a

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 Second

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Sparrow finished his work on the ship’s records and rose, stretching out the kinks in his back and shoulders, his joints cracking loudly as he did so before he gathered up his books and returned them to their places in the cabinet. He poured a tankard of water from the pitcher on the table, adding a splash of rum to improve the flavour. The water was relatively fresh yet but the rum helped to make it more palatable. He still had fresh limes so he quartered one and squeezed the juice in as well, pausing to enjoy the smell of the lime as he did. He picked up the tankard and turned to go over to sit on the bench below the stern lights and hesitated as he thought he saw a movement in the mirror on the bulkhead.

He turned completely around and, seeing no one, looked over to where the cat was sleeping on his bed. No help there, the creature was deep seas under and sprawled out in indecent abandon on her back, one curled paw held up over her pale belly fur with the other three splayed every which way. Uncharitably, he informed her she was no help to him, spreading all sorts of hair, drool and vermin over his covers and, the final insult, she was snoring to wake the dead.

“Actually, I believe the only dead person here is already awake, Mister Sparrow.”

Jack stood stock still, unable to draw breath. For a moment, he could have sworn he had heard the well-bred tones of James Norrington, the late Commodore out of Port Royal.

“”Strewth, of all the things you think you’d hear, Jack, why on earth would you be hearing that man? He’s the one what wouldn’t trust you as far as he could throw you and then tried to hang you after you went and rescued his fiancée, guided them to the Isla de Muerta and then tried to get the Navy to ambush Barbossa an’ company, even though he wouldn’t listen to what you had to say. Then to top it all off, he went and tried to hang you, again, the ingrate, and then I had to dive off that fort…”

“…fell, Sparrow, you fell off the wall.”

“…to safety, missing all those rocks.” Sparrow paused in his diatribe, his words tapering to nothing. He was afraid to look around to where the voice seemed to be emanating from, lest his growing suspicions were proven true. The short hairs down his back and up his neck began to stand on end, joined rapidly by the hair on his arms and scalp as he contemplated the possibility that he might be haunted by the spectre of James L. Norrington of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. As if having to deal with Barbossa and the rest of his cursed mutineers had not been enough.

It just was Not Fair.

He was interrupted in his fears by the cat giving a snuffling snort as she woke, rousing her substantial corporation and coming about to lie on her belly on his bed, staring at him. Jack would have taken his oath she was laughing at him, she had just that look on her face, superior and smug as all get out. As he watched her in turn, the cat’s gaze shifted away from him to something over by the door. The part which disturbed him the greatest was that her eyes were focused on a point where a tall man’s face might be, and the Commodore had been a tall man. Against his better judgment, Jack slowly turned around to confront what might have been his nemesis come to continue their game of cat and mouse.

Sparrow stood very still, only his eyes moving, trying to see what could not possibly be there, a bit like trying to search out something lurking in a heavy mist. Unsuccessful, he relaxed his hunched shoulders a bit, telling himself that he was merely in need of rest and there were no Commodores, real or in spirit form, in his cabin. He had begun to relax and think it had all been his imagination when the cat stood up on his bed and leaped down to thud heavily on the deck. She paused long enough to have a thorough stretch and rubbed along his leg as she did on occasion before continuing over to the spot she had been watching. To Sparrow’s horror, the feline stopped and repeated the stropping along someone else’s leg; at least he assumed it was a leg, purring and carrying on as if someone was stroking her head.

Jack stared very hard at the cat, swallowing with some difficulty as he saw her chin go up and move back and forth as if it was being scratched by long fingers. He leaned backwards, putting both hands up as if to ward off an attack, before taking his courage in hand and calling out to whatever was playing with the cat. He was careful to keep his voice low enough not to be heard beyond the cabin door as he really did not want his crew to mutiny on account their captain was haunted.

“Oy!”

There was no response, which was a good thing except that now the cat flopped down on the deck, rolled over and presented her belly for a rub, wriggling to get her point across. Not good. Jack inhaled gustily preparatory to speech when he was interrupted, quite rudely, he thought.

“Spit it out, man. You look like you are about to swallow your tongue, carrying on like that. One would think you had never had any experience with the supernatural before.”

