At Worlds' End: Part 4/15
Chapter IV: A Reality Storm
Norrington didn't like it, being ordered to leave his ship when they were due to reach land within half a day. The closer to land and established trade routes, the more ships they would encounter, and the likeliness of those ships being unfriendly was great. Yet for the third time in two days, the flags of the Endeavour signaled Beckett's desire to meet with him. Norrington stared unhappily across to the Unicorn, from where he had come.
The unforgiving sun of the South Pacific beat down on the Admiral's fleet. This day had been slow going; the winds that had brought them so far had dissipated, and the ocean lay as flat as a tub. Though the calm, blue water looked quite lovely, Norrington was eager to reach land. The Atlantic Ocean, while cold and tempestuous in places, was a known quantity, like an old friend to a seasoned officer of the Royal Navy. The Atlantic might one day claim you as her own, almost lovingly, like a child coming home to its mother. The Pacific failed to acknowledge your existence in the first place.
Much like the new Governor himself. Norrington waited a moment before clearing his throat, broadcasting his impatience clearly.
"Ah, Norrington." Beckett looked up from his map, either seeming not to notice or simply ignoring the Admiral's annoyance. "I trust your men are ready to explore Tasman's islands?"
"Indeed they are."
"Excellent." Beckett put his hands behind his back and walked to the window. "Once we have restocked, we will continue to head west."
Norrington frowned. "I feel I must warn you again of the dangers in proceeding on that course. These waters have not yet been fully charted, and what little has shows many dangerous reefs and other obstacles."
Beckett looked at him and smiled. "Which is precisely why I employed you, Admiral." Turning back to the window, he continued to speak. "We will sail until we reach the coast of New Holland, and head northwest to Singapore. Then we make for Canton, where we will engage the French and take the harbor."
Norrington furrowed his brow. "Canton is a substantial target, and the French have a considerable presence there. I highly doubt our fleet could withstand such a battle, even if the British ships in port joined in the fight."
Beckett pressed his lips together in a tight smile. "Do not concern yourself with the French, Admiral. That is precisely why I've employed Captain Jones and his terrible Leviathan."
As Norrington emerged from Beckett's cabin, a breathless lieutenant ran up to him.
"Admiral! We’ve spotted a ship!"
"What colors is she flying?"
"Still too far off to tell, Sir." The lieutenant handed Norrington his spyglass.
Norrington focused in on the vessel. "She doesn't seem to be flying any. A warning shot would be in order. Bring her into range, and prepare to signal the Dutchman."
Beckett stepped out of his cabin, Mercer joining him. Norrington did not turn to acknowledge them, but kept the spyglass to his eye. The ship was a small merchant vessel, but its cargo must have been a light one, judging by its height in the water.
* * * * *
Aboard the Blind Betsy, Will had been first to spot the approaching fleet. The ships had been too far away at the time to spot their flags, but having an alliance with no one had an upside.
"Ships ho!" Will rappelled down the mizzenmast from the crow’s nest.
"How many?" barked Barbossa.
"At least a dozen."
The whole crew gathered at the rails, grim-faced, watching as the fleet drifted closer. The winds seemed to have chosen the least opportune moment to pick up again - with its large sails, the ship that led the group was closing the gap between them. Not far behind sailed two more ships that nearly equaled it in size. Elizabeth gasped, and Will's jaw clinched as they recognized the one on their right.
"H'it's the Flying Dutchman!" Ragetti cried out, his voice quavering.
Will looked to the other ships masts as they drew closer. The ship to their left was flying the Union Jack - it was a Royal Navy battleship, then. The flag of the galleon in the center was more difficult to make out. Will's eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the logo of the East India Trading Company. "Beckett," he whispered.
The familiar poof and whistle of a shot echoed across the calm water. "Man the guns, you scalawags!" Barbossa shouted down to Pintel and Ragetti, who hurried below. A cannon ball hit the bulwark, sending splinters flying, and whizzed off over the opposite rail at a funny angle. Pintel and Ragetti peered above deck, eyes wide, at the wreckage where they'd been standing moments before. Barbossa turned the wheel sharply.
"What are you doing?" shrieked Elizabeth, grasping the stair rail as the ship groaned and veered starboard.
"Headin' toward that sandbar. I don't want any surprises from the captain of the Flying Dutchman."
"We'll run aground!"
Barbossa gritted his decaying teeth and held the wheel. "We be having the ability to make a sudden change in course."
