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Betwixt Hammer & Frizzen	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The Right of Parlay

It was many hours later and after she had seen to both crews and walked every inch of the sloop and discovered that, aye, it was carrying illegal whiskey, that she did go back to the cabin and sit down. While she had been doing these things, Ragetti had seen to those men wounded, including the captain of the Odysseus. She had decided, at the spur of a moment, to keep the unknown man waiting...guessing. So, she had seen him from a bustling distance, but kept that distance.

The crew of the captured corvette would be receiving their rations at the same time her own men did. All would be eating and sleeping aboard the Black Pearl until she had decided on what to do with the smugglers and their cache of whiskey. The Pearl had dragged the Odysseus out away from the burned docks and its plantation. Now, the land was a green line on the horizon, two leagues to the west of their current position. With the anchors set and the sails dropped, they were going nowhere...for the moment.

Henriette had ordered supper to be cooked; the captured crew were to be treated as prisoners, but with a measure of gentility. Until she knew the nature of the situation, she was not going to toss them overboard. Not when this could be a lucrative venture. So, now, as the sun was sinking over the island of Hispaniola, she sat in her candlelit cabin with an open bottle of the whiskey and two cups. She had sent for the Odysseus' captain, who had yet to make any demand of parlay on her. Which was unusual, in itself.

The nature of her actions was unusual, true enough, as a few of her crew had pointed out. It wasn't a pirate's way to linger at the scene. But, she had declared that the watch would be set and the sails and cannons kept standing ready. The sails of the Odysseus had been dropped and stowed, to prevent sudden flight. The holds of the corvette had been emptied, taken aboard the Pearl. For safe-keeping. For plain-out keeping. It wasn't like any whiskey she had ever had, before. It was almost sweet. As if the makers had cooked it with a measure of clover or sugarcane. It wasn't quite mash but it wasn't rum, either. T'was a rare thing.

She sipped at the whiskey and waited. She was still considering the taste and the burn of it when the cabin's door opened and a tall figure bent his head to enter, just ahead of Mullroy and Murtaugh, who had played escort. Once they had closed the door again, she silently studied her prisoner.

In the glass-encased candlelight, he was...

A pang of recognition went through her, yet she kept her own council. Aided by the agony of her shoulder and chest. She couldn't jump or jerk or do much of anything at all, physically, on that one side. And it didn't urge her to speak suddenly, either, even when she found herself only wanting to say one name. It wasn't that particular, hated individual, of course, for this man was younger...but the resemblance was shocking. Henriette lifted her cup and sipped at the warm, bitter-sweet whiskey, playing nonchalant.

He stood at the closed door, hands folded behind his back, and watched her in return.

The Odysseus' young captain was a very tall, slender man---slender, but strong-looking. The word wiry did come to her mind, as she watched him in the silence that was broken only by the noise of the men outside, ondeck. He seemed to be in his early twenties, in the candle-light. His shoulders were neither very broad nor very slim, but did fit the nature of his form. He was clean, spit-polished, and carefully dressed despite the fact that---as she knew---he was wounded in the upper left chest. His coffee-dark hair was long and sleekly pulled back to a green-ribboned knot at the white collar of his white shirt. His brow was clear, his nose strong, his mouth a curling flat line bearing only a hint of rose. His eyes, seemingly dark, were solemn and full of thought and she could see as how they did travel over her and over the room, seeking out everything as might be discovered. His chin and cheekbones were just as strong as his nose and brow. He was stubbled, but that was no deterrent here---and no surprise, after the long afternoon's work.

He had the fine-boned look that came with only the English aristocracy.

Before her gaze, he did not flinch. He wore black boots and breeches so white as to seem like ivory. His legs, of what she could see, seemed well-formed. A clean white shirt and jabot could be seen under the line of a black silk long-waistcoat. Over this, he did wear a black frock-coat; there was the silver frogging at the sleeves and buttons and collars as she had seen with her spyglass. He did not wear his hat, now, but she did recall seeing it before---it was a plain, black oiled-wool tricorn as would go well with the rest of his clerical, altogether officious kit.

He looked almost like a merchant for the East India Trading Company.

The captain of the Odysseus was a handsome devil. A remarkable specimen.

She found herself wanting to shoot him again.

It was a nearly over-powering desire.

"Permission to speak, Madame Captain." His voice was low, a vibrating softness.

Henriette broke herself free of the reverie and tipped the glass once more, speaking against its lip to hide her surprise and discomfort. "Aye. If you'll be thinking it can do you any good here, then speak."

That seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he shifted from one foot to the other and then gave a tense half-smile. "This is a pirate ship. You are a pirate captain and I have watched you here today. You are a fair and fierce lady and rarely have I ever seen such work as what you did, in capturing us. The dock was a brilliant move, if I might say so, but even more so was your blockade. One might assume that you have had much experience in taking corvettes, but I confess to finding myself surprised at your..."

Now, he stopped and his half-smile faded.

"You want to ask me age." She managed to set her glass down with some modicum of care, not pulling overmuch on the sling or her wounded side. There, sitting up in the chair, she poured whiskey in the empty cup and then refilled hers. She nodded at it, without saying a word of invite. "I am ten and six. As far as I can reckon."

That seemed to discomfort him even more. But, he pressed on, not shifting his position again. His hands stayed behind his back. "I know that pirates do not take men alive unless there is some horrible purpose at hand. What, if I may ask, do you want with the crew of my ship? What do you want with me? Why have you delayed the verdict?"

Now, she winced as a quick pain shot through her wound and she nearly doubled over. The willow bark could do only so much. She didn't dare take any opium, yet. Not until she had decided on what should be done with her captives and their ship. Only when everything was fixed and settled could she dare to set a mate's watch in her stead and take a longer rest, to let her chest heal a bit. She wondered as to how this man could stand up straight before her, wounded so similarly. He'd had willow bark, too, but nothing else for the agony he must be experiencing.

As she swallowed bile that swam up her throat at the surge of burning in her torn muscles, Henriette waved a hand at the seat opposite hers. She managed to sound quite pleasant, despite how harried she felt in this very moment. "Please, Captain. Do sit and take some whiskey. Supper will be served soon."

He nodded and came forward; as he did, his hands came out from behind his back. Henriette had a second of quiet panic at the thought that he might have a pistol. But, it was only his hat. Which he did lay down on the closest sideboard. Then, he did go so far as to remove his frock-coat and drape it over the back of the offered chair. He sat, folding his long legs. She fought the urge to laugh at her own sense of dismayed fear---he was offering her nothing but gracious civility in the face of his defeat. The mark of an aristocrat---which, the more she looked at him, the more she was convinced of.

If he was who she believed he might be---

Then, he was a rare prize. More rare and special than his smuggled whiskey.

He took up the cup she had poured and swallowed some of it before addressing her again, his tone still soft and calm, his face showing nothing but gentility. "I have been inhospitable, Madame Captain. You would perhaps need to hear my name? I know you have not gotten it from any of my men. None of them would dare to say it aloud." With another of his half-smiles, he inclined his head. "I am Captain Charles Norrington. Your servant, madame."

Oh, bugger. She was right about him. He really was that man's brother.

Who else could he be, looking the way he did?

After being stranded up the Pantano River in the after of serving aboard the Cathay Rose, she had run into Commodore Norrington four different times, all of them associated with her search for Jack Sparrow. Once, the first time she was in Port Royal, taking passage on a packet boat to Tortuga; the second, when she had gone back to Port Royal, looking for Jack again, after her mum had said that Jack had stolen the boat. Everyone as had any information on where Jack might have been headed had said that he was probably headed for Port Royal with that boat. She had ended up in jail, then. The third time...that was where she had made a stand in loyalty and created an enemy in the naval officer who held her fate in his pirate-hunting hands. The fourth time---when he had let her out of the cell at Fort Charles the night before he headed out to chase the Black Pearl---had simply confused the hell out of her. She'd taken advantage of his offer and run to join the first crew as what would have her as a cabin boy.

She had known Norrington on sight, by then. So had he, apparently.

With the memory of it all in her mind, she nodded at her captive's introductions. And managed to reciprocate, after a long drink of the smooth whiskey. "Captain Henriette De la Hoya."

"De la Hoya." He mused, tilting his head a bit to the side as he studied her; it made his eyes more visible and she did realize that they were not black. But, their color was difficult. "A Spanish name and an accent which is nearly English, but not near enough. You speak with the voice of experience, but you are only ten and six. I must say that you are an enigma, Madame Captain."

"I'm more than that." She recovered herself completely, then.

They did sit in silence again; he watched her from under his brows with that same thoughtful expression on his fine-boned, handsome face and she wondered at his smuggling---if that was all he was doing, here in these waters. At last, the quiet rubbed her entirely the wrong way.

"What be the problem, sir, that you watch me so hard?" Henriette resisted the urge to reach into her shirt and scrub at the bandages. "Do you think I might have you cooked for me supper? I've beeve enough. I haven't had your ship sunk and your crew are, for the most part, still alive."

