Days passed without much activity. There was little to say and do besides sail, and as long as we kept away from the edges of the Dauntless and never spoke Jones's name, we would be relatively safe. The bigger concern was that I had completely run out of food rations. My father, who hadn't needed to eat food in decades, hadn't noticed this, and I kept the secret to myself. In looking at Henry's map, there were no more uninhabited islands like the one we had come across along our route, and I didn't want to put my father in any more danger of being spotted and captured than we absolutely had to. I figured that we would arrive home to Shipwreck soon enough, and that I could hold out until then.
One afternoon, I awoke from an uneasy nap, rolling over onto my side to gaze off the port edge of the vessel. There, I squinted as I saw blue scales just under the waves catch the sunlight. The creature they belonged to was keeping stride with the boat. My stomach grumbled, and I uncontrollably moved my hand out over the edge towards it.
"Anna!" Father's voice cut through the air. "Away from the edge." I recoiled my hand and realized what I was doing. Blinking, I looked back to where I had seen the scales, but they had gone. In my state of hunger, I must have dreamed up a fish.
"Come now, help me with this," Father called from the mast, where he was fastening a new line. I sat up, my head pulsating with a massive ache. Slowly, I pushed myself onto my feet, but took one step and collapsed.
"Anna!" Father called, rushing to my side. "What is it?"
I sat up, shaking. "I ran out of food…" I said, voice trembling. "I thought I could make it."
"Dear God," he exclaimed, looking frantically about for some sort of solution. "Um…" he stammered, rushing for the map. There he paused for a moment, frowning at what he saw.
"What is it? I asked.
"We'll get you fixed up," he assured me. "Though I'm not sure I like where we're going to have to go to make it happen."
Port Royal was unlike any place I had ever seen. It was bustling and vibrant, a large merchant marketplace by the dock. The settlement was upwards along the island's steep cliffs, with thatched and paved rooftops speckled amongst the trees, but there existed a dark patch where no trees grew. This place was still and quiet, and there were small blocks of carnage and debris littering the ground. These were buildings, if that's what you would care to call them. They rather used to be buildings, homes…Some semblance of what this place once was echoed in the leaflike skeletons of the architecture. The only place that seemed to remain untouched by years of apparent change was a large stone fort that stood domineering over the highest peak.
Though I was still shaking as we neared the dock, I was alert and eager to explore this foreign place. I turned to my father to ask him some relatively insignificant question, but froze when I saw the silent horror reflected in his eyes.
"Father?" I asked.
"It's fine," he said, his voice unsteady as he manned the rudder. His brow was furrowed and his eyes moving rapidly from from one side of the island to the other. "It's…different," was all he said.
Finally, we found a place to dock. I took off my hat and handed it to him. "Change your mind about not wanting this back?" I asked. He took it from me and put it on, popping the collar on his jacket to further conceal him as he went to work tying up the Dauntless. I trepidatiously climbed onto the dock, my legs shaking from exhaustion and from days of sea travel. Moments later, father joined me, handing me is bag of silver once more and instructing me to pay the docking fare, then go find something to buy for me to eat.
I rushed along ahead to do so, paying the docker and then perusing the various vendors alongside the docks who were trying to wave down passersby with their various exotic goods. I instantly was enticed by a bit of roast lamb, which I greedily sank my teeth into, followed by some ripe papaya and a loaf of fresh bread, which I brought back towards the docks, where my father stood apart from the townsfolk in the shade of a palm tree. I approached him, noticing that his gaze was planted on the fort sitting up on the hillside. "I'm well stocked now," I declared. "Should we set off again?"
But he only stood there just...looking.
"Father?" I asked tentatively. He didn't respond, and instead just began walking forward along a trail heading into the thick of the town. I followed nervously behind him, as though he was a wild animal whose unpredictable moves could change and catch me off guard at any moment. He walked through the small village at the base of the island as though the crowds of villagers, merchants, and officers there were ghosts. Only when coming rather close to anyone else would he shield his face or move into the shadows, but with me keeping to the outside of him, nary a soul found us appearing out of place.
Upon entering the Spanish architecture of the marketplace from days gone by, I saw many shop windows and bustling facades that reminded me of St. Martin. Father hesitated by one, staring up at a freshly painted sign which read, "Gaines & Thomas Blacksmithery." Though I wouldn't know it yet, this facility had once operated under the proprietor "J. Brown," which is where Governor Swann had delivered Will Turner as a boy upon his rescue by Father when they were young.
We continued on, exiting the small town and instead climbing the hill higher and higher past residences toward the top of the island. We didn't stop until we came to a cleared out area of land. The only thing that alerted me that this place used to be anything was the ashes that littered the ground around the foundation.