Elizabeth glanced back toward their pursuers - he was right. If the fleet didn't have the proper charts, and didn't spot the sandbar in time, the larger ships in the front could easily run aground. It was as good a plan as any, provided a well-placed cannon ball hadn't sent them to the depths before they could fully implement it.
Will rushed back to the quarterdeck. "Can we outrun them or are we to take a stand?"
"Against twelve ships? Are you crazy?" asked Marty, staring up at him with a look on his face that plainly said Will was.
"We run till we're forced to fight," answered Barbossa. "If that be the case, we'll be meeting Jack Sparrow sooner than planned," he added under his breath. "Now the both of ye get below to the guns! Miss Swann, stand at the ready! If needs be, give the order to fire on my signal."
Another blast screamed overhead, this one missing the boat entirely.
Their small numbers had solved more problems than they had created so far in the journey, but here they seemed to have found one. With eight guns, the Blind Betsy wasn't as heavily armed as the pirate vessels these men were used to crewing, but it still had more cannons than could be manned all at once. Will joined Cotton at a gun. His bird reassuringly squawked, "Dead men tell no tales."
"Thank you," muttered Will, ramming the wad. "I'll keep that in mind."
* * * * *
The lookout aboard the Endeavour discovered their plan sooner than Barbossa had hoped. "Sir! We're heading straight for a sandbar!"
Norrington grimaced. "Turn to starboard, thirty degrees." They would cut the smaller vessel off at an angle, and hold them in place until their allegiance (or lack thereof) had been confirmed and the Flying Dutchman had time to catch up.
Beckett stood by Norrington’s shoulder. "Should we not surround them and trap them in their course?"
"Our ships are not in proper place to implement such strategy. If I had been aboard my flagship..." Norrington stopped and clenched his jaw. It would not do to engage Beckett in an argument at present. They could discuss it later, once he had time and an illustration of why flags were often preferable to conferences on his side. He raised the spyglass to his eye, and bit back a curse. The other ship was countering the Endeavour's move, and looked as though it might outrun the larger ship.
* * * * *
Elizabeth turned back toward Barbossa with a look of joy. "We're losing them!"
"We're not out of this yet, Missy. Best not to skin the cat 'fore ye shoot it."
An ominous wind blew cross the bow of the Blind Betsy. Tia Dalma appeared on deck, unperturbed by the large ships tailing them. She looked up into the clear blue sky, narrowing her eyes, and sniffed. Suddenly, in the middle of the South Pacific, it began to snow. At first it was the odd flake, looking more like a gull's down or blown foam than anything odd. But as the temperature dropped remarkably, it quickly became apparent this was not an unseen freak cloud. This was a full-blown snowstorm.
"Hell's freezing over!" cackled Gibbs at his post below decks.
Barbossa turned the wheel slightly, away from the worst of the storm.
"No!" cried Elizabeth. She ran up to the wheel, and placed her hands opposite Barbossa's. "Head straight into it - if we douse the lamps, we'll disappear into the storm!"
"Ye've been sailing on the Pearl too long," croaked the Captain, retaining his course. "These sails stick out against a stormy sky," he said, gesturing upward to the broad white cloths.
"Not in a blizzard!" Elizabeth cried over the howling wind. Barbossa stared at her for a moment, then grinned a yellow grin.
"No need to be dousing the lamps. The steam from the ocean will shroud them."
Will stepped above decks and stared into the whipping wind, snowflakes sticking to his hair and face.
"What is this?" he asked, turning to Tia Dalma.
"Dis," she replied with a small smile, "is a reality storm."
* * * * *
"We're losing them!" yelled Beckett. "Admiral, have the men run up flags. Full pursuit, and guns at the ready."
Norrington set his jaw, and took another look through the telescope. It was completely foolish to sail into such unnatural conditions. The Flying Dutchman could weather them, perhaps, but what sane, God-fearing mortals would sail straight into a storm they weren't possibly prepared for? He turned the telescope toward the helm of the ship, and saw two figures standing by the wheel - a man in a big hat, and a shorter, lither figure, sun-bleached hair blowing in the wind…
"Elizabeth," he whispered, throat dry.
"Run up the flags," cried Beckett again, this time to the crew. "Prepare to fire!"
"No," said James Norrington.
"What?" Beckett cried over the wind.
"No," Norrington repeated, this time more forcefully. He turned and yelled to the men. "Drop back! Hold fire!"
Beckett strode up to him. "Are you disobeying my direct order?" the shorter man seethed.
