No one gave a second thought to the ship as it approached the port. It was a respected ship, pirated by a respected man and run by a respected crew. For seven years the Redemption had quietly sailed the black waters. Now, with the acquisition of a certain shipmate, she was ready to secure her captain's proper fate.
* * * * *
Will was still the man he had been a year earlier, in the times when he was just a blacksmith dreaming of the governor's daughter. Now he was married to her, putting up with her father's preparations for a celebration of their first wedding anniversary. Still Will Turner worked at the forge, finally getting credit for the swords he so lovingly crafted.
Still Will Turner looked to the sea, having to smile to himself every time Commodore Norrington came back empty-handed form his latest attempt to capture Captain Jack Sparrow.
As Elizabeth had said, he was a pirate, not a blacksmith. Longing for the sea was in his blood, in his very veins.
Still, he suppressed it; the son-in-law of the governor could not be given to such fantastical whims.
"I thought you
were working today." Elizabeth smiled, resplendent in her white gown as she
came down the path and linked her arm through her husband's.
"Maybe I was." He paused a moment to kiss her sweetly before the sea once again caught his gaze, turquoise and glimmering in the gaps between the palm trees. "I'm afraid my mind wasn't on it."
Wincing
slightly, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder, eyes following the tracks
of his gaze. "I know what you mean. It all seems so stupid now: a grand party,
just to celebrate a year of wedded bliss."
That made Will laugh. "Aye, and it was, you have to admit," he said with a grin, kissing the tip of her nose. "Blissful."
She nodded,
grinning. "No pirates, no mishaps, no adventure . . ."
Will had to
turn away to keep her from seeing the look in his eyes, the one that would
betray the way his insides squirmed at the thought. "Yes," he agreed, voice
light. "No adventure."
After a moment
he felt Elizabeth slide an arm around his waist. "Admit it, William Turner: you
loved it as much as Jack Sparrow."
He turned,
wondering exactly how to word it. "Elizabeth, I'm not a pirate," he protested.
"No matter what you think, I'll always –"
"Long for the ocean and the life you glimpsed last summer?" She raised an eyebrow in challenge. "I've let you go this long without speaking of it, and now I'm not entirely sure that was the right thing."
"Elizabeth . . ." Will sighed, running a finger gently along her cheek. "Of course I loved it. It brought us together."
"But you're not saying you wouldn't go back."
He turned away
again, dark eyes raking the horizon, trying to imagine a way out of this
conversation. Because he would go back, if life were that simple. If he
had no cares, no worries, no bonds holding him to this island, he might have
already set off to find the Black Pearl and her . . . interesting . . .
captain. But he had set aside those freedoms the day Jack Sparrow had gone
free: the day he and Elizabeth vowed to wed.
"I can see
your thoughts," Elizabeth said softly, running her pale fingers through his
thick hair. "I've been seeing them for quite some time. I know you ask eagerly
for news upon the commodore's return, and I know why."
"Elizabeth, please." He firmly took both her hands in his own. "Don't speak of it. That life is not an option; it hasn't been, not for a long time. And it does no good to dream." Giving her a quick peck on the cheek, Will turned and strode back up to the house, leaving Elizabeth alone to keep watch over the harbor.
* * * * *
"Are you sure this is the place?"
"Yes, I told you." A simpering smile. "Don't you trust me, cap'n?" This last word was stressed into a semblance of a sneer.
"You know full well the answer to that question." But the captain looked thoughtfully out of his cabin at the little slice of the island he could see. "We must act soon."
"Yes, sir."
"And this time, the plan is not up to you."
* * * * *
Elizabeth
tried to be patient as she tried on her new gown for the third final fitting in
a row. Granted, it looked especially marvelous on her; the deep red material
was generously cut into a full skirt and tapered into a waist formed – yes,
despite her protests – by a corset laced tightly. Still, she had the distinct
impression that her father was not listening to her. At the moment the governor
was waiting just on the other side of the screen with the tailor. "Are you
almost ready, my dear?" he called in a voice that was sugary sweet.
