[A/N: Had an incredibly busy week.

String Theory

6

Particularly Good

"We're still in Tortuga," Norrington said, rather unnecessarily, as the world refocused back into the Black Gull.

"O' course we are. Where'd ye think the good rum was?" Jack stared as a lady of the night brushed past him with a coy smile. She had one more pair of limbs than was really normal, adorned with gorgeous mother-of-pearl bangles. Norrington let out a soft gasp of astonishment. Quietly, Jack hissed, "Missy, we're in the wrong Tortuga!"

"No, the right one," the Black Pearl inclined her head when a scruffy buccaneer from the table immediately behind Jack waved at her. Via peripheral vision, Jack could tell that while the buccaneer in question looked human, the rest of the men drinking with him were very obviously not. Scales, feathers and fur had as much representation in the complement of customers as human hair and skin, and rather disconcertingly, nobody was brawling, only sitting peaceably in groups and chatting in various languages, some of which he did not recognize.

If this was a hallucination, it was a particularly good one.

Jack was staring unabashedly at pair of female lions seated in an alcove and lapping rum from a bowl when the Pearl caught him by the arm and dragged him through the press of bodies towards the bar, motioning for Norrington to follow. The pirate-tavern fragrance of gunpowder, sweat, rum, whisky and tobacco here also underlined with warm animal scent.

The bartender was (or looked) human. He was a tall, thin man with a rather long neck and small black eyes. His black hair was combed neatly against his skull, and his smile was concise, thin, as he spotted the Pearl approach him. "Raven." His gaze turned to Jack and Norrington, and his smile disappeared, his high brow furrowing. His speech was fussily British and carefully enunciated, terribly out of place with his open shirt and patchy gray breeches, polishing a tankard. "You do know I have certain standards, about here? Several of my guests are sensitive."

The Pearl spoke quickly before Jack could make any comment about that insulting remark. Standards, indeed! "We've just come out of the Locker, Cormie."

Cormie's frown smoothened out. "I see. In that case, I have washing facilities at the back, and my daughters will fix up your clothing while you are cleaning up, gentlemen."

"Cleaning up…!" Jack got only that far before the Pearl stepped back heavily and neatly on his toe, causing him to drown the rest of his words in a yelp of pain.

She smiled reassuringly at Cormie, who had raised an eyebrow. "Thank you very much, Cormie. I'll have to talk to you about certain matters. One moment, please." The Pearl dragged Jack to a side. "Jack. I really need to speak with Cormie, and I don't think I can trust you to wander around outside Tortuga-Below without getting into trouble, even if James accompanies you."

Jack pouted, and turned to glare at Norrington, who had followed them: the man was chuckling. "That man's far more troublesome than me, luv. An' I don't know 'bout this bathin' business, in the middle o' the World Between, Lords know what ye'll catch, all this dirt is protective, missy, an' look, I can swear by…"

"Swear all you like, even if you were to just sit quietly in the street trouble would find you," the Pearl said mercilessly, then her eyes softened and she clasped Jack's wrists in both hands, her expression puppyishly beseeching. "Jack, please. For me?"

Jack groaned. "Now that's just unfair an' ye know it."

"It's just a bath, Sparrow." Norrington said dryly. "God knows the both of us need one."

"Now see here," Jack whirled, stalking close and shaking a finger under Norrington's nose, "Washin' could remove all manner o' protective layers that would then cause me t'catch all manner o' diseases o' what have ye on account o' me not havin' anymore layers due to the aforementioned forced bathin'!"

"I can assure you that bathing is not detrimental to your health," Norrington was fighting a smirk, and failing miserably. "Considering where we just escaped from, a bath is a fairly trivial issue to be upset over, isn't it?"

Jack was about to retort further, when the Pearl hugged him tightly from the side. "Thank you, Jack!" She turned to Norrington, mouthing theatrically, 'Make sure he doesn't run off by himself', waved, and walked back to Cormie, who gestured at one of the Gull's silent, thin waitresses to lead them away.

--

Norrington rolled his eyes when Jack stared dubiously at the pails of hot water lined up against the wall. There was a low wooden bench, over the warm flagstones, and a tray containing several bars of plain white soap, sponges and a couple of shaving razors. A dour-faced, rake-thin, middle-aged woman, despite their protests, had divested them of their gear in exchange for yellowing white bathrobes and soft slippers. Above the pails was a rectangular mirror, unadorned and frosted by steam from the hot water. Floating in two of the pails were smaller buckets, to scoop.

