Will looked about eagerly as they entered Port Royal's harbor. He did
not really expect to see the Yancy, of course, but he hoped to.
No such ship was in sight, and Will sighed and leaned against the rail.
"Aren't you glad to have made it here safely after all, Will?" Elizabeth's voice sounded from behind him.
"Of course, Miss Elizabeth."
"But you wanted your father's ship to be here," she guessed shrewdly. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find him sooner or later. In the meantime I'll remind my father about you, shall I? He'll make certain that you are taken care of until your father appears."
He was uncomfortable with the idea of being beholden to the governor, but he smiled at the girl. Elizabeth was not at all what he would have imagined such a man's daughter to be like. They had had several very interesting conversations since Will had been rescued from the wreck of the Berenice. If she had been a boy, she would have been an excellent companion back in Portsmouth; as it was, her presence had made the past few days far less dull than they might have been. He would miss her after they landed, he decided.
Governor Swann had arranged with the lieutenant to have Will taken to decent lodgings, guaranteeing payment until his share of the salvage could be sold. Will quite liked Mistress Rackham, but he was impatient to find his father. Every day he haunted the docks, waiting for new ships to come in and questioning every sailor that he could convince to listen, asking if they knew anything of the Yancy, or of William Turner. One or two squinted at him oddly, but none claimed to know any sailor by that name. The Yancy, he found, was long overdue from the African leg of her last voyage, but no one knew whether her captain had decided to risk his luck in the ports of New Spain or New Portugal, or whether she was simply lost at sea.
"Or taken by pirates," said one man grimly. "Pirates seem thicker'n ever in these waters, and crueler. Used to be that they'd give the crew of a captured ship a chance to join them, or at least take them as prisoner. Now there are some who give no quarter, and send ship and crew alike down to Davy Jones." He saw Will's stricken expression and added, "Now lad, that's not to say that your da is lost. But best to know the truth."
Will nodded. The past several weeks had brought home to him that he might never find his father again – nor even know for certain if he was dead, or simply off somewhere on the high seas with no intention of returning to Jamaica. What worried him more now was what he would do when his funds ran out. He no longer had enough to make the start that he and his mother had hoped for him.
At the end of his sixth week in Port Royal, Will was just leaving Mistress Rackham's house when he was hailed. The man introduced himself as John Brown, blacksmith. "I had a note from Governor Swann," he said, "suggesting I take you on as apprentice. I could use a new lad – my last apprentice up and ran off to sea two months past, afore he'd worked off his time. Governor says he'll pay what you can't, for the articling. You'll be bound for seven years, I to find you room and board and teach you the art of smithing, you to work for me as I choose, with provision that you won't be treated as a servant. Are you willing?"
"Oh, yes sir," said Will. This was more than he had dared hope for, ever, except during the brief weeks when he had been the inheritor of two hundred pounds. "When do I start?"
"Monday – day after tomorrow. You'll bring your things to my place tomorrow night."
"I'll be there, sir," Will promised. "Thank you!"
Mistress Rackham frowned slightly when he burst into her kitchen with his news, but forbore to say anything except, "You can come to church with me tomorrow, then. I'll wash out your things tonight for you, and we can pack them up after services."
"Yes, ma'am, thank you." Will wondered why her mouth had set so disapprovingly. Surely she did not want him to miss such a chance?
"We'll miss your help around here," she said in a softer tone. "You're a good lad, Will. I hope your father returns to find what a good son he has."
"So do I," he muttered, looking at the floor, his excitement at the prospect of the apprenticeship now greatly diminished.
"Here – run out and bring me back a chicken for dinner," she said, counting out silver into his hand. "For your last day here. John Brown's not likely to feed you too well, widower as he is. You'll have to come back and visit me once in a while, and I'll spare you a bite."
Will smiled. He loved chicken the way Mistress Rackham roasted it, stuffed with every herb she grew in the pots crowding her windowsills. He would miss her cooking, that was certain, but it was worth it to be apprenticed to a good trade.
Having brought the fowl back from the market, Will went out again, dawdling his way through the dusty streets of Port Royal, enjoying his freedom while he could. Brown would probably have him working all seven days, or maybe he would have Sundays off at best. Seven years. Well, that was not too long. He looked up at the governor's mansion on the hill above town and wondered if he should go and thank the man. Probably, he decided. He smoothed his hair down as best he could and straightened his clothes as he stood before the massive entrance, lifting his hand timidly to knock.
"Yes?" A man in impressive livery frowned at him through the doorway.
"May I speak with the governor, please?"
"The governor is not at home, boy."
"Oh," said Will. "Well. . ."
He was about to turn away when they were interrupted.
"Will? Is that you?" Elizabeth Swann gestured imperiously at the butler. "Let him come in, Thomas. I'll speak with him."
"I just came to thank your father," Will told her as she led him into the hall. "He arranged for me to be apprenticed to John Brown, the blacksmith."
"Oh Will, that's wonderful," she said. "I'm so glad. You haven't heard anything of your father, have you?"
He shook his head glumly.
"I didn't think so. Father was telling me just the other evening that he had made some inquiries, but they had all come to nothing. I'm sorry. But there's still no reason to think he might not turn up, sooner or later. In the meantime – let me show you something." Triumphantly she pulled out a garishly illustrated pamphlet. "It's all about pirates. Corsairs on the Barbary coast. Read with me?"
"All right." It would probably be the last time he saw her for who knew how long. They went out into the garden and sat on a bench there, heads inclined together over the roughly-printed pages, until the lowering sun reminded Will that he had to leave.
"Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth."
"Au revoir, Will Turner." She smiled impishly. "Until we meet again."
"Aren't you glad to have made it here safely after all, Will?" Elizabeth's voice sounded from behind him.
"Of course, Miss Elizabeth."
"But you wanted your father's ship to be here," she guessed shrewdly. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find him sooner or later. In the meantime I'll remind my father about you, shall I? He'll make certain that you are taken care of until your father appears."
He was uncomfortable with the idea of being beholden to the governor, but he smiled at the girl. Elizabeth was not at all what he would have imagined such a man's daughter to be like. They had had several very interesting conversations since Will had been rescued from the wreck of the Berenice. If she had been a boy, she would have been an excellent companion back in Portsmouth; as it was, her presence had made the past few days far less dull than they might have been. He would miss her after they landed, he decided.
Governor Swann had arranged with the lieutenant to have Will taken to decent lodgings, guaranteeing payment until his share of the salvage could be sold. Will quite liked Mistress Rackham, but he was impatient to find his father. Every day he haunted the docks, waiting for new ships to come in and questioning every sailor that he could convince to listen, asking if they knew anything of the Yancy, or of William Turner. One or two squinted at him oddly, but none claimed to know any sailor by that name. The Yancy, he found, was long overdue from the African leg of her last voyage, but no one knew whether her captain had decided to risk his luck in the ports of New Spain or New Portugal, or whether she was simply lost at sea.
"Or taken by pirates," said one man grimly. "Pirates seem thicker'n ever in these waters, and crueler. Used to be that they'd give the crew of a captured ship a chance to join them, or at least take them as prisoner. Now there are some who give no quarter, and send ship and crew alike down to Davy Jones." He saw Will's stricken expression and added, "Now lad, that's not to say that your da is lost. But best to know the truth."
Will nodded. The past several weeks had brought home to him that he might never find his father again – nor even know for certain if he was dead, or simply off somewhere on the high seas with no intention of returning to Jamaica. What worried him more now was what he would do when his funds ran out. He no longer had enough to make the start that he and his mother had hoped for him.
At the end of his sixth week in Port Royal, Will was just leaving Mistress Rackham's house when he was hailed. The man introduced himself as John Brown, blacksmith. "I had a note from Governor Swann," he said, "suggesting I take you on as apprentice. I could use a new lad – my last apprentice up and ran off to sea two months past, afore he'd worked off his time. Governor says he'll pay what you can't, for the articling. You'll be bound for seven years, I to find you room and board and teach you the art of smithing, you to work for me as I choose, with provision that you won't be treated as a servant. Are you willing?"
"Oh, yes sir," said Will. This was more than he had dared hope for, ever, except during the brief weeks when he had been the inheritor of two hundred pounds. "When do I start?"
"Monday – day after tomorrow. You'll bring your things to my place tomorrow night."
"I'll be there, sir," Will promised. "Thank you!"
Mistress Rackham frowned slightly when he burst into her kitchen with his news, but forbore to say anything except, "You can come to church with me tomorrow, then. I'll wash out your things tonight for you, and we can pack them up after services."
"Yes, ma'am, thank you." Will wondered why her mouth had set so disapprovingly. Surely she did not want him to miss such a chance?
"We'll miss your help around here," she said in a softer tone. "You're a good lad, Will. I hope your father returns to find what a good son he has."
"So do I," he muttered, looking at the floor, his excitement at the prospect of the apprenticeship now greatly diminished.
"Here – run out and bring me back a chicken for dinner," she said, counting out silver into his hand. "For your last day here. John Brown's not likely to feed you too well, widower as he is. You'll have to come back and visit me once in a while, and I'll spare you a bite."
Will smiled. He loved chicken the way Mistress Rackham roasted it, stuffed with every herb she grew in the pots crowding her windowsills. He would miss her cooking, that was certain, but it was worth it to be apprenticed to a good trade.
Having brought the fowl back from the market, Will went out again, dawdling his way through the dusty streets of Port Royal, enjoying his freedom while he could. Brown would probably have him working all seven days, or maybe he would have Sundays off at best. Seven years. Well, that was not too long. He looked up at the governor's mansion on the hill above town and wondered if he should go and thank the man. Probably, he decided. He smoothed his hair down as best he could and straightened his clothes as he stood before the massive entrance, lifting his hand timidly to knock.
"Yes?" A man in impressive livery frowned at him through the doorway.
"May I speak with the governor, please?"
"The governor is not at home, boy."
"Oh," said Will. "Well. . ."
He was about to turn away when they were interrupted.
"Will? Is that you?" Elizabeth Swann gestured imperiously at the butler. "Let him come in, Thomas. I'll speak with him."
"I just came to thank your father," Will told her as she led him into the hall. "He arranged for me to be apprenticed to John Brown, the blacksmith."
"Oh Will, that's wonderful," she said. "I'm so glad. You haven't heard anything of your father, have you?"
He shook his head glumly.
"I didn't think so. Father was telling me just the other evening that he had made some inquiries, but they had all come to nothing. I'm sorry. But there's still no reason to think he might not turn up, sooner or later. In the meantime – let me show you something." Triumphantly she pulled out a garishly illustrated pamphlet. "It's all about pirates. Corsairs on the Barbary coast. Read with me?"
"All right." It would probably be the last time he saw her for who knew how long. They went out into the garden and sat on a bench there, heads inclined together over the roughly-printed pages, until the lowering sun reminded Will that he had to leave.
"Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth."
"Au revoir, Will Turner." She smiled impishly. "Until we meet again."