She sighed, breath intake inhibited by the horrendous garment. "Father, I was trying to have a serious conversation with you," she said, making one last adjustment to the sleeves on the dress before stepping into view. "It's about Will, Father; and I'm worried."
"Yes, yes,
that's nice." The governor was preoccupied, taking his daughter's hand and
assisting her up on a short stool so the tailor could go about pinning the
hemline. "You look marvelous; you needn't worry about that."
She took
another, steadying breath, trying to force her lungs to expand. Will did not
particularly care for her in corsets any more than she did. Well, he liked her
in a lot less, and – Elizabeth stopped, trying to force the blush from her
cheeks. "That's not what I meant," she delicately corrected, though it was not
entirely clear whether she was talking to herself or her father. Indeed, she
was rather reluctant to bring this up with her father, but there was no one
else to whom she could turn. "It's not about how I look. This is about Will."
"Yes, yes, I'm
sure William will look fine, as well," her father answered. "Now, go and change
out of that so he can get it hemmed."
Elizabeth sighed, taking his hand again to step down and retreat again behind the screen. Ever since the wedding – no. Ever since the day Jack Sparrow was supposed to hang – but it had been longer than that, too, had it not?
She sighed freely as the corset came off. Since whenever, for a long time now she had been finding it hard to fit in with people such as her father and the commodore. He – Commodore Norrington – had found himself a bride, a stunning young creature named Cynthia, so it was obvious there were no hard feelings about her choosing Will. And her father had even admitted that, although he had first had his doubts, William Turner was a fine, upstanding young man with a bright future and a good head on his shoulders, and what more could anyone want?
Plenty,
Elizabeth thought, slipping back into her light blue day gown. Here she was:
married to a fine, upstanding young man with a bright future and a good head on
his shoulders – and who was handsome, to boot – the governor's daughter, living
in a fine mansion atop a hill of one of the finest islands in the whole
Caribbean. She should be happy, perfectly content. She should have her mind on
some square of embroidery, or perhaps on the latest gossip in the town, or even
on preparations for the children she and Will would have someday. She should
not be feeling the way she was now: empty and ignored.
With yet another sigh – she seemed to be doing that a lot lately – Elizabeth went to the window and threw open the shutters, looking down on the harbor. A new ship had come in, one the commodore had been discussing just the other night during a long and boring dinner. The Redemption, according to Norrington, was an English ship, owned and captained by an upstanding English gentleman, in the Caribbean for a spot of pleasure.
The young
woman smiled to herself, reaching for her silver-plated brush and starting to
work it through her sun-streaked brown curls. For a moment it was though she
felt the wooden deck swaying beneath her feet and heard the crack of the sails
above her head. The smell of the sea, already the background of her daily life,
assaulted her nostrils with almost vicious force.
Just as
suddenly she became aware of the curtains fluttering in the breeze and the worn
rug on the floor. She had grown up with these things. They were like her
childhood friends, comfort objects that informed her that yes, she was home.
Sighing, Elizabeth turned away form the window, setting down the brush. There was an embroidered handkerchief, half finished, that was calling her name, and Will would not be home for at least an hour. Threading a needle, she sat down to wait.
* * * * *
The captain of
the Redemption was indeed English by birth, though, since the age of
ten, he had lived with a boat beneath his feet. There was a short time when a
woman had tried to anchor him to shore, though she had not succeeded for long
before he was off again.
Circumstances being what they were, the captain had recently returned to
England for a few years, though his heart – if he had one, which caused much
debate amongst the crew – was in the Caribbean, and he had to return.
It was luck,
really, that had won him the gamble that led him to this island. And, with a
bit more luck, his travels would not be in vain.
A small smile formed itself inside the captain's beard, one that did not reach
far enough to put a sparkle in his eyes. Soon, he thought, gazing into
the town as dusk fell. Very soon.