The pirate scowled when Norrington wasted no time in removing the robe and folding it in a dry corner of the room, placing the slippers on top of it. He didn't doubt that the ingrained ponce in the other man that made him think it absolutely normal and manly to wear wigs and tights also made him far too fond of bathing. Though he had to admit that the man had a very pert arse. Not to mention that he didn't seem to be wearing any amount of fat at all, despite being a higher-up Navy toff: from what Jack could see, the man was simply toned muscle, marred now and then by white scars.

Norrington peered at him from the mirror and arched an eyebrow irritably when he realized Jack was staring. He had already seated himself on a far corner of the bench, and was engaged in dowsing himself in hot water. "What?"

Jack managed to force his jaw to work. "Nothin'." He smirked, to recover some of his usual sang-froid. "Yer as pale as a sheltered flower o' English womanhood again, Commodore. Or was it Admiral? Ye never said."

"I never thought you one for titles, Sparrow," Norrington ignored the question. The other man's pale skin was flushing a pretty rosy pink from the hot water and the steam, as he tried to rinse the dirt out of his hair. "Now if it's too much of an affront to your personal dignity to soap, at least rinse."

The pirate pinched his nose. As much as he was fairly free with either side of the fence, in terms of sexuality, Jack knew there were further priorities overriding the entertainment that could be had in copping looks (or perhaps 'accidental' feels) of an ex-Commodore who was cleaning up surprisingly well. Without the bitterness, the cold air of forbidding superiority, silly wig and poncy clothes, Norrington was a surprisingly handsome man, when not trying to hang/quarter/stab/double-cross him.

For example, his finely tuned sense of survival had picked up the tension of their female escort, not to mention how he knew from personal experience how heavy frocks and petticoats could hide all manner of nefarious weaponry. He could also pick out soft breathing from behind the door, and the occasional faint, sharp clack of metal on flagstones, as a guard leaned the point of their blade on the ground.

Still, for all he knew they could merely be wary of himself and the ex-Commodore as potential thieves, but it never hurt in his particular vocation to be careful. Jack sidled around the bench to the single window open and set high into the wall, and peered up at it. He could get through easily for sure, with his slighter build, but Norrington would have to squeeze. Also, it was rather higher than what he could reach if he jumped…

Also, it would likely be very suspicious if the both of them were quiet. Talking while thinking about something absolutely different was one of Jack's specialties, however. "Did Pearl fill ye in on what happened after ye scarpered off back t'Beckett?"

Norrington spared him a cool stare, even as he began soaping his hair. "No. We were rather occupied." He paused, then added, somewhat hesitantly, "Whatever happened, though, after my… my death? Beckett was going to meet all of you with the Armada, at Shipwreck Cove. Are you dead, too? Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry t'disappoint, luv," Jack flashed Norrington a cheeky grin as he picked up the now-empty first bucket and carried it as noiselessly as he could to the window. "I came down here over me girl, through other means. Beckett is dead, Davy Jones is dead, yer Armada seems t'have returned to bonny England."

"Dead?" Norrington sounded incredulous, and Gods, did those green eyes look amazingly pretty up close when widened in disbelief. "How?"

"Sea turtles." Jack upturned the bucket carefully under the window, and got onto it as noiselessly as he could. He could reach the edge now. Good. He turned back to notice Norrington frowning at him. Before the man could give away what he was doing, Jack quickly put a finger to his lips, pointed at the door, then drew the finger across his throat.

Norrington narrowed his eyes, but played along. Smart man. "You spout all sorts of nonsense."

In any case, from this position he had a fantastic view of the other man's frontal regions, which showed that a preference for wigs or tights otherwise, Norrington was certainly amply endowed. Jack restrained the urge to salivate figuratively and kicked his brain back into the problem at hand. He carefully gripped the edge of the window, kicked off the slippers and hauled himself up, while walking his feet up the brick wall. Thankfully, they were only a couple of storeys up, and the drop was into an alley. Escape was entirely feasible, even though they would stick out like a sore thumb on the streets, running about nearly naked. Hmm.

"I'm not pullin' yer leg, man," Jack continued talking, as he looked down back into the room. "Everythin' ended up happily, through ways ye probably wouldn't believe me even if I told ye, aye?"

"How did Beckett die?"

"Shot up by me Pearl and the Dutchman."

"That's not possible," Norrington scoffed, "The Endeavor is a ship of the line. There is no feasible way two galleons could have faced it down, even the Pearl and the Dutchman. I suppose that is how Davy Jones perished, betraying Beckett?"

"Under yer command, maybe. Beckett be only a businessman, he has no idea 'bout real command. Also, wot happened t'the Dutchman be a long story that don't bear repeatin' here."

