Fathoms 16

Axioms

by

Manic Intent

Jack looked at Norrington in disbelief, as he dressed slowly in what he now thought of as his 'poncy toff' costume. Wet cloth, a basin of drinking water and soap had taken care of the evidence of last night's proclivities, and he was busy attempting to tie his hair back without the help of his First Mate. Anamaria had summarily refused to be involved any further in this aspect of what she called 'dat bloody stupid game yer playin' wot got us into trouble again', instead having taken to standing at the wheel and glowering at Poseidon's Wrath, as if hoping it would spontaneously combust. "M'going t'assume that yer mind's still in a dither due t'last night, love."

There was a chuckle, and then long fingers picked the ribbon from his fingers, and his hair was tied back efficiently, gently. "No, Jack. I meant, we could prove... er, show my father. What happens when I hold it."

"An' ye be assumin' now that yer da' will suddenly think, 'Th'compass shows these two men are meant t'be, an' I should leave them alone to it?'" Jack drawled, as he affixed cravat and pulled on his coat, tugging shirt sleeves through the stiffer fabric.

"It's worth a shot," Norrington's fingers now rested on his waist, chin perched on his shoulders as he watched Jack put on the white gloves, stolen property, like most of his costume. There was an involuntary purr.

Jack laughed, leaning back into the warm body, twirling gloved fingers. "Pervert."

"Pots and kettles, Jack," Norrington smirked, pressing a soft kiss against the shell of his ear.

"'Tis still 'no'," Jack informed him, buckling his Turner sword at his hip, a little difficult when he had to stretch the belt between them. "Too risky."

"I'm beginning to wonder whether you're obsessed with your compass, as well as your ship," Norrington said dryly.

"Th'ship, th'compass that don't work, they be a part o' me," Jack patted one aristocratic hand, silently informing Norrington that they had better be going, before Norrington Sr. got restive. "Comes wi' th'package. M'feel right naked wi'out either."

"The trappings of a pirate."

"T'aint just any pirate now, mate," Jack tilted his head so he could look at Norrington through the corner of his eye.

"Don't say it," Norrington warned, flicking his tongue against the ear.

"Say what?"

"Anything about being 'Captain... Jack Sparrow'," Norrington imitated Jack's drawling baritone.

"T'aint no need to when ye do it so well." Jack pulled free of the gentle grasp and sauntered out onto deck, tipping his hat at the warship still anchored so close to them that proudly flew both the flags of England and the British East India Company. Clearer in the morning light, Jack could see that a crest was painted next to the name on the hull—a shield with a rampant lion, half-curled around a sword. There was even some sort of motto, which he couldn't make out.

"Latin," Norrington said, coming out into the sun behind him. "Translates to 'Justice with Grace, Duty with Honor'. Fairly typical."

"Hm," Jack murmured thoughtfully—shouldn't it be Justice with Mercy? However, at least in his Jamie's case, this particular phrasing seemed so much more appropriate, as a family crest. He tapped at his lip, then tipped his hat again, this time at Anamaria, who was coming down from the bridge. From her expression, it looked as though she hadn't been able to get much sleep. "G'mornin'."

"I've sent someone t'get some rum, an' I'd be handlin' the rest o' the trade an fittings," she said, with a perfunctory nod at him, then at Norrington. "Try not t'make things any worse wi' the nob. Both of ye."

Jack slipped her the compass, in the act of apparently patting her on the back. From the soft sigh he heard behind him, he knew Norrington had noticed, but he ignored that. "Ye be careful yerself, too."

"Well now, dat be the first time ye've expressed doubts as t'me ability t'take care o' meself, Cap'n," Anamaria smirked, the compass disappearing into her inner coat, and tossed her hair, proud and queenly, before pointed over her shoulder at the waiting carriage, with its snorting, spirited horses. "Ye best be off now. Dat old cart been waitin' dere fer a while."

The graying head bowed briefly, but when Lord Norrington turned to them, he was all warm smiles. "Sleep well? It's rather hot in India at the moment, I'm afraid."

"Well enough," Jack said, with a smile that didn't quite touch his eyes. "T'will be better when we get back t'the sea, as ye say, it's a little too hot in India t'be enjoyable."

"Quite, quite, and no doubt you're eager to set sail again." Blue eyes flickered between the both of them, and then they were ushered with a playful, elaborate twist of a hand to the dining room.