He choked on the drink of whiskey he was taking and, once he'd regained himself, Captain Norrington coughed behind his wrist, which did cause his cup to nearly slosh. He was a little breathless, flushed, as he answered. "I've heard worse things of pirates, Madame Captain. What might look to be merciful can be quite deceiving. I can only think you must have something truly terrible in mind, for me."

Oh, he was a smart one. She found herself smiling in reaction.

"Well." She drawled, slowly moving to push her feet up onto the table. It nearly cost her all sense of consciousness. Finished, though, she forced herself to relax and give him a smile that would've made Jack proud. "I do find meself wondering at that, too, Captain. I find meself in possession of the worthless brother of a pirate-hunting dog as what did go by the name of Admiral James Norrington. I don't see why I shouldn't sink your ship, kill your men, and then press-gang you into me own crew."

The natural look of genteel nobility disappeared to be replaced by an expression of real surprise. Captain Charles Norrington sat forward in his chair---he winced visibly---and the hand he held his cup in nearly brushed her booted foot. "You know of my brother Jamie, then?" He stopped, frowned, and then his face shifted into a look of glum resignation as he sat back, slouching into his chair. "What am I saying? You're a pirate. Of course, you know of my brother. He's a notorious pirate-killer. Well, I will understand entirely if you find it necessary to destroy me and my ship, but I would ask that you might show enough clemency to spare my crew."

Just then, there came a knock on the door. A scarf-wearing crewman stuck his head in at her call-out and asked if she was ready for supper. She waved him on in and carefully removed her boots from the table. As she did, four of her crew came with platters and food and more candles, these standing in ornate silver. The table was set as she watched Captain Norrington over the rim of her cup in silence. He did the same, keeping his dark, thoughtful eyes on her. It was disturbing, how much he did look like his brother.

Once they were alone again and the food steamed between them, a feast for all the senses, she offered him the advantage. "Please...have at it, Captain. There won't be any gentlemanly behaviors here. Especially, now, as we've only two good hands between us."

Captain Charles Norrington looked at his hand and then at hers. His brows went up, his mouth quirked, and he became something far more intriguing than an aristocratic smuggler whose stiff-spined brother had made a career of being the bane of piratedom. "Madame Captain, it shall have to suffice."

Dinner was a mess of an affair; cutting food was a lost point of etiquette, one that she did honestly lament. Living as a pirate had never stopped her from being clean or polite when the occasion did call for such. Or when it suited her purposes, such as it did here and now. Being forced to eat roasted pork and apples without the benefit of a knife's help created a reason to laugh---on both sides. And, for a few moments, she was able to forget that this was her prisoner---a man she had taken captive.

But, then, as they were topping off their cups once more and nibbling at bits of the food which had fallen to the plates in the haste to actually manage food with only one working hand, the negotiations did continue.

"Have you any idea how hard I have worked to keep this particular assignation place a secret? No one ever comes down the coastline when I'm at that dock. Not once in three years have I had anyone stumble on me." Her dark-haired prisoner complained in a disapproving manner, as if she had done something very against the natural order of the world.

"I may well imagine." She gave a chuckle and sat back in her chair hard, mindless of the way it thumped her wounded muscles; cringing, she went on with strained voice. "We interrupted you in the midst of your loading. Too bad. This is bleeding marvelous whiskey. You know I'm going to confiscate it, aye?"

"You'll make a fortune, in the right market." He looked at the table between them, as if studying the platters and the candles.

"Who said anything about selling this?" Henriette held her cup out, giving it a swish. "Not all pirates are stupid and shiftless, you know. Some of us know a miracle when we find it being loaded under clandestine conditions." She paused, licking at her lower lip in thought. "Tell me something, Charlie...is the whiskey your only haul or do you carry paper, too?"

He looked confused for a bit and then his brow lifted as his eyes sparkled. It lent him a very mischievous expression. He pointed both his cup and one finger at her. "The flag nearly did fool you. Good...that's very good. That's what it's for. No, Madame Captain, no papers for any governments or kings. Only whiskey and whatever else I can offer to the taverns on Porto Rico, Cuba, Florida's coast, any of the islands, and even all the way over to Montego Bay, but never Port Royal or Tortuga. I have a deal with my brother---I don't make business with any taverns where he might be known on sight and I use a false name everywhere except on my own ship. I have amassed quite a clientele, Madame Captain, and they are always quite pleased to see me making dock."