The other alternative was to actually force their way out, but Jack tended to prefer to avoid confrontations with armed people where he himself was unarmed whenever possible.

Or, they could simply assume everybody's best intentions, though in Jack's experience people tended not to guard doors with bared blades unless they intended to do nefarious and lethal things to his person.

Right.

He had: one somewhat confused ex-Commodore, five pails of hot water, two small pails, two empty pails, a door that opened outward, and a bench.

Put that way, it would be too easy.

The World Below scented stronger than the dream-world, and here, the severed stump of his hand seemed to burn with agony. Anada'ti shook his head, hissing to himself, as he loped down the corridors of the Humanchild building, sniffing and snorting. He could sense the Raven. He could sense the Lost Ones. Kill her first, then the Lost.

His Pack had refused to come. Refused! But the air of the World Below was acid to their kind, and the pain from each breath of air sucked into his abused lungs was becoming maddening. The curse of the First Children that had banished them from any sight of the sun had weakened considerably under Coyote's influence, but it was still there.

He would kill her, then return to the colder peace of the Realms Beyond, to rest. Kill her, kill the Lost.

--

"So what brings you to Tortuga, Raven?" Cormie asked, as he ushered the Pearl into his private study, in the backrooms of the inn. The room was elegant, in rich tones of mahogany and red velvet upholstery, with a glass case of books and a gorgeous antique writing desk with neatly stacked papers. Behind the desk was a large oil painting of a cormorant, perched on a cliff ledge, wings outstretched, a silvery fish in its beak.

"Passing through," the Pearl said, sitting down in one of the two plush chairs before the desk, as Cormie sat behind it. "I ran into a little bit of trouble in the Locker, and had to get out any way I could. Have you seen Teague about?"

"That old pirate? Can't say I have, though I heard that he's back Underside." Cormie grinned slyly. "Be that because of you, Raven? Heard the Immortal's been sweet on you since you helped him out of the Locker."

"I wouldn't know," the Pearl said innocently, though that was good news indeed. If Teague was Underside, she had far more allies than she had thought. "Didn't hear any rumors about why he's back Underside?"

"Heard he visited that small fishing village… whatever the name is… full of those small brownish people…"

"Temasek?"

"Singapore-Below, aye," Cormie nodded sagely. "So maybe he's just visiting old friends."

"Unlikely. Teague never got on very well with many of the First Court, let alone Anmar." That sounded less encouraging. If Teague was truly visiting the First Court, then there had to be momentous business indeed, and the man would be too busy to be of much aid. Still, she supposed that she could simply just return to the Surface, but both her favorites, Jack and Hector, seemed hell-bent on the Aqua de Vida. And there was what Grandmother Mole had said. "Do you know what happened to Petrel?"

"Caught by Coyote centuries ago. You knew that."

"Just wondering," the Pearl murmured. "No notice that he's been free?"

"No, he and I were always good friends. If he had freed himself, he would have come to me. Why?" Cormie cocked his head at her, reminiscent of his true form.

"Something that Grandmother Mole said to me in the Locker," the Pearl hesitated a moment before telling Cormie. He was an old friend, but too much time associating with the pirates on this side of the sunset had rubbed off. "She mentioned something about the stormy petrel."

"The 'stormy petrel' is also a Humanchild figure of speech, Raven. I'm surprised you didn't know." Cormie had always prided himself on his knowledge of the Other Children. "It means the herald of poor tidings."

"Well, that's amazingly unhelpful," the Pearl muttered.

"Why, what is? And what else did Grandmother Mole say?"

"Nothing I feel I should share until I find out more about it," the Pearl shrugged. "Well. Thank you then, Cormie. I'll have a drink at the bar with you while waiting for my friends."

"For old times," Cormie agreed, then pulled a pistol out from his drawer, pointing it at the Pearl. "But times long past."

"Cormie!" the Pearl was stunned.

"I think Coyote will be very interested in whatever Grandmother Mole may have told you, my dear. If you cooperate, this doesn't even have to be uncomfortable."

"I don't believe you, Cormorant," the Pearl exploded heatedly, "You hate Coyote! He captured Heron and Kingfisher! Your best friends! Hell's blood, you were the one who hid me and helped me to get to the other side of the sunset, when he first started hunting me! I've always trusted you!"

"It's all about survival in the end, Raven," Cormie's smile was a little sad, though his eyes were cold. "I am one of the few First Children blessed with trueborn descendants. On a scale of interests, theirs outweigh yours. Now, what did Grandmother Mole say to you?"