“Hell’s bells, it is you! I’d recognize that snarky voice anywhere.”

“Well, who were you expecting then? The Queen of the May?”

“Not a bloody Commodore, for starters.”

“Why not a Commodore, bloody or otherwise? Apparently you were aware of my death and how I died, according to my source, so why should I not come here?”

“Commodores aren’t supposed to go around haunting places, especially not pirate ships. Why are you here, anyway? I certainly didn’t ask for your company after you shuffled off this mortal coil!” Jack’s whining tones showed very clearly his aggravation with his now ghostly opponent.

“Hmm, I really don’t believe your argument to hold validity, Sparrow, or are you merely prejudiced against deceased naval officers?”

At this affront, Sparrow nearly swallowed his tongue as he sucked in a deep breath in outrage. He had had to deal with his former mutinous crew as undead skeletal pirates but it was beyond the pale to now be haunted by the Royal Navy. Of course, it would have to be Norrington, the pirate hunter himself, come to disturb his ship and his quarters. He frowned suddenly as he recollected just when the man had met his end and felt obliged to make an inquiry of his own, suspicious of the late Commodore’s reasoning.

“Why are you just now showing up? You died months ago and quite some distance from here. There was quite the to-do in Port Royal, fancy state funeral and all that nonsense, even though there wasn’t a body to actually plant in the earth. It upset Elizabeth for days, having to say goodbye like that.”

“I suppose that that is a fair question, Sparrow…”

“…Captain! It’s Captain Sparrow. How many times do I have to remind you?”

“…but I don’t really know the answer to it. I am not sure how long it was before I became aware of my new status, shall we call it, and started to take notice of my surroundings and passers-by. I regret that Mrs. Turner was grieved by my passing but it was always likely that I would die of injuries or disease out here in the Indies.”

“That still doesn’t say why you’re here, on the Black Pearl, and not off on some other pirate ship, haunting other pirates, or even a naval vessel where you belong.”

“I’m here on the Black Pearl because the Black Pearl invited me, after a fashion.”

Jack stared blankly at the wall before re-iterating, “The Black Pearl invited you…”

“That is what I said, Sparrow. Your ship allowed me to come aboard and travel along with her.”

For a moment, dead silence reigned in the great cabin and then…

“I really need a drink.”

With that profound statement, Jack headed straight over to the chest where he kept his rum and other spirits, wasting little time in digging out the nearest bottle, being fine dark Jamaican rum of considerable alcoholic content. The ordinary rum he already had out just was not strong enough to do the job quickly, more potent spirits being called for. He didn’t bother with the nicety of a glass but yanked out the cork and put the mouth of the bottle to his lips and sucked down a long gulp of the fiery liquid. He felt himself perfectly justified under the circumstances to have another long pull at his bottle, hoping that the one sort of spirit would cancel out the other.

Jack dropped heavily into his chair, clutching his bottle tightly to his chest. Fearing to find out otherwise, he kept his head down and his eyes on his rum. His palms were clammy and sweating now and he could feel a cold trickle running down his backbone, the occasional shiver adding its own fillip of sensation to his suddenly awful day. There was quiet in the cabin, not even the cat was making a sound. All Jack could hear was his own breathing. Maybe, just maybe, that bloody Norrington had taken himself off elsewhere to pester someone else. With that fervent hope in his mind, Jack had several more swigs of rum to sooth his jangled nerves before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the deeply carven mahogany of the chair back.

For his part, Norrington took a certain amount of satisfaction at his first efforts in haunting Jack Sparrow. He felt he would certainly improve with practice as he learned the ropes of his new vocation; after all, he had always been a quick study. He would leave Sparrow to commune with his bottle of rum for the time being, the poor man looked as if he truly needed its comfort, fleeting though it would be.

