Grown

"Remember your place, Turner."

"It's right here, between you and Jack."

Proud, strong, defiant, young Turner was now the antithesis of everything he had been at the start of this . . .fiasco, adventure, whatever you wished to call it.  Then he had feared lifting his eyes, speaking his name, claiming his work, wary of trodding upon the toes of his 'betters', whose benevolence he had relied upon for eight years.

Norrington liked to believe he was no fool.  Only a fool would believe it had been simply Mr. Brown and his bottle that prevented Sparrow's escape, especially when the boy had been standing there, sweaty, sword still raised in defiance.

This was not merely the bright, swift burn of passion that had seen an axe plunged into a map, the burning need that had driven the young man to free Sparrow from jail and sail under his command.

No, this was calculated, a risk that was undertaken with full knowledge of the ramifications and rewards.

Sometime during the last brief days, the boy had become a man.

Heaven help him, for the courage and determination that showed in every line of his body would be no match for the hangman's noose.