Two weeks later, the atmosphere in the Governor’s grand dining hall was suffocating. Admiral Hobart, a man whose uniform was as stiff as his sense of morality, sat across from Norrington. Hobart was one of the few men high enough in the Admiralty’s inner circle to have been “briefed” on the secret status of the Black Pearl.
The Admiral tossed a report onto the table with a look of profound distaste.
“I find this difficult to swallow, James,” Hobart snapped, his eyes narrowed. “I have read the Governor’s dispatches. I have seen the signed commission. But to think that you—a man I personally recommended for the promotion to Commodore—would find common ground with a creature like Sparrow. Even if he is, as the paperwork suggests, ‘useful’ to the King.”
Norrington stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back. His uniform was immaculate, but the weight of the secret he carried was heavier than any medal.
“I understand your skepticism, Admiral,” Norrington replied, his voice level and devoid of apology. “I spent years pursuing Captain Sparrow. I know his character better than most. But in the heat of the engagement at the cliffs, certain… tactical realities became clear. The information he provided regarding Spanish movements in the southern keys was invaluable.”
“Information?” Hobart scoffed, leaning forward. “You surrendered your ship to him! The crew of the Dauntless reported being taken prisoner. They reported seeing you… kneeling at his feet. How does a man of your standing explain that level of ‘cooperation’?”
Norrington didn’t flinch. He remembered the bite of the ropes and the heat of the sun, but he also remembered the quiet mercy of the cabin.
“The ‘surrender’ was a necessary fiction, sir,” Norrington lied, the words coming with surprising ease. “It allowed Captain Sparrow to maintain his cover with his own crew while we exchanged highly classified intelligence. As for the treatment of my person… it was a role I played to ensure the safety of the mission. If the Captain’s crew suspected for a moment that he was in league with the Crown, both he and the intelligence would have been lost.”
Hobart paced the length of the room, his boots clicking sharply on the marble. “It is simply not done, Norrington. Working with a man who lives outside the law!.”
Norrington did not look away. Instead, a small, composed smile touched his lips—a smile that was as cold and steady as flint.
“I understand your distaste, Admiral,” Norrington said, his voice ringing with a calm, terrifying clarity. “But I have found that Captain Sparrow is, in his own unconventional fashion, a man of profound honor and absolute integrity.”
Admiral Hobart froze, his mouth falling open slightly. “Honor? Integrity? We are talking about a pirate, Norrington!”
“We are talking about an agent who achieved what an entire fleet could not,” Norrington countered, taking a deliberate step forward. “And as for the ‘kneeling’… I found it was not difficult at all to bend the knee to a man of such character. It was a tactical necessity for the Crown’s interests.”
He paused, his gaze boring into the Admiral’s. “I am, of course, a servant of the King. I would bend the knee at any time for the Crown, without hesitation. Would you not do the same, Admiral? Or is your pride more valuable than your duty?”
The Admiral began to splutter, his face turning a shade of purple that matched his velvet waistcoat. “I—of course—I would! But the context! To a man like that! It’s—it’s preposterous! It’s bordering on the scandalous!”
“It is service, Admiral,” Norrington said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration that brooked no further argument. “I have never served the King with more conviction than I did in that moment. If bowing to a secret agent is what the mission required, then my knees are quite ready to meet the deck again.”
Hobart let out a series of strangled, indignant noises, his hands fluttering at his throat as if his collar had suddenly become too tight. He was trapped; to argue further would be to admit that he placed his own ego above the King’s service—a suggestion Norrington had just pinned on him with expert precision.
“I… I shall have to report this!” Hobart finally gasped out, gesturing wildly toward the door. “The tone of it! The… the sheer audacity!”
“Please do, sir,” Norrington replied with a polite, razor-sharp bow. “I’m sure the Governor would be delighted to hear that you support my dedication to the Crown’s secret interests so wholeheartedly.”
As the Admiral turned on his heel and stomped out, his boots nearly tripping over each other in his haste to escape, Norrington stood alone in the hall. He looked at his reflection in the glass of the window. He had used the Admiral’s own logic against him, protecting Jack’s new status and his own survival with the same weapon he had once used to hunt: the Law.
Several weeks later, there was again a visitor from the Admiralty.
Admiral Sterling—a man who had clawed his way into a rank above Norrington’s through political maneuvering and cold ambition—sat in the Governor’s chair, his eyes glittering with a predatory light.
