A Spirit from the Vasty Deep

Rating: PG

Warning: this is a ghost story so there has been a character death but not angsty or sad

Disclaimer: the Mouse still owns. I don't. Very sad.

Part the Ninth

Jack approached the doors to his cabin with a certain degree of trepidation. He had been hiding out in the galley again and had come away with his breakfast in hand, deciding in the light of day that he really needed to establish his mastery over the spectre who had taken to haunting his quarters. He tried to mask his feelings beneath an assured façade, looking over to Gibbs at the helm and daring him to say otherwise. Gibbs very sensibly kept his comments to a simple "Good morning, Jack," maintaining as inoffensive and dull an expression as he could manage. For a moment, Jack stared at the older man, suspicious at the innocent face. Deciding it was likely best not to pursue the matter, he sucked in a deep breath to bolster his courage, pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, kicking the door to behind him.

When inside the cabin, Jack peered around cautiously, looking for signs of the Commodore. For once, the cat was not about so he did not have to put up with the feline's ridiculous infatuation with the Englishman; he really hated it when the cat was suspended in mid-air or getting a friendly scratch from invisible fingers. He glanced around quickly but nothing seemed to be out of place. His table was as he had left it, the other things lying about the cabin were undisturbed. Jack put his breakfast down onto the mahogany surface gently and then he sat down to eat his meal, forcing himself to take normal sized bites and to chew it properly, refusing to allow the ghost to upset his digestion any more than he had already done. Bloody Navy.

By the time he had finished his bowl, Jack had relaxed enough to sit back and take out the charts he had brought back from Gibbs' quarters, tucked up in a tight roll under his arm, when he had come in with his meal. Shoving the bowl to one side, he laid out the sheets, carefully flattening them and weighting down the corners with assorted objects conveniently on the table. The top one had the area he wished to plot a course for, up to the Bahamas this time. He liked the area in general and the pickings could be good, especially away from Jamaica and the naval commander who had taken over Norrington's post, inheriting the hunter's pack of hounds.

Failing to find the rule, dividers and pencils where he remembered them being, he began to cast about in search of them. Muttering to himself, Jack flung open a drawer in the cabinet where he stowed most of the small bits and pieces that he kept handy and discovered some of the objects he sought neatly placed in plain sight. He had no memory of returning them there but decided he must have done so when his mind was on other issues, notably a certain ghostly nuisance he had aboard. Snatching them up, he closed the drawer and the cabinet doors, a habit for neatness most sailors had out of necessity, and marched back to the table and his chart.

Dropping heavily into his favourite chair, Jack set his implements down and arranged them to his satisfaction, realizing he was yet lacking the dividers. Huffing in annoyance, he made to stand and return to the cabinet when his wandering eye chanced to land on his hat, sitting atop the bedclothes in his hanging cot. A trick of the sunlight flooding the cabin caught something shiny gleaming brightly, hanging over the worn leather brim. He knew there was nothing shiny on his beloved hat, he wore his jewelry on his hands or in his hair, and there really should have been nothing there to draw the light. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Jack stood and stalked over to examine his precious more closely. The silver dividers were hanging on the brim, as bold as anything, and he knew, he really knew, right down to his cringing toes, they had not been put there by his own self. That left only one answer as none of the crew would dare to pull such a prank on their captain.

Scowling like a petulant child, Jack snatched up his dividers and returned to his table, not willing to give the Commodore the satisfaction of a comment. Settling into place again, he applied himself diligently to plotting the course he needed for the trip, eventually losing himself in the task and forgetting his woes for the time being. For his own pleasure, he continued the work and calculated a number of other courses here and there. When he came back to the present, Jack laid down his tools and sat back before looking around for something to drink. Course charting was thirsty work and he knew he had some wine stashed away in the cabinet beside his bed. He rose and stretched out to relieve a bit of stiffness acquired from sitting for so long and sauntered over to get his drink. Pouring out a glass (he preferred a glass, the better to enjoy the colour of the wine), Jack wandered over to the stern windows and stood looking out, his thoughts miles away.

Eventually he finished his drink, tilting his head back to drain the last drops from the finely etched glass and turned to go back to his work table. Jack tidied up his charts, returning the ones he no longer required to their proper place. The one with the course he was planning to take he left out, placing it over to one side. While he was in his present mood, he decided to update his logbook and personal journal; there was nothing urgent to do at the moment, the Pearl was running smooth and fair with Cotton and his winged fiend at the helm and the crew had tasks to attend to. He sat down again and pulled the bowl of fruit closer to his left hand before taking out the logbook. He inspected the fruit and selected a banana which seemed to be just at the perfect stage of ripeness and proceeded to delicately peel the yellow skin down from the sweet flesh hidden beneath, the fragrance tickling his nostrils enticingly.

Armed with his treat, Jack picked up a quill and dipped it carefully into the ink well he had at the ready and began to write in the logbook the summary of the past couple of day's events, course and observations of wind and weather. He very carefully left out any mention of the supernatural, he was not about to put anything into the log that could possibly have any hint that the captain was seeing things that were not there. As he wrote, Jack nibbled at his banana, masticating happily and swallowing the juicy pulp, being certain to run his tongue around his teeth to get every bit. The gold work in his mouth had no taste of its own but the sleek smoothness of the rich metal pleased his tongue, as was proper for a successful pirate captain. A golden smile hinted at success, at least in Jack's mind; quite the proper display for one of his rank and achievements.

