Plot bunny put up for adoption by Order of Chaos, found while passing by, moved in under the table and made itself to home, gnawing on the table legs. Like I needed another one. Title is adapted from Shakespeare, with apologies. (Glyndwr; Act 3, Scene 1; 1 Henry IV)

The Bunny #49

James dies, becomes a ghost (can be seen by cats and the psychically inclined) and ends up haunting the Black Pearl, who, incidentally, had rather missed having the undead around and was glad to have him. Her Captain was another matter.

Disclaimer: anything other than original characters belong to the Kingdom of the Mouse, worse luck, and no profit will ever be made from this. Enough of this nonsense, on to the story.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

A Spirit from the Vasty Deep:

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.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

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.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

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 has 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, at least 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.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

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 just 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 a 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.

TBC

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