"My god," Father whispered.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's nothing now. It used to be the Governor's house." He looked down at me. "Elizabeth's home."
I was awestruck. "What happened to it?"
He shook his head. "Looters, I imagine. After the East India Trading Co. fiasco, the settlement was deemed a failure by the Crown, and with no military, it was fair game to pirates." He looked down towards the rest of the town. "It seems that the settlement was reinstated, however. It's stronger than ever."
As we walked on further inland, I asked, "But why wouldn't they build anything back up here? I'm sure the island has a new Governor…"
I stopped when I saw him completely freeze in his tracks. I followed his gaze to a nearby house that was nearly completely camouflaged from the surrounding, overgrown greenery. The once white paint was now yellow-gray and sun worn, peeling off in chunks. "Because they know about ghosts from the past," he said distantly, his gaze unwavering. "No one wants to remember the fallen son and daughter of Port Royal."
With that, he moved onwards up to the house. He entered after merely touching the ornamented front door, which swung open noisily on a single rusted hinge. The room on the inside once was beautiful, with satin wallpaper and candlesticks mounted on the walls. Though it was now devoid of furniture, I could imagine the pomp and nobility of this setting. This was mostly because a crystal chandelier lay in the middle of the room in pieces. The parts that remained in tact and not broken, scattered across the floor under our feet, had been pried loose from the structure and probably pawned off. We walked around that mess and continued through the room silently. This room led to an even grander staircase, which my father slowly ascended.
His hand brushed the banister as he walked, and he silently noted the thick layer of dust that coated not only it, but the interior of the house as a whole. One could see that this place had not been inhabited nor touched in many years. Each step creaked precariously under my feet as I followed him. Above us hung the chain that once held the now dismantled chandelier, hanging like a noose.
We made our way to the second floor, and my father stopped at the landing, as though every muscle in his body told him not to proceed. He finally did though, taking a deep breath and forging ahead. The first room we came to had a door that remained ajar. He pushed it slightly open for a better view of the empty interior.
"Master bedroom," he said simply, the first words he had uttered upon finding this place. He walked to the next room and opened it, saying nothing once more. He repeated this action for the next two rooms that came after, until coming to a door that he stopped at, but did not open. At the end of the hallway, we came to a door that he opened and entered.
This room was miraculously untouched. Cobwebs and dust particulate were profuse, but every piece of furniture remained, from the ornate bed that formed the centerpiece of the room, to the closet which held a multitude of clothes, however moth-eaten. Father entered this room, looking around at the interior in total awe. He sat on the bed, thereby releasing a cloud of dust that had been dormant on the perfectly folded comforter.
"It's been…over twenty years..." said he.
"This…was your home, wasn't it?" I asked. "Your room?"
He looked at me earnestly and only nodded. He was clearly overcome by reentering a part of his past he had deemed only a distant memory, and yet had been such an integral part of his past. I was amazed at how untouched everything seemed, however. To both give him a moment and to satisfy my own curiosity, I asked him, "Mind if I look around?"
He shook his head slightly, bidding my leave, and I began my exploration, racing back down the stairs, finding a parlor room, an elaborate dining hall, and the servant's quarters. Going back upstairs, I was going to find him again when I stopped at the door he dared not enter. Checking over my shoulder to make sure he couldn't see me, my heart raced as I turned the knob and peered inside. I entered into a room with mint green walls. The final rays of sunlight speckled the walls through dappled curtains that blew gently in the wind that entered through the open window. As the window had been left open, dirt had blown inside, coating the wooden floor with a thick layer of filth, but the room still had a gentleness to it. I furrowed my brow, so far uncertain of why Father had been so adverse to going in here. …that was until I noticed the turned over crib in the corner.
I felt my stomach fall as I slowly sank to the ground, hugging my knees into my chest. Looking around this room, it suddenly hit me—this whole mansion was designed with the intent for Father to live and die here. This was to be the room of his child. My room. But then again, no matter what, I would have never been raised here because of who my mother was. No, this was meant for the child of him and a noblewoman. He had been raised with the ideal that he would lead a settlement, marry well, raise children, pass along his title, and perish peacefully. He had been given anything but that. Death came early, torture was ongoing, and his wife and child had been ripped from him and made to survive on their own. I was suddenly filled with an understanding of my father that I had never felt before, and after a moment, I left the grim room, closing the door forever on a possibility of the past that would never be.
We elected to stay the night here, as this abandoned part of the island would most assuredly remain undisturbed and therefore, we would be safe. Moonlight shone through the window as I laid on my stomach on my father's old bed, munching on the last of my bread and scribbling down the details of this new development of our voyage in my journal as he sat with his back against the wall a few paces off.