Jack continued with his tasks, the log not taking much effort on his part, given the easy journey they were presently enjoying. He blew on the ink to hurry its drying and when he was satisfied that the fresh entries would not smear, he closed the book and shoved it to the middle of the mahogany table. He was ready to begin his private journal and that would take a deal longer to get the recent happenings down in any semblance of order and sanity. He sat gazing at the page, gnawing around a hangnail as he pondered the situation. He made his decision and took up a fresh pen he had prepared and hunkered over the book to begin his accounts of the supernatural presence which had elected to make itself to home aboard the Black Pearl.

It was a difficult entry to make and Jack persisted in his endeavour for some time, occasionally having to scratch out a line and rework it, frequently pausing to reconsider his wording. He leaned back in his chair and took a long quaff of the wine he had at his elbow before he read back what he had just laboured over. Jack shook his head in dismay; despite experiencing the occurrences first hand, even he would have scoffed mightily at the tale had he heard in some public house of an evening ashore. Sighing in frustration but determined to get it down properly, he bent again to his onerous task.

Several minutes had passed when a soft sound infiltrated his consciousness, causing Jack to sit up and look around for the source of the noise. He could not hear anything untoward aboard the Pearl; all the sounds were fitting for the time and place. The cat had wandered in while he was working but she was sound asleep on his bed, shedding great gobs of fur all over it as usual. However, she was not the source of the sound that had roused him. As that thought passed through his mind, the feline gave a rumbling snore and turned over to spread more of that blasted hair across his bedding. He listened intently for a while longer before deciding it must have been the cat after all and returned again to his journal.

This time the sound that intruded upon him was a bit louder and more sustained, a distinct repeated thudding that he could not quite hear but which seemed to vibrate on the tiny hairs inside his ears, tickling him nastily. Jack kept his position and let his eyes search out the source of the disturbance, even to the dark corners and shadows around his cabin. Failing to spy anything out of place, he sat up sharply and stood, the quill tumbling to the deck and his chair scraping the oak boards with the violence of his motion. He had a growing suspicion as to what, or rather, who was disturbing his peace and Jack Sparrow was not about to let that particular Who go unchallenged.

"All right, I know you're here and what you're up to. Well, it's not going to work, mate, and that is that. So you can just take yourself off to wherever it is you go and haunt somebody else's quarters for a change."

Jack paused, waiting for an answer from his resident spectre. Nothing happened, no voice in the air, nothing whatsoever. He found he was annoyed at the lack of response and then was further annoyed with himself for being upset about Norrington's apparent absence in the first place. On the one hand, he was glad there was no ghostly presence hanging about but he found himself disliking being ignored by the blighter. Jack still had neither forgotten nor forgiven the insultingly snide remarks when they had first encountered one another down on the docks that day Elizabeth succumbed to her corset and went swimming unexpectedly.

Snorting in satisfaction at vanquishing the foe, Jack returned to his work and settled again. The Pearl was sailing along sweetly; the cat… he paused while he peered over to where he had last seen her only to find she was now ensconced on his favourite pillow. He would have thrown something at her but refrained, he did not want his ship, the cat or the cook to reciprocate with the retaliations he knew they were capable of. He was not truly angry with the cat, anyway; in fact, he was quite attached to the old girl. He turned back to his journal and continued with his account, wanting to finish the section before picking up the journal wherein he was penning the adventures of one Jack Sparrow, Pyrate.

Jack scratched away happily once he had finished the short bit about the latest ghost on board the Pearl; it was much more fun to write about his own life. He huffed rather smugly to himself, at least he was alive, not some undead creature making itself unwelcome aboard decent pirate ships. The pen's nib was getting a bit too soft so he paused and took up his pen knife to shape a new firmer point on the quill, admiring his skill as he did so. Carefully placing it in the centre of the book in the convenient gully made by the binding, Jack rose and sauntered over to the doors to the deck and opened them, stepping out long enough to enjoy the sun and to have a good look at how his ship was running. Her canvas wings were filled to a nicety and she was as sailing as smoothly as he could desire, a thing of beauty to his doting eyes.

He ran lightly up to the quarterdeck to stand by his helmsman, remembering to stand just outside the reach of the winged menace's heavy beak and avaricious eye. He was content to let Cotton handle the helm, not needing to take the wheel in hand at the moment. Jack's feet were bare and he could feel the vibrations in the deck, using them to read his beloved ship's passage through the sea. The Pearl felt as content as he did, at any rate that was how Jack read the sensations. He wandered over to the side and braced his forearms comfortably along the rail, absently stroking the wood as he did. He looked down the tall black sides to check the frothy wave breaking back from the Pearl's bow, admiring the contrast between the rich colours of the sea, the dark hull and the sea foam. He peered back to check their wake and was satisfied to see it forming true and steady, spreading outward in a transverse line.

Jack did not feel like returning to his cabin and decided to have a run up the rigging. He had always enjoyed the sensation of being so high above the rest of the world and up there, he had a measure of peace and joy. The main was the highest of the three masts, therefore it was up those shrouds and then higher up until he could perch on the main t'gallant's yard, one hand casually gripping a line. Up here, he felt the sun's warmth and turned his face up to her for a moment before returning his gaze out to the horizon. A horizon unspoiled by land or ships or anything else, just the perfect arch of the world beyond his vision.

TBC