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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 Third

It was a fine night for sailing, Norrington thought to himself. The wind was fair and fresh, the sky so clear the stars blazed gloriously bright overhead with their cold fires, the moon elsewhere on her journey this night. The ship was making very good time on this long leg, foaming white waves breaking under her bow and rushing along her black hull. Most of the crew had turned in to their hammocks and only the night watch remained awake above decks. He had always loved this kind of night; there was something about the way of a ship at sea that was wondrous in and of itself, better poetry than the finest poets on land had ever written. He was perched out on the jib boom at the moment, not wishing to disturb the crew. The Black Pearl felt happy and content to run on her long reach but he was disinclined to disturb her peace with conversation; it was enough to be here and now for both of them.

The bell clanged out the hour and he decided he would have a stroll through the ship, just ensuring that all was well in this cosmos bounded by oaken timbers and canvas sails. Smiling cheekily, he thought that he would go along and see how the captain was doing at this hour. After all, he had left Sparrow to commune with strong spirits and he did feel some small responsibility for that state of affairs.

Deciding to walk rather than just think himself there, Norrington strolled along the main deck and then into the great cabin. He did not feel an invitation would be forthcoming at this time of night and so passed through the doors unhesitatingly. Somewhat to his surprise, the pirate was actually asleep in his bed, the large cot swaying in the rope tackle to the ship’s pleasant movements. Norrington came closer to have a better look at Sparrow, hopefully without disturbing his slumber. He had no idea how close he had to be to the living for them to sense his presence but was not in the mood to experiment at the moment.

It was quite peculiar, Norrington thought to himself, Jack Sparrow had to be a decade older than he was, or had been, and yet at rest like this the man looked very young and almost innocent. The dark features were relaxed and easy, the long lashes swept dark against the delicate skin beneath the eyes. The mouth, slightly ajar, looked like something a Renaissance artist would have used on seraphim or cherubs or a child; even the black moustache, sparse beard and outlandish braids could not disguise the fine features.

As the notion crossed his mind, the Commodore wondered if that was the reason why Sparrow went to so much trouble with the appearance he presented, almost as an actor playing a role upon a stage. It was quite certain that if the man was clean shaven, scoured thoroughly and shorn of the riotous mess atop his head, the youthful face would make it very hard to captain any pirate vessel larger than a row boat. Curious. He would have to ask Jack sometime if that was the case. For now, Norrington was content to speculate upon sleeping pirates and decided to return to the outer decks and leave Sparrow to his rest.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

Sparrow’s day began with a gigantic sneeze as he sat up abruptly, dislodging the blasted cat from her perch on his chest. No wonder he had been dreaming something was suffocating him, her ponderous bulk was like having a length of anchor chain coiled up on him. The sneeze was caused by something that totally repulsed him. Before his nose exploded he had opened his eyes to see the cat’s golden eyes scant inches from his and to his disgust the filthy beast was engaged in probing one of his nostrils with a very long, stiff whisker. God only knew what she expected to find in there but even the thought of that repellent whisker returning made his nose hairs curl.

The long-haired tortoiseshell retreated to the corner of Sparrow’s rumpled bed and sat with offended dignity, pointedly turning her back on the man and closing her eyes to deny his presence in the same room. For his part, Jack gave up on trying to get back to sleep; the morning sun was glancing across the deck as the Pearl made the westerly leg of her present tack and he had tasks to see to. He crawled out of his bunk and gave a long, shuddering stretch before going over to the basin under the mirror on the forward bulkhead. Dumping some water into it, he splashed it over his face to wake himself further before fishing around in the drawer for a chew stick and salt to do his teeth. The gold work might be flashy but the pain of installation was not a great deal of fun as he had discovered in the past, even copious amounts of rum had not really lessened it. So for now, he tended to his teeth, took a swig of water and gargled noisily before sticking his head out an open stern window and spitting into their wake.

Yawning widely, he turned to go back to the mirror to refresh his kohl and noticed the bottles on the table. The dark green bottle of very dark Jamaican rum was a special one he had been saving for a special occasion; overproof and potent, it was not an everyday drink. He did not remember immediately why he had fetched it out and picked up the bottle to aid his memory.

As he turned the bottle around in his hands, the sunlight caught the dark glass and it flamed suddenly to a much lighter vivid green. In fact, a very familiar shade of green he had seen staring back at him under a Commodore’s fancy hat and wig; abruptly he recalled it was yesterday when the blasted man had decided to make his ghostly presence known. Jack told himself firmly that the whole episode had been nothing more than his imagination at work and that the rum merely oiled the mental machinery; all the while knowing that he was lying to himself. He should be so lucky to have a haunt aboard and why ever would it not be that bloody Commodore? Sometimes he really had to wonder about Dame Fortune’s interest in him and where she was planning to go with it all. If this was a sample of her work, he was unimpressed.

Thinking of the late Commodore, Jack surreptitiously looked around his cabin and sleeping quarters. He just knew the man had to be watching, or whatever it was he was capable of doing, just to make an honest pirate’s life miserable. Unable to catch a hint of the undead scourge, Jack straightened up a bit and nodded sharply to himself, hoping that the fellow had taken himself off somewhere to bother others. On that note, he headed out to the deck to check on the Pearl this morning and to have a word with Gibbs about sailing matters and to get some breakfast from the galley.

Once out into the bright sunlight, Jack began to feel much better. The episode yesterday when he had conversed with Norrington must surely have been a figment of his tired mind, reward for spending so much time doing the thrice-cursed accounts, necessary evils that they were. He took his breakfast and made himself comfortable on the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck, enjoying the simple porridge and one of his favourite bananas. Feeling much better about life in general, Jack headed up to see how the helmsman was faring; not that he was worried, Cotton had a kind hand for the Pearl and would treat her as befitted her.