Warm bread, jam, butter, kippers, porridge, fruit, eggs, sausages and bacon had all been set out on an impressive array of plates. Jack helped himself liberally to everything, but James settled on eggs and bacon, silent again, listening to his lover and father again discuss an absolutely random variety of topics with badly hidden apprehension. Jack was better armed today, having briefly looked through some of the books James had insisted on buying from Liberté, though he occasionally wished that Barbossa was here. Better in an extended verbal fencing match, was his ex-First Mate, as good or better than he was with a sword.

Jack decided around coffee to progress the game a little. "Seems like I didn't answer yer question yesterday, mate."

"I beg your pardon?" Lord Norrington asked, arching an eyebrow as he put down his coffee, the delicate cup clinking against the saucer.

"'Bout me compass," Jack ignored the sudden frown from James. "I did get it from a voodoo witch. Name o' Tia Dalma, specializes in potions, magic gewgaws an' advice."

Lord Norrington, however, had obviously recovered from whatever little control he had let slip last night, and only smiled benignly. "Fascinating, these native superstitions. Have you actually observed any truth to them, or do you feel as the British do, that it is mere trickery?"

"There be some things they do that can't be explained by trickery, m'thinks," Jack said, mildly impressed that Lord Norrington now showed not the least amount of curiosity about the compass at all, not even in his eyes. "An' as th'Commodore 'ere can tell ye, m'good at trickery."

James blinked at the sound of his title, then shrugged. "Tricks of diversion," he said dismissively.

"The Interceptor, I heard. A clever sort of diversion," Lord Norrington said, now watching his son.

A twitch at the jaw, pretty head dipping briefly. "If I wasn't so worried about the potential if unlikely theft of the Dauntless, it would never have happened."

"Ah, the Dauntless. Fine ship." James was silent, taking sips of hot coffee, eyes fixed on the platter of cooling bread, emotion only evident in his tensing frame. Jack wondered, managing not to frown, what Lord Norrington was at now, and realized he'd lost leadership of the conversation again.

"Yer Poseidon's Wrath be more impressive, m'think," Jack said, then grinned cheekily, "Though she be summat low in th'water. Top 'eavy?"

Lord Norrington arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking up. "Effective enough in the hunt, I assure you, Captain Sparrow."

"Bet she can't keep up wi' me Pearl in open water," Jack countered, keeping his tone light, as if in jest.

"I've heard many reports of your famous ship," Lord Norrington agreed easily, "But would you go up against a ship like mine in the open water?"

"Not unless I knew I 'ad some other tricks up me sleeve," Jack replied—coffee with sugar and milk, this morning. "Better t'run, since ye won't be able t'catch me."

"Ah, but given your ship's superiority in speed, doesn't that tempt you sometimes to play with the predator?" Lord Norrington said mildly, "Slowing down to taunt the stronger ship, leading her on chases, perhaps even to her doom. Cards up your sleeve."

Jack smiled, baring his teeth, as he grasped where this was going. A different game today, already - no, not different. Related. "Lots o' choices there, mate. Takes two t'dance."

"I've seen cats tease dogs till perfectly bred hunting animals lose all their reason," Lord Norrington didn't look at his son, his tone making it seem as though he were just toying with the topic out of abstract curiosity. "Fault, then, does it lie with the cat's amoral sense of fun, or with the dog's instinct to chase?"

"With animals, in neither," James suddenly cut in, his voice tightly controlled, icy. "With men, the fault would lie in intent and judgment." A glance at Jack, then at his father. "The better man would be the one who had acted without malice, than the one who acted out of ambition and emotion. The one who knew the limits of his ship, and acted within it. The one who did not risk the lives of his men."

Still touchy on the topic, his Jamie. Jack cocked his head to the side and leaned his head on one hand, and looked to Lord Norrington. Who smiled earnestly at his son, as if in surprise. "James, we were but discussing the relative merits of the Black Pearl and Poseidon's Wrath. If you thought that..."

"No, Father, you've been playing the both of us since we've arrived," a growl, flashing green eyes meeting unyielding blue, ignoring Jack's frantically waving hands. "What do you want? As I've said, Captain Sparrow and I have an honor-debt to pay, to friends, past Madras. Let us be."

Amazing—there was actually somebody who could be worse at the act and manner of parley than young Mr. Turner. Admittedly when tried past his patience and upset over verbal sparring, but... "Now, Commodore," he tried to say, in his most wheedling voice, but was interrupted by Lord Norrington, who was looking at his coffee.