"Of course." She refilled her cup and gave him a wicked grin, her first truly honest one of the evening. "So, I'm sure you'll be understanding, Charlie, why I'll be taking your ship and your customers, the suppliers, and all that goes with said business."

He waved his hand at her, sloshing whiskey everywhere as he blew air at her in dismissal. "I'm not too terribly worried. I'll just have to settle down and look for honest work, then. Maybe in Port Royal, right under Jamie's nose. I'll have a respectable shop and sell ladies' oddments and go to tea with my brother every Sunday afternoon."

Henriette got up, unsteadily, and put her cup on the table so that she could lean down into the man's face and study him closely. From mere inches away, she stared at his eyes and she caught the flicker of concern in them. In the candle-light, they were a dark green. But, the truth was visible. She wheeled back and stumbled, falling to her chair once more. "Ballocks! You'll no more turn landlubber than me. And as for you settling down in Port Royal to respectable merchantry and taking Sunday tea with that hardnose brother of yours, t'is bleeding unlikely. What you're like as not to do is turn me name and face in to Admiral Norrington and sit back to watch me dance a cruel jig when I am caught at last."

He had nothing to say to that. However, he did blink at her rather owlishly.

She wasn�t about to tell him that his brother was dead.

Her wounded chest didn't hurt nearly so much now; she was growing numb.

"So. Here's what I'm going to do with you, Charlie---" She picked up her cup again and lifted it, intending to take a drink of the ambrosial distillation. "I'm taking your ship, your crew, the business and the merchandise. But, I'm not setting you loose to go roaming, me lad. No sir." She grinned once more and tugged clumsily at the red scarf she wore over her short brown hair, seeing how the plan fit perfectly with what she had wanted, all along. "You'll stay on as me first mate. In the meantime, we'll sail your ship with the Pearl to the tip of Cuba, where I'm to be picking up me uncle in ten or twelve days. That gives me more than enough time to teach you how to be a pirate, aye?"

As she had talked, there came a peculiar look over Captain Norrington's face. A mien of anger and loathing and...horror. And when she stopped speaking, he rasped at her, climbing to his unsteady feet in protest. "That won't be possible, Madame Captain. I can no more turn pirate than you can become an honest, law-abiding woman." He drew himself to his full height, bumped his head on a swinging lantern as he marched himself away from the table and its repast, and picked up his hat from where it lay on the sideboard.

He made an imposing figure as he started for the door.

Henriette did not bother to move or concern herself overly with his temperamental shift in mood. Like the storm, it was, and she knew how to deal with that. Instead, she called to him, her voice clear and crisp as she issued the rebuttal. "Captain Norrington, that was no lovelorn request for your company. It was me offer for your life. You won't receive another. I'm giving you tonight to consider it. Aye? You'll spend the night as my guest and shall have a place in which to think on something very, very important."

Charles Norrington shifted to look at her where he had stopped at the door. He was tipsy and off-balanced, but solemn once again. In this way, he looked like the ill-fated Admiral. His voice came as a tormented sigh. "Yes, Madame Captain?"

Picking up a crust of bread, she carefully examined it as if interested. This gave her a foil upon which to address a small piece of the truth. "We�ve talked of your brother, the good Admiral, and, indeed, of his rigid reputation. But, your precious Jamie had a skeleton or two in his closet, Charlie. At one point, I am told, James Norrington signed Articles with this ship and sailed as a deckhand, drunken and dissolute. He went pirate for nigh on a year."

Her captive said nothing and she watched him from her muzzy eyes, numb. At first, he didn't react to the idea of his brother being a pirate, but then he gave a grim little frown. "Tell your lies, if you want, Madame Captain. You won't change my mind. I shan't join your crew as deckhand or first mate."

With his one good hand, he reached out and opened the door and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Henriette sighed heavily and let her eyes drop closed. But, in only a few moments, several of her crew appeared to clear the table of dinner's remains. It was Murtaugh who interrupted her thoughts.

"What should we do with the Odysseus' crew, Captain?"

"Lock them all in the brig." She reached up a numb hand and rubbed at the sore, tense spot between her brows. "Put their captain with them.�

�The captain as who does look just like our old Commodore---I mean, Admiral---Norrington.�

�That would be the one, Mister Murtaugh. Post five guards in the brig hold, you and Mullroy amongst them. Make sure the prisoners have water."

"Aye, Captain?" The lean novice pirate was standing before her.

She nodded in agreement and then added. "Then, I want you to spend the watch telling your shipmates and the prisoners of what happened to Admiral Norrington on the Flying Dutchman. Spare no details, Mister Murtaugh."
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Betwixt Hammer & Frizzen