“Good morning, Mr. Cotton…and Mr. Cotton’s Parrot. How are things this fine morning?”

Cotton looked over to Sparrow and smiled, his grizzled whiskers creased by the deep wrinkles beneath the furze. He did not see the need for words at the moment and Parrot was more interested in the bits of shiny silver in Jack’s braids, glinting as they were in the hot morning sun. Not all pirates had human form and the bird was just as much a thief as the ship’s captain and if the pretty bits came close enough, then Parrot would seize the opportune moment. If Jack’s ear or braids happened to be attached at the other end of whatever the large black beak had clamped down on, then that would be just too bad.

Luckily for Jack, he turned away at precisely the moment Parrot made his play for a silver ear ring, hearing the loud clack beside his ear as the beak chomped down on air. Jumping back reflexively, Jack shook an irate fist at the large bird.

“You do not, I repeat, do not make grabs at your captain, you poor excuse for a bird. The next time you try a stunt like that, I’ll be having parrot stew for dinner and that’s a promise.”

Jack was almost beside himself in fury at this latest attempt on his person by the wretched creature. He knew Cotton needed the fiend to communicate for him, to be his companion and all that, but still! He would not really make Parrot into stew and deprive Cotton of his helpmate, probably too tough anyway, but something had to be done about the beast.

Cotton for his part looked horrified by his pet’s action and tried to draw back from the captain, encouraging the bird to come over to the shoulder furthest from Sparrow. He was reasonably certain that Parrot would not be summarily executed but decided he really needed to have some support from others more fluent. Looking around, he caught Gibbs’ eye and tried to ask the man to join them at the helm with eye-rolling and jerks of his chin prior to hanging his head in mute dismay.

Gibbs had had to referee between parrot and pirate on prior occasions so he was not overly surprised to be called upon this morning. He grabbed the rail and swung up the gangway to join the others, his practiced eye telling him clearly that there had been yet another incident. He managed to hold back a sigh but checked his waistcoat to reassure himself that his trusted flask was close to hand; he had a feeling he would be needing a drink once all the ruffled feathers were soothed.

“All right now. Who’s going to tell me what happened this time? John Cotton, I might as well start with you as you’re more likely to tell me true.”

Gibbs wasted no time in separating the combatants far enough so that neither could reach the other without going through him. Patiently, he listened to all sides of the story and had to admit to himself that Jack did have some cause for upset. Diplomatically, he suggested that in future, Jack should be careful how close he came to Parrot. Parrot, he told to leave Jack’s sparklies alone as they were not for him or her to take without asking. Cotton, he just asked to keep a closer eye on his pet when the captain was near. Satisfied that he had covered all possibilities, Gibbs drew out his flask and had a short swig to indicate he was finished with this round.

During all the commotion, Norrington had been very quietly observing from his perch on the rail beside the great stern lanterns. He was quite fascinated with this glimpse into the daily operations of a pirate ship even if he was convinced the Black Pearl, her captain and her crew, were not like any others he had ever dreamt of encountering. The whole thing with the bird trying to make off with some of Sparrow’s shiny baubles, with Sparrow still attached, was hilarious. The subsequent diplomatic negotiations by Gibbs made him snort with laughter, the familiar brown leather flask bringing back memories of the passage from England all those years ago.

“It’s bad luck to have parrots stealing from their captains, mark my words.”

“Consider them marked, Mr. Gibbs.”

Gibbs paused, his flask held in mid-air, his face perplexed.

“Did you hear summat just now, Jack?”

“Hear what, Joshamee?” Jack absently answered with a question, his mind still on the outrage so nearly perpetrated upon his personal adornments by the foul fiend (or fiendish fowl).

Cotton looked at his friend, his face carefully blank. The bird for once refrained from making one of its cryptic utterances. Gibbs continued, certain in his own mind that the pair had heard something as well. He met Jack’s eyes and went on, wondering what his captain’s response would be now that he was paying more attention.

“Coulda swore I heard someone say something I’ve not heard in years.”

“What are you going on about, Gibbs?” Jack looked at his sailing master, drawing his brows down into an apprehensive frown, suspicious where this conversation was heading.

“Well, Jack, when I was just saying about marking my words, I thought I heard someone say ‘consider them marked, Mr. Gibbs.’”

“And that would be strange, how?” Jack really did not want to hear the answer he was certain was coming, swaying back from the older man as far as he could without moving his feet.

“The only one what ever said that to me was Commodore Norrington, back when he was just a lieutenant. Problem is, he’s gone and died months ago so it couldn’t be him, could it now?”

The silence on the quarterdeck was abruptly deafening. Cotton kept his eyes fixed on the horizon and refused to meet anyone’s eyes, Parrot buried its beak under a wing to preen a feather that needed urgent tending and Jack, well, Jack was indescribable. Not even Joshamee Gibbs could find words to do justice to Jack’s expression. Gibbs glanced around at all three of them and then down to the main deck, satisfying himself that there really was nothing out of the ordinary around them. Puzzled, he turned around and checked the rest of the quarterdeck in case he had missed some clue to the puzzle.

Throughout all this, Norrington had remained on his perch, content to stay there and take in the entertainment. It was fascinating that Gibbs had heard his comment and identified him correctly. Cotton and his parrot were likely aware of his presence as well as the cat, Sparrow and the Black Pearl herself. He wondered how many more aboard would be able to sense him. Maybe the way it worked was that some could see and hear him and others with less ability would only be aware of bits. Possibly he could find a way to direct his essence toward a particular individual and make contact. He really did not want to harm anyone but he was learning to enjoy being a ghost of some ilk. He had been such a serious, duty bound chap for so long; he surely deserved to have some fun now that he was dead but apparently not quite gone.

To Part the Fourth

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