He had heard the rumors. He had heard how Norrington had defended his “cooperation” by claiming that Jack Sparrow was a man of honor, and that kneeling before him for the Crown was a matter of duty.
Jack stood by the window, his expression uncharacteristically still, while Norrington stood at attention in the center of the room. Neither had been told why they were summoned until Sterling spoke.
“I find myself fascinated by your testimony, James,” Sterling said, his voice smooth and dripping with malice. “The idea that our most decorated pirate hunter found such… integrity in a common brigand that he would willingly bow to him for the King. It’s a stirring tale.”
Sterling leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “But I am a man of evidence. If you truly meant what you told the Admiralty—that kneeling before this ‘agent’ is a simple matter of duty and costs you nothing—then you should have no objection to proving it. Here. Now.”
The Governor stepped forward, his face pale. “Surely, Admiral, this is not necessary. We are all on the same side here—”
“It is entirely necessary,” Sterling snapped, his eyes never leaving Norrington. “I wish to see if the Commodore’s pride has truly been replaced by this… newfound zeal for the Crown. Or if he was simply lying to save his skin.”
He looked at Norrington, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Kneel, James. Show me this integrity you speak of. Kneel before your ‘Agent of the Crown’.”
Jack and Norrington didn’t speak. They stood in a heavy, echoing silence, their gazes locked. In the dim candlelight, a silent conversation passed between them—a memory of the deck, the heat, and the true price that had already been paid. Jack’s eyes were dark, searching Norrington’s face for a sign of breaking, but he found only a calm, terrifying resolve.
“I said,” Sterling repeated, his voice rising with anticipation, “Kneel.”
Without a word of protest, without a flicker of hesitation, Norrington lowered himself. His movements were fluid and deliberate. He went down to one knee, his back straight, his head held high, looking directly at Jack.
The room went deathly silent. Sterling’s smirk faltered slightly; he had expected a struggle, a plea for dignity, or at least a tremor of shame. He found none.
Norrington turned his gaze toward the Admiral, his voice cold and steady. “As I told the inquiry, Admiral… my pride is not so easily broken. Kneeling before a man like Jack costs me nothing. His honor has been proven to me in ways you cannot begin to fathom.”
Norrington stayed on his knee, his eyes narrowing as he drove the blade home.
“After all,” Norrington continued, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet rasp, “during my years as a Commodore, I have been forced to bow to men far less worthy of the gesture than he is.”
He stared directly into Sterling’s eyes as he spoke, making the target of his words unmistakable. The insult was absolute, delivered with the untouchable grace of a man who had already sacrificed everything and therefore had nothing left to fear.
Sterling’s face flushed a deep, ugly red, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair until his knuckles turned white. He had sought to humiliate Norrington, but he had only succeeded in highlighting his own smallness.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The Admiral’s petty triumph died in his throat as Jack stepped forward, his dark eyes fixed on Norrington with an intensity that burned through the air. The mockery that usually defined Jack’s expressions had vanished, replaced by a raw, startling sincerity.
“You’ve knelt for me twice now, James,” Jack said, his voice a low, rough vibration that carried to every corner of the room. “Once in the sun for the lives of your men, and once in the dark for the sake of your name.”
Jack stopped just inches from where Norrington remained on his knee. “It’s high time I evened the score.”
To the Governor’s utter shock and the Admiral’s mounting horror, Jack did not simply bow. He lowered himself with a fluid, practiced grace, dropping to the floor until he was the one looking up at the man in the uniform. Without a trace of hesitation, Jack reached out and pressed his lips to the leather of Norrington’s boot in a gesture of absolute, public fealty.
The Governor’s eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. Admiral Sterling began to splutter, a series of choked, incoherent sounds escaping his lips as he watched the most wanted pirate in the Caribbean offer a gesture of submission to a man he had sought to destroy.
“Preposterous!” Sterling finally managed to bark, though his voice shook. “This is… this is a mockery of the Crown! A farce!”
Jack ignored him entirely. He remained still for a heartbeat, then slowly began to rise. As he did, Norrington reached out, his hand grasping Jack’s forearm in a firm, soldier’s grip. Jack met the movement, locking his fingers around Norrington’s wrist in return.
Norrington pulled him upward, but even after Jack was standing, they did not let go. They stood locked together, their hands gripping each other’s arms, their gazes anchored in a silent, profound understanding. In that grip, the entire world—the Governor’s politics, the Admiral’s malice, and the laws of the sea—seemed to fall away.
