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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 Sixth

Several days passed without untoward events, nothing supernatural or undead in any particulars deigned to make its presence known. Jack was beginning to relax and not hunch up his neck and shoulders every time he heard odd thumps and knocks about his cabin or throughout his ship. He recognized them as the usual sounds he was accustomed to hearing, helping him to judge the state of his ship by her sounds as she flexed and bent to wind and wave. He had not heard voices in thin air or in his mind, not even the Black Pearl had seen fit to disturb his peace and quiet, let alone that blasted Commodore.

He went about his daily business, plotting courses, overseeing the crew, plundering a passing vessel what took his fancy, dreaming of treasure, reading his favourite books. The very normalcy he was beginning to find quite soothing. Now as long as the ghost who had decided to embark upon the Black Pearl took himself off to wherever such spirits were supposed to go, Jack would count himself content with life. The niggling little detail of the Pearl doing the inviting persisted in disturbing his peace of mind. She was a fickle hussy at times, he was beginning to think, and now to be enamoured of a cipher in blue and brocade was a bit much, to his way of thinking.

He was at the helm again when that last thought drifted through his head. Whatever else the Commodore had been in life, cipher was not a fair description of the man. Norrington had taken his duties seriously but was more than just a fancy uniform and ridiculous wig. Jack could see a fine ship like his beloved Pearl taking an interest in an equally fine sailor and she was a pirate ship, accustomed to taking what she wanted. Maybe it had been all that gold bullion about Norrington's person that had attracted her covetous eye. There certainly had been enough of the stuff that day they first met on the docks. Jack frowned in mild confusion; the Pearl had not seen the Commodore in his fancy rig, at least that he knew of, so where did she set eyes on the man?

Jack recollected, almost against his will, the incidents between young Missy Swann and her once upon a time betrothed. It had turned out well enough in the end for the girl and young Bootstrap but it had come at a high cost to Norrington, in emotion as well as dignity. For all his shortcomings, the Scourge truly had not deserved such treatment and had shown himself uncommon generous toward the youngsters, not to mention a certain scallywag of a pirate. Reminded that he now had the shade of the late Scourge somewhere aboard the Black Pearl, Jack attempted to remove him from his thoughts lest he draw the little ghostie back from wherever it had been keeping itself. He continued on, muttering quietly to himself as was his fashion.

"Wonderful, now you're getting all sentimental and sympathetic to the man. With your sort of luck, you'll be haunted by him for the rest of your days. Maybe that fella in the prison had the right of it, after all, about your luck."

Jack paused for a moment to ponder the subject of luck, particularly his own, and decided that his was actually good luck, seeing as he had the Pearl back, his neck was unstretched and he possessed the uncursed part of the treasure from the Isla de Muerta. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to deal with the ghost of one dead Commodore; surely it could not be any worse than Barbossa and his lot of miscreants. He was determined that spectre and ship should heed, obey and respect the captain of the ship and since that captain was his own fine self, then he would just have to see that they did a proper job of it. He left the feline and Anamaria out of the equation; even Captain Jack Sparrow had limits.

xoxoxoxoxox

Unbeknownst to the aforementioned Captain Jack Sparrow, he had been under observation for most of his watch at the helm. Norrington had been entertained watching the expressions flow and change across his host's mobile face, much like watching the shadows of clouds racing across the hills and mountains. James was coming to recognize what Jack was thinking, or his moods, by what was reflected in the eyes and mouth. One moment Jack was pensive and far away, almost still, then the sly calculating expression appeared followed swiftly by sadness, surprise and more. The hands were part and parcel of how Jack expressed himself, even when he was steering, one or the other long-fingered hand would swoop and swirl in counterpoint.

It was perfectly obvious when Sparrow had come to his conclusion and had formulated his plans when the satisfied smirk was joined by the fingers primping the dark moustache, twirling the ends to jaunty points. It was all James could do to keep from laughing out loud; it was much more fun to observe his subject while it remained oblivious. He had been leaning up against the rail far enough away so his presence would not be felt by Jack. He had allowed several days for his quarry to calm down and determined sufficient time had passed and Jack could be reminded of his passenger. James felt a swirl of amusement from the Black Pearl; she knew her pirate love would not be harmed by her naval friend so she would enjoy the play and not interfere.

Norrington slipped through the walls into the great cabin and gazed around. Jack had most considerately left some books and charts spread out across the table so James stood for a while and looked at the details in the maps. He had always appreciated a fine map and the skills and observations that went into it, no wonder that as he had depended upon such things throughout his career. Jack had penciled in notations all around the islands, similar to what he had done on his own charts; typical navigators both, they expanded the charts with their own findings.

Leaving the maps for now, James shifted his attention to the books. Jack's tastes were every bit as eclectic as the rest of him and the current selection he had out ranged from Machiavelli's Il Principe, satires from Horace and a small volume of Donne's poetry, all in their original languages. Jack presented the world with a rogue and pirate but kept the scholar's presence closely confined to his personal quarters. Definitely he was a man of many parts. James recognized some of his own favourite works on the bookshelves built into the forward bulkhead but most of Jack's precious books were stowed away with loving care in a heavy ironbound trunk.