"Captain Sparrow. I do beg your pardon for cutting breakfast short, but it seems that I must needs have words with my son. In private." A breath. "If it's not too inconvenient for you, my butler can now arrange for your departure back to the harbor, in my carriage."

Jack looked up at James, who nodded, slightly. Then he turned to Lord Norrington, getting to his feet and bowing with imprecision, playfully. "Be seein' ye then, Lord Norrington. Commodore."

Assuming, of course, that Lord Norrington was not merely simply toying with the both of them, introducing little tidbits like a potential previous relationship with Beckett or that Dauntless remark just to see how they would react... the simplest and most obvious conclusion was that the man did in fact want the compass (the way he hadn't talked at all about it today was also telling), possibly for Beckett, and he was also, concurrently, worried about the moral state of his son's soul, associating with a pirate. Justice with Grace, Duty with Honor. Likely his Jamie thought that talk of an honor-debt could get them free from this little problem of that hulking warship looming over his bonnie black one—but a rather naïve thought, that was. Besides, it meant that he was forgetting the first part of the motto. Justice —evidently, Lord Norrington thought Jack was at fault for the downfall of his son. Or he would like him to believe.

After parting ways with Barbossa, Jack hadn't met anybody worthy of properly playing the game with, and so he felt rather annoyingly rusty. The rum, however, was helping. A free hand stroked the deck, affectionately, then went up to his neck and pulled out the chained emerald ring, which he held up to the sun. He realized he'd never asked James where the man had gotten that from—it hadn't looked like something the jewelers of Port Royal would stock. A gift to the potential Mrs Norrington, perhaps? But it was of fairly masculine design. Curious.

And irrelevant, Jack reminded himself. Think. Big warship. Lots of cannons. Anchored Black Pearl.

He looked over at the crowd of sightseers that was ever present—since the two most interesting ships in the harbor were docked so close to each other—and abruptly, he had a Plan.

Anamaria was at his side nearly immediately when he'd put the rum on the deck with an audible thump, matching Jack's wicked smile with a slow one of her own. "Ye got a plan, Cap'n?"

"Aye." And he told her. She laughed.

Over the next couple of days, members of the crew were encouraged to go to taverns and listen, or ask about, discreetly if they could, the sailors of importance aboard Poseidon's Wrath, especially with regards to their families, their inclinations, their loyalties and such.

Jack openly made his rounds of the traders, finding that they were, indeed, suddenly far more friendly to a privateer of a suspicious-looking ship, and in fact asked him a lot more questions than they usually did, about his route, his cargo, his crew.

The sailors of Poseidon's Wrath were shocked to realize that the slim, agile First Mate of the ship they were supposed to be watching, was in fact a woman, of color, and a very attractive one, who smiled prettily and confessed that she was terribly bored, and could they show her around their ship and chat a little? Since she was kept to guard duty while the Cap'n was out and about, and the warship looked right impressive, not to mention all the smart uniforms they wore...

Opium was traded ahead of schedule, and more opium than he had actually traded for, in fact. The trader looked slightly disappointed when Jack announced firmly that he only trusted his own crew to load things aboard his beloved ship.

Jack declined invitations to dinner, pleading business. He spent time speaking with his crew, especially with those who had done the rounds of the taverns. Aboard the Black Pearl, he only dined with Anamaria, while they discussed what they had both learned each day. Anamaria noted that the First Mate of the warship was the 'andsome sort, and looked speculative. Arguments, amusement, agreements.

James returned late one night, in a poor mood, and was not amenable to play, or chat, holding Jack tightly as he fell into a fitful sleep, as if afraid that the slighter man would disappear, at any moment. He left again early the next day, though not after noticing one of the empty rum bottles left over from the previous day's scheming, and demanding to know what Jack was up to. The roguish smile had been met with a growl, but James was distracted, as he'd had to go back to the townhouse.

While someone dressed remarkably like Captain Sparrow, though wearing a wide-brimmed hat, was wandering in a passable imitation of a drunken swagger about the Black Pearl, the real Jack, wearing the rough homespun garb of a small-time fisherman (regrettable thievery), haggled with a supply merchant, long enough to garner important details about the location and security of the pertinent warehouses.

The very pretty First Mate of the Black Pearl was back regularly at Poseidon's Wrath, so charmingly fascinated with the rich trappings of an East India Company ship that one day the warship's own First Mate was glad to show her into the currently unoccupied Captain's cabin, where she exclaimed artlessly over the opulence. She then abruptly engaged him in an extremely technical discussion on the workings of a galleon compared to the warship, and while he was peering out of a porthole at the Black Pearl to consider one of her more radical points, paper was quietly appropriated.