They weren’t just a Commodore and a Pirate, or a Hunter and his Prey. They were two men who had seen the bottom of each other’s souls and found something worth respecting.
“Score’s even, then,” Jack murmured, his eyes never wavering from Norrington’s.
“Settled,” Norrington replied, his voice thick with a quiet, hard-won peace.
They continued to stare into each other’s eyes, the silence of the room vibrating with the strength of a bond that Sterling could never hope to break—a bond forged in blood, mercy, and a truth that no lie could ever erase.
The tension in the room was so thick it was almost tangible. Admiral Sterling stood frozen, his face a mottled shade of crimson, looking like a man who had tried to douse a fire with oil. He had expected to see Norrington’s spirit break; instead, he was witnessing the birth of an alliance that threatened everything he understood about power.
Jack was the first to break the silence, though he didn’t break the gaze. He slowly released Norrington’s arm, his rings clicking against the gold braid of the Commodore’s sleeve.
“Now that we’ve finished,” Jack said, his voice regaining a hint of its rhythmic, dangerous lilt, “perhaps the Admiral would like to get out? After all, we have business to attend to. Secret business. Crown business. Very hush-hush.”
Sterling found his voice, though it cracked with indignation. “You think this is over? This… display? I will have a full investigation into this ‘partnership’. I will see you both in irons for this insolence!”
“On what grounds, Admiral?” Norrington turned his head slightly, his eyes cold and clinical. “For a King’s agent and a King’s officer showing mutual respect in the pursuit of their duties? If you report this, you report the success of the Governor’s initiative. You report that the Crown’s interests are being served with a devotion you clearly find… intimidating.”
Sterling opened his mouth to retort, but the Governor finally stepped forward, his spine straighter than it had been in years. “That will be all, Sterling. You have seen what you came to see. I suggest you return to your ship before your presence here becomes a matter of official record that you would rather avoid.”
With a final, murderous glare that promised future vengeance, Sterling turned on his heel and stormed out of the study, the heavy doors slamming behind him.
Jack let out a long, theatrical sigh and immediately helped himself to a crystal decanter of the Governor’s finest brandy. “Lovely fellow. Reminds me of a barnacle. Hard to shake off and smells slightly of rot.”
Norrington didn’t move. He watched Jack pour two glasses. “He won’t stop, Jack. He’ll go to the Admiralty. He’ll look for any slip, any mistake in our ‘cooperation’ to prove the lie.”
“Then we’d better give him something else to look at,” Jack said, handing a glass to Norrington. He moved back to the desk, leaning over the charts with a sudden, sharp focus. “There’s a privateer fleet—real ones, the nasty kind—gathering near Isla de Muerta. They aren’t flying any flags, but they’re disruption personified. They’ve been hitting Crown merchantmen and making it look like… well, like me.”
Norrington stepped up to the desk, his mind already shifting into a tactical gear he hadn’t used since the Dauntless. “If we take them out—together—it validates the commission. It proves that having the Black Pearl as an ‘agent’ is the only way to police the waters the Navy can’t reach.”
“Exactly,” Jack grinned, tapping a spot on the map. “I provide the bait and the back-alley knowledge of where they hide. You provide the tactical weight and the official seal of approval. We clean up the Caribbean, make you look like a hero, and make me look… indispensable.”
Norrington looked at the map, then at Jack. The absurdity of it was still there, but beneath it was a fierce, cold logic. “We’ll need a signal system. And a way to communicate that doesn’t involve Sterling’s spies.”
“Leave the ‘how’ to me, James,” Jack murmured, his eyes glinting. “You just make sure your cannons are clean. We’re going to give the Admiralty a victory so grand they won’t dare ask questions about how we won it.”
Norrington raised his glass, a shadow of a smile returning to his face. “To the Crown’s most unlikely servants.”
Jack clinked his glass against Norrington’s. “And to the look on Sterling’s face when we succeed.”
Admiral Sterling did not go quietly. In the weeks that followed, he used every ounce of his political influence to poison the air against Norrington. He moved through the elite circles of the Admiralty, whispering in mahogany-paneled rooms about the “disgrace” he had witnessed. He painted a picture of a broken Commodore and a laughing pirate, hoping to spark a fire of outrage that would consume them both.