He went over to have a good look at his erstwhile nuisance, finding it a bit unnatural to see the man sitting there so still. Usually Sparrow was as restless as the sea itself, fluttering and swaying about. As James watched the pirate captain, he considered that Jack used all the nonsense to distract any and all, friend and foe alike. There was a real intelligence and capability behind the fool’s mask he presented to the world. Indeed, a worthy opponent. On that note, Norrington turned and made his way out of the great cabin, passing through the heavy door with ease, and wandered up to the quarterdeck to observe the helmsman and to contemplate the day’s revelations.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Once there, Norrington took up his customary station to windward of the helm, clasping his hands behind his back as he had done for years. This had long been his preferred spot to meditate, whether considering details of a naval action or merely to contemplate the world around him. Best of all, if it was a quiet time, he loved to commune with his ship, relaxing until he felt a part of the oak deck beneath him, the stretch of canvas aloft, the rush of hull through the sea. His cabin was more private but the quarterdeck was where he could be one with his ship, the sailors and officers parts of the whole.

His thoughts rambled pleasantly along through some of his happier memories as he absently began to hum a tune he had heard years before on the passage out from England. There had been some very good times in his life and he could look back in satisfaction on them, smiling as he recalled some of the pranks he had gotten into as a young middy and later as a junior lieutenant. In turn, these led him further back to when he had been a young lad in Norfolk. His family had been sons of the sea for generations and it was no surprise when he followed in his turn at the age of twelve, small for his age and rather quiet. Fortunately, he had taken to life aboard ship and loved it immensely, once his early sea sickness had passed. Several growth spurts had presented their challenges; he could yet recall the bruises and skinned shins he had acquired with his new long legs and gawky body.

He wondered how his family back in England had taken the news of his death and hoped they did not grieve too long over him. He had been doing the very thing he wanted most in the world to do and an early death had always been a possibility, either from action or one of the diseases that so plagued the Tropics. He had had a driving ambition to succeed in the Royal Navy and his rapid rise in rank showed his success and determination. He had made friends and good contacts along the way, made a few enemies as well but they came with the territory.

What troubled him was that he had no memory of how he had made his exit from this mortal coil. He could now recall a great deal about recent times, judging from the age and appearance of Sparrow and Gibbs. The ship seemed to hint that it had not been all that long ago and Sparrow had said something about months when he was accusing Norrington of being dilatory in coming along to haunt him. He did remember engagements against enemies but was hazy as to how close to his death some of them might have been. He was of two minds about investigating it further; on the one hand, he rather wished to know just when he died but, on the other, he was a bit reluctant, almost squeamish.

Then there was the matter of Elizabeth Turner, nee Swann, and the Governor as well. Norrington had truly felt affection for both parties, Elizabeth would have made a fine wife but she had formed that attachment to young Will Turner from a very early age and had not seen fit to see behind the formal face he presented to the world. Weatherby Swann had been a good friend and advisor to James; perhaps not a man of action but well versed in swimming with the sharks of politics and society. Swann had always treated James with kindness as well as humour and had supported the younger man’s career wherein he was able.

Norrington was interrupted in his thoughts by the watch change as the new helmsman came on duty. This time it was the old sailor, the one who had lost his tongue, and the large macaw who was his familiar, for lack of a better term. James observed the changeover approvingly; Cotton was one of the Black Pearl’s favourites and he treated her kindly and respectfully without fail, quiet and gentle on her wheel. This occasion took a different turn as John Cotton looked over to where the Commodore was standing and stared hard at that spot, his grizzled brows drawing down in puzzlement. The parrot joined its master in action, turning its head to focus one large eye on the same spot, the pupil dilating and contracting as the creature considered the matter before delivering a verdict.

The verdict, when it came, was a loud raucous screech followed by a distinctly uttered “red sky in morning.” The Commodore and the helmsman each turned to look at the bird, one wondering what his friend was going on about and the other growing a mite concerned. It seemed that on this day, his presence aboard the Black Pearl was no longer going unnoticed by the crew, human or otherwise. On that note, he decided a stroll along the decks was in order; the day’s tasks were drawing to a close and soon the men would begin the evening’s entertainments. Norrington was amused to see the doors to the captain’s quarters were still shut tight as if to keep him from disturbing the occupant. He might pop in later to see how Sparrow was doing before he returned to the quarterdeck to spend the night watch.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Jack was indeed taking refuge in his cabin. He was still hoping, praying almost, that the phantom Commodore had been a figment of his imagination or indigestion brought on by a bit of bad meat. Unfortunately his luck did not tend to run to such easy answers and he was quite certain that Norrington was, in fact, if not in body, aboard the Black Pearl. Jack was a bit confused at that, he would have thought the Pearl had had enough of the undead to not wish to have a ghost aboard, especially the ghost of one who had taken his pirate hunting and executing so seriously. He poured out another good splash of rum into his tankard, pausing to inquire of his ship what on earth she thought she was about.