The Pearl was lining up the filthiest invective she could remember from her best-beloved, when the door splintered and Anada'ti forced his way through, hissing, the severed stump of his hand flailing, the other gouging long troughs in the side of a bookshelf, slavering in brutish, bloodthirsty excitement. "Raven! Raven!"

The Pearl hurriedly dived to a corner of the study as Anada'ti lunged. The spindly, but large creature barreled into the table, forcing the edge into Cormie's stomach. The traitorous creature yelped in surprise, stumbling back: the gun in his hands went off with a deafening bang in the enclosed room, the bullet burying itself in the plaster ceiling. The Pearl took this as her cue to start running for the door…

--

Cormorant's eldest and second daughter frowned at each other outside the door to the baths, as the two Other Children began to shout at each other. Humanchildren were a noisy lot, however, and they ignored it.

"Yer not getting' me anywhere near all that fuckin' soap!"

"Sparrow. Getting a little cleaner wouldn't hurt."

There was a splash, and a shriek from the smaller one. "Ye… ye scurvy bilge-rat!"

"Much better." The taller one with the deeper voice sounded smug.

"I'm going t'kill ye fer that!"

The daughters looked worried. Their father had left specific instructions that the two Humanchildren were to be alive. If a brawl broke up, they would have to break it up. Quickly, the elder daughter opened the door, only to see the smaller Humanchild sling a pail forcefully at them. She stumbled back, squawking, dropping the blade as she brought up her hands automatically to shield her face from the hot water, knocking herself and her sister sprawling onto the ground.

They looked up to see that both Humanchildren had, with surprising speed, taken both their blades. The small one smirked. "Too easy. Now, ladies, we'll be troublin' ye both fer our clothes."

--

With both of their guards and the other female they had been taken to see in a side-room marched into the bathroom and the bench levered up under the door and the remaining pails of hot water up against it to prevent them from opening it, Jack and Norrington began to dress hurriedly. Their clothes had been patched up surprisingly quickly, washed and dried by what Jack rather thought was likely magic. Norrington's coat was even starched, as he put it on and sheathed the stolen blade at his hip. Jack felt nebulously disappointed, as Norrington even buttoned up his shirt before pulling on the washed baldric, and had to kick himself mentally again. Concentrate. Pearl probably in danger. People with the best of intentions didn't usually enter a bathhouse with drawn blades, whatever the context.

Norrington reached that conclusion at the same time as he did. "We have to find Pearl… the Black Pearl," he amended, but Jack merely nodded tightly as he buckled belts over his sash. "Where to start? I doubt we can look through all the rooms for her."

Just at that moment, there was an almighty crash and the sound of wood splintering, somewhere above them, and a roar of hatred, pain and hunger. Norrington flinched, and darted out of the door, starting to run.

"Hey… hey!" Jack followed quickly in his flailing gate. "Where're ye goin'?"

"That's the sound of one of the monsters in the Locker," Norrington replied tensely over his shoulder, as the ran towards the stairway at the end of the corridor they were in. "She might be in danger!"

At the stairway, the Pearl herself rather ruined the dramatic-rescuer moment by barreling into Norrington with a squeak, making him stagger backwards into Jack, catching himself quickly on the edge of the balustrade before they all went sprawling. She grinned with joyous relief when she realized who she had run into. "Had a nice bath, boys?"

"Just in time t'wear out our welcome, I be thinkin'," Jack pointed out dryly, as heavy stomping sounds could be heard on the floor above them.

"This way."

Their boots seemed too loud on the flagstones as they ran through what looked like a neatly stacked storage room lit with shuttered candles, full of wrapped crates and barrels, and out into the taproom. Pearl bodily dragged Jack by the wrist to the thick of the tables, closely followed by Norrington, just in time for Anada'ti to burst out of the door, howling for blood. Shouts and snarls and invectives, as the more sober pirates leaped to their feet: then their less sober compatriots seemed to take this as their cue to begin to throw punches.

At the brawl that ensued, Pearl managed to pull them both safely out of the inn and into the winding maze of alleys identical to Tortuga-Above, which Jack knew by heart. Pearl ceded him the lead, and he slowed only when they were several twists away from the Gull. "We'll get t'the harbor an' nick a ship. Sorry, Missy."

The Pearl sniffed. "I suppose we only need a small one. We just need to get to Port Royal."

"What's in Port Royal?" Jack inquired, just as Norrington asked, "Why?"

"Because I have friends there that can hide us for a little, up until we find out where the rest of my crew went to, or what to do next," the Pearl said patiently, as Jack led them unerringly through the alleys, circling occasionally to get away from wider streets.

"Friends," Norrington's tone was dubious.

"With friends like those we just met, Missy, yer better off just makin' enemies."

-tbc-