Finally, Sterling secured a formal audience with the High Admiral of the Fleet, a man whose word was law in the Caribbean.
“It was a farce, sir!” Sterling declared, pacing the High Admiral’s office, his voice trembling with indignation. “I watched it with my own eyes. Norrington—a man of our own cloth—bent the knee to that scoundrel Sparrow. And then, the pirate returned the gesture in a mockery of our traditions! They are in league, sir. It is a conspiracy of the highest order.”
The High Admiral sat in silence, his weathered face unreadable as he looked over a stack of reports detailing the Black Pearl’s recent assistance in clearing the trade routes of Spanish privateers. He let Sterling finish his tirade, then slowly leaned back, tapping a heavy gold signet ring against the desk.
“You find it ‘disgraceful’, Sterling?” the High Admiral asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
“I find it treasonous!” Sterling snapped.
The High Admiral let out a short, dry laugh that sounded like grinding stones. “You see, Sterling, that is the difference between you and a man like Norrington. You see a scandal. I see the only logical explanation for the last five years.”
Sterling blinked, his momentum stalling. “I… I beg your pardon?”
“Think, man!” the High Admiral barked, gesturing to the files. “For years, we wondered how a man like Sparrow—a man with no port, no backing, and a ship of shadows—could evade the entire British Navy. We wondered how he always knew exactly where our patrols were, and how he somehow managed to disrupt our enemies’ plans more than our own.”
The High Admiral leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “When I heard the report that Norrington had ‘surrendered’ to him and then was released unharmed, the pieces finally fell into place. I should have realized it years ago. Sparrow isn’t a pirate. He never was a pirate. He is a master-class agent of the Crown, working under the Governor’s deepest cover.”
Sterling’s jaw dropped. “Sir, that is preposterous! I saw them! They—”
“What you saw,” the High Admiral interrupted sharply, “was a highly disciplined officer and a veteran operative showing mutual respect after a long, dangerous game played for the sake of England. Norrington’s willingness to ‘bow’ only confirms his dedication to the mission. He understood the cover Sparrow had to maintain.”
The High Admiral stood up, dismissing Sterling with a flick of his hand. “Your story makes no sense otherwise. A man like Norrington, our most feared pirate hunter, does not simply ‘undergo’ a change of heart for a criminal. No, it makes perfect sense now. Sparrow is one of ours. He’s the best asset we’ve got in these waters.”
He looked at Sterling with a touch of pity. “Go back to your ship, Admiral. And stop trying to find shadows where there is only brilliant service. I’ve already sent word to London: we are officially recognizing Captain Sparrow’s ‘contributions’ to the safety of the West Indies.”
Sterling was left standing in the center of the room, speechless. The very lie that Jack and the Governor had crafted was so much more “logical” to the Admiralty than the truth of their bond that it had become an unassailable reality.
He had tried to destroy Norrington, but he had only succeeded in making Jack Sparrow a hero of the British Empire.
The sun was setting over a quiet, secluded bay when Norrington stepped onto the sand to meet Jack. He held a sealed dispatch from the High Admiral, and for the first time in years, his stride was light.
Jack was sitting on an overturned boat, polishing a compass that didn’t point north. “You look remarkably cheerful for a man whose career was supposed to be in tatters, James. Did the Admiral finally have a stroke?”
“Better,” Norrington said, handing him the parchment. “He’s convinced himself that you’ve been working for us all along. Not just since last month—for the last five years.”
Jack paused, his fingers frozen on the compass. He took the letter and read it, his eyes widening as he reached the part about his “brilliant undercover service.” He let out a bark of laughter that echoed off the cliffs.
“Five years?” Jack grinned, looking up at Norrington. “So, every time you chased me through a hurricane, every time you nearly sent me to the locker… that was just ‘tactical training’?”
“According to the High Admiral, yes,” Norrington replied, leaning against the hull of the boat. “He told Sterling it was the only thing that ‘made sense.’ He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of me respecting a pirate, so he decided you simply weren’t one. He’s actually praised my ‘dedication’ for keeping your secret so well.”
Jack shook his head, tucked the letter into his vest, and stood up. “The brilliance of the British Empire. They’d rather believe I’m a loyal servant of the King than admit that a Pirate Hunter and a Pirate might actually… well, you know.”
“Careful, Jack,” Norrington warned, though his eyes were dancing with amusement. “If you keep this up, they’ll be giving you a medal. Maybe even a knighthood.”