"You told me she was dead," hissed Norrington.
Beckett's lips curled cruelly as he snatched the spyglass from Norrington. "Ah," he said. "One - no make that two - fugitives from justice. Mr. Turner is aboard as well. I think that warrants drastic measures." He turned back to address the sailors holding the flags, who by this time were thoroughly confused. As he opened his mouth, Norrington stepped in front of him.
"Stand aside, Admiral," hissed Beckett.
"No."
"Aside, Norrington, or I will have you thrown in the brig."
"I will not let you do this."
The two men glared at each other from considerably different heights.
"By the authority of the English Crown," cried Beckett, "I denounce James Norrington as a traitor to King and Country, and order him to be locked up forthwith, so that he may stand trial at the earliest opportunity." He nodded to two large sailors, who stepped forward hesitantly. Norrington drew his sword.
"Stand down, men. You will not lay a hand on me until that ship is safely out of sight."
"Shouldn't be too long, sir," shrugged the one. "We can wait."
"Now!" ordered Beckett, "Or I shall have Mercer dispense justice immediately."
Norrington turned his head slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could only see a curtain of white where Elizabeth's ship had disappeared. He lowered his sword, just barely. One of the burly sailors started for him, and he raised it again, out of habit. The other, glancing toward Mercer, took the butt of his rifle and swung it at the Admiral's head. It clocked him soundly, and Norrington sank to the deck in a swirl of snow.
* * * * *
Elizabeth had gladly watched the English fleet fade to white.
"Can we turn back yet, Cap'n?" shouted Gibbs through the blinding snow. "It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!"
Monkey-Jack chattered nervously on Barbossa's shoulder. But it was Tia Dalma who answered.
"We sail t'rough. On de odder side be what we looking for."
Will glanced toward Elizabeth, who had suddenly become quite still. Her hair, violently whipping back and forth, obscured her face, but he could imagine what she was thinking.
"Yes," Tia Dalma said, glancing at Will. "We fin' Jack Sparrow t'rough dis storm."
Slowly, the winds died down. The snow fell gently, coating the deck with an inch of powdery whiteness. Eventually it stopped, and cold bright stars shone in an indigo sky. The Blind Betsy sailed silently across the black waters. At one point, Pintel tapped Ragetti on the shoulder insistently, and pointed above. The tips of the masts and yardarms seemed to put out an unearthly blue glow at their tips.
"Them's fairy lights. They'll force us off course, straight onto the rocks," warned Pintel.
"I'd always figured they was an 'armless natural phenomenon," said Ragetti.
"Ah, see, there's where you're wrong. Figuring, rather than listenin' to your more knowledgeable betters."
At one point, the crew found themselves all above deck, most of them unsure of what they had just gone through. They clustered below the quarterdeck.
"What is a reality storm?" Will asked.
"De universe is righting itself," was Tia Dalma's unsatisfactory reply. Will decided to return to matters for which they could find concrete explanations.
"So the Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company have joined forces with Davy Jones."
"But why would Jones be in league with them?" asked Elizabeth. She had wrapped herself tightly in Tia Dalma's red robe again.
Gibbs took a thoughtful swig from his flask. "Per'aps they all think we've got Jack aboard, and met up by chance," he suggested.
"Unlikely," Barbossa called down from his spot at the wheel, keeping his eyes on the horizon. "No, the Flying Dutchman sails alone."
"Unless..." said Tia Dalma, guiding them to the only probable conclusion with a hand on her chest.
Will's face was grim. "They have the heart."
"But Norrington took it," said Elizabeth, frowning.
"Las' we saw of 'im, 'e was running into the jungle," offered Ragetti.
"Wiv' a host of creatures on 'is 'eels," added Pintel.
"He must have managed to escape," said Will, forcefully. "Beckett couldn't have acquired the heart on his own. It certainly would have been safe with Jones' crew, and Jack's compass went down with the Pearl. No - Norrington took the heart, and the letters of Marque, and sought out Beckett."
Elizabeth looked down and smiled bitterly. Though she'd never loved Norrington as she did Will, she had always respected him. But this feeling was new - a small part of her positively had to admire the way he'd fooled and betrayed them all, right down to Jack Sparrow. "The promise of redemption," she murmured.
Will's dark eyes flashed toward her. Jealousy, perhaps, that she remembered the former Commodore's words so well? He need hardly worry on that count.
Elizabeth's thoughts were interrupted as Marty called down from the Crow's Nest.
"Land ho!"