"Well," I said cheerily after a moment in silence, closing the journal's cover. "It must have been a nice house. King George sure does know how to butter his officials up, doesn't he?"
Father gave a slight laugh. "Aye, but he also has no problem evicting anyone who crosses him." When I only cocked my head to the side in confusion, he elaborated, "After the hurricane incident and my brief stint aboard the Pearl, Beckett got this place. Even as an Admiral I was only given an office at Fort Charles to call my own once I returned." He looked around. "Clearly he didn't want to touch this room, however. It remains just as I left it."
"You didn't try to come back?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I never thought I'd be back." Sadly, he murmured, "Being here now…this is what I wanted for you."
My heart lurched at this. "…I wouldn't have ever had this life, if it was any consolation," I assured him. "You and Mother would have never ended up here."
"No, I just mean…all of it. I wanted…so much more for you as a whole." He motioned towards me. "Look at you. You're grown and I don't know a thing about you."
I shifted, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Well it isn't hard. You need only ask."
He raised an eyebrow, then said, "Alright. So far I've got you're good at guns, and are bloody useless at a sword. What else?"
"Well…I love to write."
"Really?" he said sarcastically, looking at my diary. "I couldn't tell."
I grinned, picking up my journal and tapping the leather binding. "Mother gave me this. It's my foremost passion, writing. I love history, I love writing history…all of it."
"And I suppose reading goes along with that?" he asked.
"Aye."
"Favorites? Classic literature?"
Uncertain, I replied, "Um. Yes."
"…you haven't read any," he finished.
"Well, I mostly have read…mythology. Histories. Captain's logs. The like."
He furrowed his brow. "Oh no. No, that won't do at all." Standing, he went to the bookcase in the corner of the room, moving a few dusty volumes, until finding one in particular. "I knew this wouldn't be sacked," he said, handing it to me. "No one would have wanted it. Here. Received an original manuscript of it when I was young. It was my favorite."
I brushed off the cover, seeing "Gulliver's Travels" scrawled across the front. I opened it, seeing a faded scrawl of the initials "JLN" inside. "I can tell," I said with a smile.
"Read it," he said, sitting back down. "I'm interested to hear what you think." After another moment, he asked, "Did your mother teach you to speak French?"
"Mais bien sur, monsieur," I answered, sitting with my back against the headboard.
"Fluently?"
"Eh. Plus ou moins."
"Henry?" he asked.
"Mais non. Il est très stupide."
Father chuckled. "Alright, what else?"
I was struggling for anything else interesting to say of myself. "I…like the color green?"
"Riveting," he said, unimpressed. "Important things! Come on!"
But I was at a loss. "Um…oh!" I finally settled on. "I've always wanted a cat!"
"A cat," he repeated in monotone.
"Yes!" I insisted. "There were always strays all over Shipwreck growing up. I always used to try to feed them scraps when I could, but of course they didn't trust me. They look sweet."
"And disease ridden."
"And sweet! Sweet and disease ridden!"
"What would you do with a cat?"
I shrugged. "Ship cat? To take care of pests?"
He sighed. "I always refused to sail with cats aboard my vessels. Check the supplies for rats, plain as that. Why bother taking another soul aboard? A soul with claws, no less?"
"Hey, what makes you think a cat unworthy of adventure? If I had a cat, I would take it with me everywhere. If I was on land, it would accompany me on land. If I was at sea, he'd have a job just like anyone else." I grinned. "I hold my cats to high standards, you see."
His eyes glinted in amusement. "Indeed. So, guns, writing, French, cats. This has been incredibly educational."
"Aye, and what of you, hmm?" I asked.
"I'm sure your mother has filled you in on all that matters."
"Nayyy… If I have to undergo the inquisition, so too must you! So you like to read. French?"
"No."
"Ah ah ah!" I corrected. "Mais non!"
"Mais non. At least, not anymore."
"And we know you dislike cats…" I said. When he offered nothing more, I egged him on. "What else? Come on!"
"As I said, you know the important bits. That's all that matters."
"I don't know much of your past. Neither did Mother when I'd ask her."
"There's not much to tell," he said with a shrug. My father was an Admiral before me, my mother his wife.
"Lawrence, correct?" I asked.
"Yes. And Victoria, my mother."
I squinted. "Who's Thomas? Scrum seemed to think you were him."
Father sighed. "My brother. Younger. A horror, apparently both in youth and in maturity."
I leaned forward in interest. I hadn't known my father had siblings! This was a major insight into his history. Carefully, I asked, "…I know that Lawrence was abusive. Mother told me that much. Grandfather would tell the story of how badly he and Jack saw him treat you."
Father was silent, his eyes distant as he said simply, "…he did what he thought was right. They both did. It just so happens that what they thought was right was masochistic."