Jack made a face of mock-horror. “Sir Jack Sparrow? Perish the thought. I have a reputation to uphold, even if it’s a fake one.” He looked at the horizon, then back at Norrington. “But it does make life easier, doesn’t it? If they think we’ve been partners for years, they’ll never question why we’re so good at it now.”
“No,” Norrington agreed, looking at the man who was officially his oldest “colleague.” “They won’t. It seems, Captain, that we have successfully lied our way into the most honest alliance in the Caribbean.”
Jack offered him a canteen, a mischievous glint in his eye. “To five years of ‘service’ we didn’t know we were doing.”
Norrington took a drink and handed it back, his smile turning permanent. “To the Crown’s most effective agent.”
The news reached the Governor’s mansion just as the evening fog began to roll in from the sea. Elizabeth and Will were in the parlor, the tension of the last few weeks still visible in the way they sat, when the Governor entered. He wasn’t carrying the usual look of bureaucratic worry; instead, he looked utterly bewildered, clutching a letter with the High Admiral’s gold seal.
“It seems,” Governor Swann began, sinking into a chair with a faint, breathless laugh, “that we underestimated the power of a well-placed rumor.”
He handed the letter to Elizabeth. As she read it aloud, her eyes grew wider with every sentence. Will leaned over her shoulder, his jaw dropping as he processed the High Admiral’s “revelation.”
“Five years?” Will choked out, a incredulous grin spreading across his face. “They think Jack has been a secret agent since… since the day he stole the Interceptor?”
Elizabeth let out a peal of laughter, leaning back against the sofa. “It’s perfect! They’ve rewritten history. All those times James almost caught him, all the cannons fired, the rewards posted… the Admiralty has decided it was all a grand, elaborate performance. A ‘training exercise’ to maintain Jack’s cover.”
“The best part,” the Governor added, polishing his spectacles, “is that they’ve commended James for his ‘discretion.’ They believe he knew all along and was simply playing his part to protect the Crown’s most valuable asset.”
Will shook his head, looking out the window toward the harbor. “Jack must be insufferable right now. Can you imagine him finding out he’s officially a hero of the Empire? He’ll probably start demanding a pension.”
“But think of what this means for James,” Elizabeth said, her expression softening into one of genuine relief. “He isn’t just ‘forgiven’ for surrendering. He’s being lauded as a master of espionage. He doesn’t have to live in the shadow of a lie—the lie has become a shield that protects his honor more than the truth ever could.”
“It’s the ultimate irony,” Will agreed. “The Law couldn’t handle the idea of a pirate and a commodore being friends, so it turned the pirate into a soldier to make itself feel better.”
Elizabeth looked at the letter again, her smile turning thoughtful. “I wonder if Jack realized this would happen. If he knew that by agreeing to the Governor’s plan, he wasn’t just saving James’s life, but giving the entire British Navy a way to save face.”
“Knowing Jack,” the Governor remarked dryly, “he probably didn’t think that far ahead. But he’ll certainly take the credit for it now.”
Will chuckled, pouring two glasses of sherry and handing one to Elizabeth. “To the Crown’s most ‘loyal’ agent. Long may he confuse the Admiralty.”
Elizabeth clinked her glass against his. “And to James. I think, for the first time in his life, he might actually enjoy being a Commodore.”
The scene took place in the briefing room of the Port Royal garrison. A group of mid-level lieutenants and captains sat around a heavy oak table, their expressions a mix of boredom and professional focus. They had been told a specialist was arriving to brief them on the movements of a smuggler fleet.
The heavy doors swung open, and the sound of clinking beads and jingling spurs filled the room. Jack Sparrow swaggered in, wearing his weathered coat and tri-corne hat, looking every bit the outlaw.
The officers surged to their feet, hands instantly flying to the hilts of their swords.
“Sparrow!” one lieutenant shouted. “Guards! Seize him!”
Jack didn’t even flinch. He walked to the head of the table, plucked an apple from a fruit bowl, and took a loud, crunching bite. “Easy, boys. Put the cutlery away. You’ll hurt yourselves, and then who’s going to polish all that lovely brass?”
“You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, pirate,” a Captain hissed, drawing his steel halfway. “I’ll see you at the gallows by sunset.”
“Actually,” a calm, authoritative voice came from the doorway.
