tacit reminders that the Black Pearl was a huntress. The sleeping area was sectioned off by a crimson silk drape, pulled back and secured by a heavy gold chain. There were items of wildly different origins stowed in shelves and on display behind the rails on top of a cabinet but overall there was a surprising degree of neatness, something he would not have given credence to in relation to Jack Sparrow, pirate.

The cat watched his perambulation along the bulkheads and the slanted stern windows, her head shifting to track his movements, until he wandered over to see what Sparrow was doing so diligently. He came and stood behind Sparrow’s chair and leaned over to have a better look at the paperwork, recognizing things familiar to any naval officer. Perhaps they were not so terribly different in some matters; pirate captain and naval captain alike seemed to attract generous amounts of paperwork.

The Commodore was not paying close attention to his unwitting host as he snooped unabashedly and only looked down at the man when he heard a most peculiar rustling and clattering. It would seem his presence so close was causing Sparrow to shiver in reaction. Apparently his erstwhile opponent had some degree of the Sight; either that or his own being was becoming increasingly substantial and more readily sensed. Norrington drew back a bit and stood in the middle of the great cabin, waiting to see what the pirate would do next.

Jack sat up sharply when he realized he had felt something or someone walk over his grave. Years ago he would just have shrugged it off but after more recent events, he was not as skeptical as once he had been. Swiveling about to gaze around the cabin, he determined he was alone, save for the cat now slumbering on his lap. For a moment he watched her breathe and twitch as she chased after mice in her sleep, not at all disturbed by whatever it was that had sent cold shivers crawling down his back. When she had entered, he recalled that she had behaved as if there was someone else in the cabin besides the two of them. Frowning, he peered around again, vowing to hang whichever crewman it was who had played a practical joke on him but knowing, even as he muttered that thought to himself, that none of the crew had been involved.

Norrington retreated to the bench beneath the stern lights and seated himself out of habit, shaking his head at the action as he did not actually need to sit down, and settled in to observe the pirate captain in his lair. Jack Sparrow had been a major irritant in his life since the day he had become commodore and Norrington saw no reason not to enjoy the tables being turned so that he could return the favour. His current situation had potential for considerable entertainment and he felt the return of the long quelled streak of mischief he had exercised as a junior officer.

Sparrow had no idea what was in store for him.

To Chapter 2

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