* * * * *
Jack Sparrow was in his worst mood in a while, and it was in no way alleviated by the bottle of rum in his hand.
His companion
snorted. "It could be worse."
The pirate lolled his head to the side and strained his eyes to look up. "Oh?" he asked, not really interested, missing his lips and pouring some of the horrid stuff down his chin.
"Yes. We don't normally take prisoners."
"Heh." Slightly slumped, with his legs sprawled out in front of him, there was none of the cocky swagger evident in his form now. "I'm no' a prisoner. I'm yer firs' mate." The fact that his voice was slurred attested to how much the man had already drunk.
"Same
thing. Dead men don't eat our food."
He gave a wet laugh, spraying out half a mouthful and causing his companion to back up a step. "Sometimes th' live ones don't eat none, either," he said, chuckling hoarsely at his own joke.
This caused his companion to crouch down to his level, trying to catch his eye, but the pirate was half keeled over and at an awkward angle. "Mr. Sparrow, you have to talk sometime."
His eyes
narrowed. "Is tha' a threat?"
"From
me?" A small smile. "From the likes of me, Mr. Sparrow, it is but a
warning. Though, if I were you, I would not give those in power the reason to
make it such." Standing, his companion smiled. "Think on that."
So Jack took another drink, slid the rest of the way down the wall, and immediately started to snore.
* * * * *
Will was not working with swords. He was doing horseshoes, which gave him an excuse to swing a hammer without much regard to detail. And today, Will really needed to swing the hammer.
He thought he had been handling it well: the haunting dreams of the open ocean, the moments when he was sure he was hearing laughter and a familiar voice begging him not to do something stupid, the times when he looked out to the water and was lost in a sort of longing even he himself could not - or would not - name.
If not for
Elizabeth, Will thought, he might even have jumped the wall after Jack Sparrow
the year before when the pirate made his escape. But it all centered on
Elizabeth. His life had centered on her since the time he was rescued, merely a
boy and she just a girl. But they had grown up, and she had grown more
beautiful. He had not fallen in love; it was more of a realization that, since
the first day they met, he had been in love, forever and completely.
Now another such realization was trying to make itself known and he was once again forcing it back. By speaking of Elizabeth as "Miss Swann" he had distanced himself from her in speech and action, if not thought. Now he was trying it again.
"Captain Jack Sparrow" was slowly being forced into "that pirate," a term that meant neither bonds nor debt of life. "Our adventure last summer" was resisting the title of "the time Elizabeth was captured by pirates and I foolishly hired a band of those cutthroats myself to go and get her back." Her engagement to Commodore Norrington, however, was easily labeled as "a last and desperate bid for my life, by which she meant nothing." Simple. And the rest of it should have been just as smile.
Will sighed,
stoking the fire and watching the coals glow even brighter, working their way
toward white. Things had changed since then. The forge was now his, as Mr. Smith
had decided to retire, all the better to drink himself to death. Will was
married, acting as both a husband and a son-in- law when he had little practice
of being a son.
Thoughts like
those, too, were unwanted. Words like "son" made Will think of his
father. By all accounts "Bootstrap" Bill would have been alive
underwater for ten years, chained and bound, as he, too, had been cursed. Still
- and Will battled himself at least once a month on this - by lifting the curse
and saving the others, he had condemned his father to drowning.
He picked up the hammer again, trying to clear his mind of everything but the work before him.
* * * *
Captain Bill
Torrington stood n the deck of his ship as the Redemption floated peacefully in
the harbor. He had been ashore earlier to speak with the governor, though he
knew almost immediately that the dinner invitation, initially accepted, would
have to in some way be declined. This could have an effect on the plan as a
whole, but Torrington was rather sure that he could courteously allow the
dinner to be pushed back until after the celebration of the governor's
daughter's marriage, and that would give him time aplenty.
Peg leg making a hollow sound as he walked, the captain retreated into his cabin to plan.