“He was able to talk to me and has lovely manners.”

Wonderful. Now he was hearing his ship actually speak to him. It had to be the rum. Oh well, he might as well play along with his delusions, the whole day had gone to hell in a hand basket so why not?

“As you’ve decided to talk to me a bit more vocally than you usually do, my love, I would expect you to remember that yon Commodore has done in a very large number of the Brethren and that you are a pirate ship crewed and captained by pirates.”

“He was lost in the mists and I found him there, all alone. He has no Navy to support him now and his Dauntless is far away. Besides, I like him. He is quite a handsome addition to my crew.”

“I was under the impression that I, being the Captain, was the one who decided to take on new crew. I am perfectly certain that I would never have hired a Royal Navy officer like that one. In fact, I know I would not have.”

“You were quite sympathetic to him when young Elizabeth cast him aside for Bootstrap’s son, the blacksmith.”

“Now, how would you be knowing that particular detail, Pearl of my heart? You were still out of sight of the fort at Port Royal when that happened.”

“Ara told me all about it, of course, and I have listened to what has been said by the crew and by you.”

“Ara? Who the devil is Ara? We don’t have any crew member on board with a name like that. Anamaria is the closest and that’s not the same name at all.”

“Of course we do. Ara is Mr. Cotton’s good friend and helpmate even if Ara does so admire your shiny bits.”

“You mean Mr. Cotton’s parrot has a name and the unnatural creature has told you?”

“Why would Ara not tell me? It is not as if it is a secret, you understand, one merely has to listen properly.”

There was no doubt in Sparrow’s mind at all, his ship was not only teasing him but she was enamoured of that blasted Navy fellow to boot, not to mention that gaudy parrot. The day had begun so well and he could not for the life of him determine what had brought on such horrible changes. He had always treated the Black Pearl as if she was a living thing and had been convinced for some years that she did respond to him and to some of the occurrences about her. This sudden turn to chattiness, not to mention the acquisition of a spectral passenger, was alarming and he had no idea what would happen next. The Pearl was being smug and superior to him; mind you, she was the grandest ship afloat that he knew of and thus had a right to feel superior, but he thought Barbossa and his former crew had been quite sufficient representatives of the underworld.

“Tell me something, luv, what do you plan on doing with Norrington? Is he to become a member of the crew or is he merely a temporary passenger that we can disembark on some island or reef or something? I had not planned to take on any more from the spirit world and I am absolutely positive that I would not have chosen that one had I planned it.”

“He was a sailor, and a very good one at that. You yourself were quite distressed when news came of his death. I remember you pacing back and forth talking to yourself. I remember too when the young ones came aboard for a visit and you offered your condolences to them on the loss of a friend and former fiancé. Are you saying now that you do not like him?”

“It’s not a matter of not having liked the man but he is the one who did his damnedest to hang me. Had it not been for Will, Lizzie and her father, I would have been caught again and probably joined those other poor unfortunates blowing in the breeze out at Deadman’s Cay. Hanging a man can make quite an impression on a man, in case that has escaped your notice, missy.”

He paused to allow his ship to answer in turn but the silence in the cabin and in his head continued. Apparently she was not going to answer his question at this time, giving rise to his conviction that she was planning on keeping her Commodore aboard over her captain’s objections. He wondered if he had enough rum on board to cope with this situation or whether he should chart a course over to Martinique to restock. The idea appealed to him so he would haul out the charts on the morrow and plot the voyage from Tortuga out. On the other hand, Jamaica was closer and they had fine rums there anyway. He would sleep on it, hopefully without interruptions by either his sentient ship or his unwelcome guest.

To Part the Third

All our authors thrive on feedback. Email the Webmaster to have comments forwarded to the author.

a