Jack studied a very boring, half-finished letter written in Lord Norrington's hand, something about trade distinctions between Bombay and Madras, and proceeded, very carefully, to forge the neat writing on appropriated notepaper bearing the impressive logo of the British East India Company. He'd finished by the time James was back, and had hidden his work, though it was obvious that James still suspected something amiss.

Jack, however, presented too pretty a picture slumped in his chair, shirt half open, gloved hands on the arms, legs spread, pouting his displeasure at the inattention, that the Commodore forgot to get along to demanding what he had been up to. James also didn't notice the sleeping powder in the water on the dresser when he took a drink afterwards, tired from sex.

With his double on the ship, Jack stole off again the next morning, and delivered the forgeries to select merchant-trader offices. There was immediate and utter confusion.

Around the same time, several new laborers, hard up for cash, showed up to work at the supplies warehouse, along with the regulars. In the mayhem that spread from nearby trader offices, some crates of foodstuffs and water went quietly missing.

The warship Poseidon's Wrath was instantly in disarray when merchant-traders approached it, each brandishing a very official-looking letter and demanding to be let aboard at once, to see Lord Norrington. At the same time, several ships tried to dock between the Black Pearl and the warship—or indeed, as close to the warship as possible. Apparently, there was an incoming Dutch East India Company naval strike from Colombo, the letter said, and had asked said merchant-traders not to panic and leave Madras for fear of disrupting the local economy, or some sort of matter. Denials from the bewildered crew only increased the panic.

The First Mate of Poseidon's Wrath watched, helplessly, as the Black Pearl weighed anchor—unable to give the order to open fire amidst so many people and ships, but he smiled to himself.

Out in open water, a warship moved into their path, flying the flag of parley. Jack squinted into the distance, and cursed as he saw the outline of yet another ship, waiting. He'd forgotten that when hunting foxes, there was indeed a hunter, but one caught them with hounds.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate, but ye wanted t'make a pretty mess o' me ship," Jack said with an impish smile. "Didn't realize ye 'ad quite th'armada."

"I admit to being disappointed in you, Captain," Lord Norrington said playfully. "I'd expected you to somehow make a run for it earlier. Redemption and Last Dance have been sitting out here for days. What did you give James as a sedative?"

"Nothin' dangerous," Jack said mildly. "He'd wake up in a couple hours, right as rain. If a little pissed."

A chuckle, then Lord Norrington sat back in his chair, waving for Jack to sit down in turn. "So, Captain, what do you think I'd want to do now?"

"I was waitin' fer ye t'tell me," Jack replied, slumping in the provided chair, crossing his boots up on the mahogany desk. "But I s'pose that if I were ye, an' liked shootin' people wi' cannons, I'd be demandin' fer the return of me son, give th'pirate some time t'get out o' range, an' then start th'hunt. 'ow many ships ye have, Lord Norrington? Enough t'catch me Pearl wi' a proper headstart?"

"Capital, Sparrow, capital," Lord Norrington smiled, clapping his hands slowly. "That was more or less exactly what I had originally intended to do with you and your Pearl, when I heard that you were on your way from Liberté. And no, the fox doesn't get to know how many hounds are used on the chase, or their pedigree."

"What changed?"

"James," Lord Norrington's expression stayed playful. "I didn't know you brought James—could never have expected that. My agents didn't mention anything about it at all. Even though, come to think of it, his correspondence never failed to mention your escapades in his jurisdiction. And despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you are a thief, a liar, a scoundrel, a pirate, likely insane, amoral, infuriating and capricious, for some reason I cannot fathom my son is utterly in love with you. Another man."

"An'?" Jack raised an eyebrow. That had been an impressive list of his traits.

"And so you can see my dilemma as a father, when the son is set to repeat his greatest mistakes," Lord Norrington smiled sharply. "Perhaps someday too, James will want a family, want adorable little boys to love who will call him father, whom he can take around his warship and teach them how to ride, to swim, to shoot, to fence, to live—he will meet an enchanting lady who won't run off with dashing blacksmiths—and he'd settle down, or try to. But there'd be you. And perhaps you'd both try to stay friends, for a while—acquaintances, or even stay away from each other, put an ocean between you. But a castle of cards built on want and social decree can fall, too easily."

"So, yer sayin' I should break things off?" Jack said, looking out of the porthole at the dark hull of his Pearl, up against the warship, then back at Lord Norrington.