"You got away, though," I said. "Thomas didn't. Is that perhaps why he was so horrid?"
"I didn't get away. I was forced away. I rose through the ranks quickly, mostly due to nepotism, then was ordered to escort Governor Swann, Elizabeth and a crew of officers to cross here."
I shook my head. "Not nepotism! You were clearly skilled."
Still, he shook off the compliment. "A bit. I was bred to be a model commander. I had no choice."
"But did Lawrence and Victoria follow you here? This house was for them as well, correct?"
"They visited," he said. "Suggested I keep my eye on Elizabeth, as it would be a smart match. They were right, it made sense. She, as you know of course, had other ideas."
I nodded, then changed the subject. "Was Thomas an officer?"
He chuckled at that notion. "Thomas? Never. He was their pride and joy. I think that could have been the problem. See, I was born to be the face of our name. I was to command an armada, lead a community, marry a noblewoman, eventually move back to England with her and take over the estate, wherein our children would continue the legacy. Thomas was never meant to fill that need, so they spoiled him. Little did they know what a disappointment I would turn out to be." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'm sure as soon as they caught wind of the Dauntless's sinking they instantly had him groomed and ready to take my place. I would have loved to watch him squirm under the pressure. I guarantee that's what drove him to drink."
I had to keep him talking. I might not get the opportunity for him to be so forthcoming with information ever again. "I wonder what they felt when they heard you had died," I muttered.
"Oh, nothing, I'm sure," he said casually. "They had mourned my passing the moment I lost my command, I'm positive of it."
"Maybe not Thomas or Lawrence, but surely your mother—"
"My mother?" He tightened his jaw and kept his gaze downwards, unwavering, as he launched into a story I had never heard before, nor did it seem like he had repeated to anyone. "I had a sister," he began. "Catherine. She was older. Dead at eleven. That voyage where I first encountered Teague and Jack? We returned from that voyage six months later to find the house in mourning. She was…light and joy. Our parents called her girlish and overly imaginative, insisting that she would grow out of it in time. Of course, by that they meant 'in time for her to be married off to help our status.' She understood me. She…was wonderful. My mother…wouldn't permit me to mourn. She said that I was already too emotional as it was already, and that she had been dead for months and my sorrow was meaningless. It didn't stop my tears." His voice quivered as he continued, "So she had me beaten until…I stopped. I was eight." He looked back up at me as I sat there, wide-eyed and unmoving. "So, no, I doubt my mother would have shed a single tear for me. If she did it was because of the humiliation I wrought on them."
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but couldn't find the words. I wanted to apologize, to comfort, to make any action that might resolve the horrors of the past, but I knew nothing I could ever do would change what atrocities had already surpassed.
"And…now you see why my past isn't worth mentioning," he finished. "Catherine was just to be sold off to probably some abusive bastard with money, where her only role would be bearing his children. And even though her loss left me bereft, I thank all sentient beings each day that she left when she did. It would have killed me to watch the world we lived in consume her spirit." He blinked, then in a lighter tone, remarked, "I do find it oddly poetic how we three Norringtons ended up, though. Catherine was livestock, and she was taken to peace before she could fulfill that role. Thomas was meant for nothing, had everything forced upon him, then cracked beneath the pressure so much that he took himself out of this world. And I was a name, nothing more, and yet I ruined ours. But the difference is that Catherine was an innocent, Thomas, for all his cruelties, was too an innocent. I allowed myself to go along with it. And, just as it should be, the innocents died first and found peace, while the bystander is receiving eternal damnation."
Hestitantly, I asked, "Is that why you don't consider your life worth saving?"
"If it was worth saving, it wouldn't be so full of misery. If I've suffered this much, surely it must be deserved."
I shook my head. "Why didn't you accept your death when Will offered it to you, then? Your chance to go be at peace?"
"There is no 'peace' for someone like me. Hell has been my life since birth. Just when I get a taste of happiness, it's wrenched from my grasp once again." He looked up at me, taking a deep breath. "That's why. That's why I stayed, that's why I don't consider my life worth saving… But yours is. Knowing that my hopes can live on through you is enough. Knowing that you're alive experiencing all that I wished I could have experienced is enough for me. Don't ever take that to mean that I don't spend every waking moment lamenting the time I lost with you. But…know that I don't suffer as long as I know that you're safe and happy."
"I'm not happy," I murmured earnestly. "I won't be until I have my family back, reunited and together."
He said nothing to this, just letting the silence waft through the room just like the nighttime Port Royal breeze that blew through the cracked bedroom window.
It was minutes later before he broke it with, "Horses." I looked back at him, eyes wide with interest. "Horses, not cats. That book. The color green as well. Rain. Rose. You. …that's all you need to know about me."