The Commodore had been practicing and expanding his ghostly facilities here and there around the ship, away from crew members. He had no desire to upset them unnecessarily, they were only trying to do their jobs, but he had no such qualms about disturbing the rats down in the holds. He remembered the creatures from his first voyage as a midshipman and had continued to hate them ever since. They were bothered by his presence, chittering and scratching when he was near; he saw the gleam from their eyes sometimes if they were near a light source. If he concentrated, he could make them shift away nervously but they did not respond to him as the cat did and he thought they could not really see him. He could not say honestly he was disappointed by that failure.

James decided to attempt flipping the pages in the book that had been left propped open; the binding had relaxed with use and wear over the years and looked promising for his experiment. He had always preferred Horace's more gentle satire to Juvenal's spiteful venom and as Jack had considerately started things for him, James wanted to be able to read the next passage for his own pleasure. He missed having books to enjoy and perhaps at some point he and Sparrow could arrive at a sort of arrangement, or accord as the pirates said, allowing James to have access to the books. He would have to be careful therefore in his haunting of Jack Sparrow, he would not want to endanger future benefits for the sake of poor planning.

The Commodore approached the table and studied the problem from all angles, much as he had done when considering naval strategies. He did not know if he would be able to move a page in the same manner as he had when more corporeal or if he would have to resort to other means, perhaps blowing on it to get the paper into action. James decided what seemed to be the most promising direction and reached out, hesitating for an instant before trying to catch the edge of the page. His fingers passed through the paper with no effect so he stepped back and thought for a moment and decided he needed to think very hard that his hand had real substance and would be perfectly able to turn over such a lightweight object.

Frowning heavily in determined concentration, James reached out to the book and closed his eyes, imagining in his mind that his fingers were raising the page and turning it, neatly patting it down so that it would stay. He could almost feel the paper but had to steel himself to open his eyes and look down to see if he had in fact accomplished the deed. To his pleased astonishment, he had succeeded in his endeavour and the page was turned to the next passage as he had wished. So, that was the trick of it, then, to see in his mind's eye the reality of what he was trying to touch. This definitely had possibilities. He smiled in satisfaction at his accomplishment and newly found skill.

James knew he would need to practice but for the moment he would indulge in being able to read again for the first time since his demise. Back when he was alive, James would have sat at the table and spent a happy hour just reading and enjoying the flights of imagination or insight the authors may have used. Considering that Sparrow was at the helm for a while, James saw no difficulty in practicing his page turning and reacquainting himself with Horace. The heavy armchair was conveniently placed by the table so James sat himself down; he might not actually need to sit but to him it was a part of the whole experience of reading in a civilized fashion so he made the effort to at least appear alive.

He was still seated there, happily reading Jack's books when their owner entered his cabin after the watch change. James started a trifle guiltily and rapidly left the table for the far side of the cabin, taking his favourite spot on the bench beneath the stern windows. Fortunately he vacated his spot before Jack sat down; he had no idea what would happen if the two of them suddenly occupied the same space. Most of the crew just passed through his non-physical body but Jack was more aware of his presence than the others and growing more so with each encounter.

Jack dropped into his chair and reached for a banana in the dish on the table, leaning back and putting his booted feet on to the heavy mahogany top. He loved bananas, one of the things he appreciated most about the tropics, and he peeled this one down lovingly before taking a large bite. Chewing in pleasure, he relaxed and looked at the book he had been reading earlier, noticing that it was not at the page he had left it at. He stopped masticating and sat up, his boot heels striking the deck loudly, to inspect the books on the table more closely. It was quite clear someone had been at them and he knew none of the crew would do such a thing. That left only one other person aboard who would value these books for what they were and who would have the audacious cheek to make use of them. Jack frowned in displeasure, looking around to see if his nemesis was still at the scene of his crime, not that he could see the man...ghost? haunt?or whatever he was supposed to be now.

"I know you're around here somewheres, Norrington. You've been at my books and you didn't even trouble yourself to ask permission first. You know how a man's things are private aboard a ship and you still broke that code. Shame on you."

Norrington had to admit Jack had a point, albeit a rather odd one coming from a man who was a pirate and who took such inordinate pride in his vocation. He decided that perhaps a touch of conciliation would not be remiss at this juncture if he ever wanted to have access to those books again so he spoke up.

"My apologies, Jack. It has been quite some time since I was able to indulge in the simple pleasure of reading and I simply could not restrain myself. You were kind enough to have left the Horace out and open and I have always enjoyed his writings."

Jack continued to frown; he figured the apology was genuine but was not about to cede forgiveness so easily. He stood and stretched before reaching for his books and neatly piling them before he picked the lot up and went over to the massive chest where he kept such treasures. He hauled up the lid and carefully stowed the precious volumes inside before closing the lid and locking the padlock. The ghost might have learned how to turn a page of a book but Jack was pretty certain it would take a lot more effort to get at his books now. He thought that it was a reasonable punishment for Norrington making free with Jack's belongings.

Norrington was of quite a different mind altogether from the pirate captain. The deliberate locking up of the books, including the one he had been reading with such enjoyment, was excessive insulting in his mind; surely Jack could understand the lure of the books to one who had been denied such comforts for however long it had been. He frowned in growing displeasure; the other was virtually declaring a challenge to the once-Commodore, taunting him actually. Until James learned more about his abilities, those books may as well be on the moon. Well, he would see to acquiring the skills he now needed and whilst he was at it, he decided a bit of comeuppance for the birdbrain was in order.

To Be Continued...

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