The officers spun around to see Commodore Norrington standing there, his arms crossed, looking remarkably relaxed.
“Captain Sparrow is here at the express invitation of the Admiralty,” Norrington said, his voice level and cool. “He is… a consultant. On a matter of extreme sensitivity.”
The officers stared, their mouths hanging open. “A consultant, sir? He’s a wanted criminal! There’s a bounty on his head that could buy a man-of-war!”
“The bounty has been… suspended,” Norrington replied, walking into the room and standing next to Jack. “Due to his exceptional service in the interest of the Crown. Service that many of you aren’t cleared to know the details of. Now, sit down.”
The officers sank into their chairs, looking utterly bewildered. They watched as Jack pulled a crumpled, rum-stained map from his pocket and smoothed it out over the table, right on top of their pristine charts.
“Right then,” Jack said, pointing a soot-stained finger at a cluster of islands. “The Spanish fleet you’ve been looking for? They aren’t in the channel. They’re hiding in the shallows of the Devil’s Throat. Too shallow for your big, fancy ships, but just right for a certain black-sailed vessel you might have heard of.”
He looked up at the officers, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve already done the heavy lifting. All you lot have to do is show up, fire a few shots to make it look official, and then go home and collect your medals. Simple, eh?”
One of the lieutenants leaned forward, his voice trembling with confusion. “Are you telling us… that we are taking orders from a pirate?”
Jack leaned in close, the scent of sea salt and rum surrounding the officer. “I’m an agent, mate. Very hush-hush. Deep cover. I’ve been working with the Commodore here for years. All those times he ‘almost’ caught me? Pure theater. Had to keep the cover intact, didn’t we, James?”
Norrington cleared his throat, suppressing a smile that threatened to break his professional mask. “Indeed. It was a masterpiece of clandestine cooperation. Now, pay attention to the Captain’s briefing. His intelligence is… impeccable.”
The officers looked back and forth between the legendary Pirate Hunter and the most notorious Pirate in the world, their world-view crumbling in real-time. They sat in stunned silence as Jack continued to describe the mission, occasionally pausing to offer advice on how to properly hide a ship behind a coral reef.
Later that evening, the garrison tavern was filled with the low hum of voices and the clinking of pewter tankards. The group of officers from the briefing sat huddled in a corner booth, the shock of the afternoon having finally settled into a strange, alcohol-fueled clarity.
Lieutenant Miller shook his head, staring into the depths of his ale. “I’m telling you, it’s the only thing that explains it. Remember the chase off the coast of Tortuga three years ago? We had him cornered. The wind was in our favor, his mainmast was splintered… and then, suddenly, the Commodore orders a tactical retreat to ‘avoid a reef’ that none of us could see.”
“And the raid on Port Royal!” another officer whispered, leaning in. “Sparrow walks right into the middle of the town, steals the fastest ship in the fleet, and sails away while the Commodore is still ‘organizing’ the pursuit? We called it bad luck back then.”
Captain Halloway, the eldest of the group, let out a long, slow breath. “It wasn’t bad luck. It was theater. Every time Sparrow ‘slipped through our fingers,’ he was actually slipping away to deliver intelligence or disrupt a Spanish supply line. And we were the audience, making the chase look real so the Spanish spies wouldn’t suspect a thing.”
A murmur of realization rippled through the table. The more they talked, the more their past failures transformed into brilliant, secret successes. It was much easier on their pride to believe they had been part of a masterfully coordinated intelligence operation than to admit they had been outsailed by a lone pirate for half a decade.
“It makes sense,” Miller said, slamming his hand on the table with newfound conviction. “It makes perfect sense! No man is that lucky for that long. It had to be an arrangement. Norrington is a genius, and Sparrow… well, Sparrow is the finest actor I’ve ever seen.”
Halloway raised his tankard, a look of profound respect on his face. “To think we were cursing them both for years, while they were out there playing a game we weren’t even smart enough to understand.”
The officers all stood, their chairs scraping against the floorboards. They raised their glasses high, the golden ale catching the light of the hearth.
“To the Commodore and the Agent!” Halloway toasted, his voice ringing with genuine admiration. “To the most successful secret in the King’s Navy!”
“To Jack and James!” the others echoed, drinking deeply.
Across the room, the rest of the tavern looked on in confusion as the garrison’s finest officers cheered for the very man they had spent their lives trying to hang.