The crew of the Black Pearl gathered in a restless circle around the mainmast. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the dark anticipation of men who lived by the blade.
Norrington was led to the mast. Two pirates forced his arms up, binding his wrists to the heavy timber. With a sharp tug, they stripped him of his uniform coat and his linen shirt, leaving his torso bare to the biting wind. He stood tall, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he prepared himself for the impossible price Jack had named.
Jack sauntered into the center of the ring, the heavy whip trailing behind him like a snake. He looked at Norrington’s bare back, then at the expectant, hungry faces of his crew.
“One hundred and forty,” Jack announced, his voice carrying over the waves. “A heavy debt for a heavy ship.”
He stepped behind Norrington. The Commodore braced himself, his muscles corded like iron.
The first strike fell—a blunt, jarring blow that made the world turn white for a second. Norrington slammed his forehead against the mast, a low, guttural grunt escaping his throat. Before he could draw breath, a second strike followed, then a third.
The pain was immense, but as the fourth and fifth strikes landed, Norrington realized they weren’t aimed to flay. They were heavy, bruising, meant to humiliate and hurt, but they lacked the lethal follow-through Jack had threatened.
Suddenly, the strikes stopped.
The silence that followed was even heavier than the noise of the whip. Norrington hung from his bonds, gasping for air, waiting for the next blow. But it didn’t come.
Jack stepped around the mast and stood directly in front of Norrington. He looked at the Commodore—really looked at him. He saw the sweat on his brow, the absolute resolve in his eyes, and the way he was prepared to die right there for the sake of his men.
Jack looked at the whip in his hand, then back at Norrington. The manic grin he had worn earlier was gone.
“Enough,” Jack said quietly.
“Cap’n?” Pintel called out from the crowd, confused. “That was only five! He owes another hundred and thirty-five!”
Jack spun around, his eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous fire that silenced the crew instantly. “I am the Captain of this ship! And I say the debt is settled!”
He turned back to Norrington, leaning in close, his voice a low murmur that no one else could hear.
“You stood there, James,” Jack whispered, his gaze intense. “You were ready to let me kill you. You didn’t beg. You didn’t offer me gold. You offered yourself.”
Jack reached out and, with a quick flick of a hidden knife, sliced through the ropes binding Norrington’s wrists. The Commodore stumbled forward, and Jack caught him by the shoulders, steadying him.
“I’m a pirate, James,” Jack said softly, looking him straight in the eye. “But I’m not a monster. And I’ve seen enough blood to last me three lifetimes. If a man is willing to die for his people, he’s earned his seat at my table.”
He turned to the crew, his voice booming once more. “The Commodore has paid the price! He has shown more spine than half of you lot combined! Take him to the stern cabin—and get him a shirt!”
As the pirates led a stunned, bruised Norrington away, Jack watched him go. The game had changed. He hadn’t broken the Commodore; he had found the one thing he hadn’t expected to find in the Royal Navy.
An equal.