Lord Norrington chuckled, mirthlessly. "If the son is anything like the father, then that wouldn't be simple now, would it? Hunters don't let go of things they catch easily, or with any good grace."

"An' ye be settin' up this net just so ye can give me a good talkin' to?" Jack let his gaze wander around the cabin. "Nice place, this. Ye get some o' th'trappings from blown up pirate ships?"

"I'm not one of those people who like to hang up the brushes of foxes as trophies," Lord Norrington said dryly. "But yes, I did arrange things so as to make sure you'd have to speak with me. Firstly, I'd like to know, with as little embellishment as you can manage, exactly what has happened ever since James resigned his commission and headed off to Tortuga."

Jack was getting a little tired of telling this particular story, but he obliged. After a few dry corrections whenever he attempted to embellish certain parts, he realized that although the other man didn't know the whole story, he knew enough pertinent facts, at least up until the Kraken had pulled down his ship. The bit involving Lord Beckett made Lord Norrington smile, faintly, in amusement, and Jack thought about wicked streaks and unpredictability. Finally, he concluded with an outline of their quest, though he glossed over their next ports of call. He also, as a matter of prudence, left out any mention of debauchery.

Finally, Lord Norrington leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm, his eyes slightly unfocused—just as James' became, whenever he was deep in thought. "I see. Thank you."

"No problems. Can we go now?"

A smirk, eerily like his lover's. "Not quite yet, Captain Sparrow."

"Mad 'bout what I did t'yer Lord Beckett?" Jack asked, casually. "T'was only a shot in th'shoulder, an' I didn't intend t'kill him, even after what 'e did t'me an' me kin."

"I know that much, Captain Sparrow," Norrington's manner didn't change in the least. "I knew that a boy, deeply grieved over witnessing his adoptive 'family' hung for piracy, should have been set free, to be given another chance due to his youth, without being branded an outlaw for the rest of his life. And that the shot had not been made in malice, nor with murderous intentions, but in self-defence. I cannot, however, stop resenting you for the change you caused. But that isn't what I had you brought here to talk about."

"What is, then?" Jack blinked. The recount had been mostly accurate.

A deprecatory grin. "I'm afraid I'd have to ask about your intentions towards my son."

There were a lot of salacious things that immediately came to mind, but Jack settled on some of the more mundane ones. "Get him safely back t'Port Royal, after o' all this. An' wait fer him t'decide on what 'e wants t'do." A fluid shrug. "M' capable o' comin' t' a compromise. But 'e's been 'avin' problems wi' th'pirate thing."

"And what if he decides to call it all off?" Lord Norrington asked, his eyes searching.

Jack suppressed the cold twist of pain just that suggestion had wrought in his gut, and shrugged again. "Then I s'pose I'd be off t'visit North Carolina. Never been there, meant t'go take a look sometime."

Lord Norrington wasn't shaken from the scent. "But you'd stay in the Caribbean. Most months."

"Paradise on earth, mate. An' I believe ye implied that real distance won't make a whit o' difference."

"Touché," Lord Norrington said, with an incline of his head.

"But I also think that if 'e ever 'ad little 'uns an' a good lass, 'e won't be runnin' around after me," Jack observed, as he looked at the neat correspondence on the desk. "Duty wi' Honor. So ye don't really 'ave t'worry much 'bout th'sins o' th'father, an' such."

Another wry smile. "Perhaps." A deep sigh. "Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm afraid that you're free to go."

"What? I mean, really?" Jack sat up straight, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "If ye be huntin' me, t'be sure I'd sink at least one o' yer bonny ships, if cornered again."

"No," Lord Norrington smiled, wanly. "For some reason, Captain Sparrow, despite you possessing all of the previous deficient traits of character and more, I also find myself instinctively liking you."

"Ye warmed up t'me, that's all," Jack drawled playfully, though some of his now hidden wariness was likely still obvious to sharp blue eyes.

"And therefore," the other man continued, as if he hadn't heard that, "I suppose I'd have to let the two of you have your little adventure in Canton." A smirk, when Jack blinked slowly. "James isn't very good at lying to his father, sad to say. Never has. Afterwards, I expect you to keep and guard the heart of a fine man with as much devotion and ingenuity as you show your black ship." A glance down at his correspondence. "Otherwise you may find that I do not only hunt foxes in the Indies."

"Agreed," Jack said, knowing that despite Lord Norrington's lighthearted demeanor, it had cost the other man much to say that, to set them both free to find their own ways.

Justice, with grace.

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