We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves.
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!
The Tarantula docked in Santiago de Cuba amid much grumbling from the men. As usual, talk stopped when Will approached, but he heard enough to gather that the crew resented the Commodore sending them there, particularly since they were not to be granted any shore leave. Apparently most of the crew had money in their pockets and were eager to spend it, which surprised Will, since he understood he was not to be paid until his tour of duty ended, and that's how he had always heard that pay was disbursed in the Navy. Captain Stanley seemed to command a high degree of loyalty from his crew, and perhaps he accomplished it by changing some of the Navy's standard operating procedures. That was the only explanation Will could think of.
But, grumbling men or not, no British soldiers or sailors were to have shore leave in this Spanish port. Relations between their two nations were strained, and Stanley would risk neither losing his men to the civil authorities and foreign courts, nor antagonizing the Spanish with a strong military presence. The only men who saw anything beyond the docks were the soldiers who accompanied Captain Stanley on his visit to General Rodriguez.
These men were surrounded by their crewmates and peppered with questions, coarse and ribald, as soon as they were back on deck and released from their shore duty. Will, too, was curious to hear what they had seen in the town, but he kept his distance, knowing from experience that his presence would break up the talk. Too far away to hear much, he still noticed when one of the men who had been ashore slapped the other, playfully, open-palmed. The man who had been slapped reeled around, over-dramatically, and cried "I didn't deserve that!" The crowd of men laughed appreciatively, and the two play-actors grinned at each other, clearly not rancorous.
Will froze, in shock, his thoughts spinning. Then he was pushing his way through the press of men to stand before the one who had done the slapping. "Who . . . What was that? Where did you see that?" he demanded.
The men stood back, scowling at Will, and the man he addressed also gave him an angry look. "What is the problem, Turner?"
"Who said that? Where did you hear it?"
"On the street, just now. The man spoke in English. What's it to you?"
"Was it a woman who slapped him?"
The man nodded, now looking bemused. The others also started to give Will amused glances.
"What did he look like?"
"Why?"
"Tell me! Did he have beads in his hair and beard? Kohl around his eyes?"
The man looked a little startled and exchanged glances with his comrade. "That's the man," he confirmed.
"Jack Sparrow! That's Jack Sparrow! Where, man? Where was he?"
"By the whorehouses and the money-changers. Up that street, there." The man pointed, but his expression showed no concern, only skepticism about Will's sanity.
Will bounded away, leaping over hatches and up stairs, to reach the Mate. "Lieutenant! The men saw Sparrow in the town. They didn't know him, but I do. I know it was Sparrow. Let me go into town and look for him!"
The Mate regarded him levelly. "Mr. Turner, you are not, under any circumstances, to leave this ship. Desertion is punishable by death. Do you understand?"
Taken aback, Will blinked. "Yes, sir. But Sparrow! Don't you care that he's here, in this town? I can identify him."
"If true, it is interesting, to be sure. If the pirate is here, it might explain our missing supplies."
"What?"
"Didn't you hear? Someone stole six of our casks by cutting the dock beneath them and spiriting them away. I believe the Captain intends to mention that to General Rodriguez, as well, while they are talking."
"No sir, I didn't hear. No one tells me anything. Do you need more proof? Let's capture him, before he gets away!"
The Mate looked out to sea with a disinterested shrug. "We have no jurisdiction to pour British soldiers into the streets searching the town. We'd start another war with Spain, right here."
Will couldn't believe how unconcerned the man appeared. "Isn't that what we're out here for? To capture Jack Sparrow and stop the Black Pearl's attacks?"
Now the Mate's expression turned dark. He was a big man, and not averse to using his strength to intimidate. He bared his teeth as he said, "You forget yourself, Seaman. You don't lecture me about our mission. I will apprise the captain when he returns. You return to your duties, now, or by God, you will be flogged."
Shocked and furious, Will turned away.
"Mr. Turner," said the Mate.
Will looked back.
The man gave him an evil smile as he said, "I wouldn't be so eager to capture Sparrow, if I were you. If we had him, we wouldn't need you anymore."
It was an odd thing to say, and Will didn't quite know how to take it. Certainly his role as "special advisor" would be unnecessary once Jack was caught. Perhaps that was what the man meant. Will put thoughts of the Mate out of his mind, and concentrated on Sparrow. For some reason Jack was here, in this town, and he had stolen some of their supplies. Will guessed he planned to provision the Black Pearl with them, which meant the Black Pearl wasn't far away. If only he had Stanley or the Commodore to talk to! The thought that Jack could even now be escaping – either by sea or to somewhere else on the long island of Cuba – made Will feel sick with desperation to pursue him. He couldn't believe his superiors would punish him if he returned with the pirate his prisoner. Or – he forced himself to face squarely this possibility – if he returned with Jack's corpse.
Dodging the watch commander's notice, Will ducked into the forecastle and buckled on his sword. Then he slid around the edge of the cabin and threw down the rope ladder. In seconds he was in the murky water of the harbor, a deserter from the Royal Navy.
He swam submerged as far as he could toward the opposite side of the harbor, surfaced once for air, praying he would not be noticed, submerged again, and then climbed out on the bank, just past where the docks ended. He was seen by a couple of dockhands who called to him in Spanish. Will gave them a cheery wave and headed past them, into the town. They looked after him with astonished expressions.
Were this a British port, Will reasoned, the brothels and money-houses wouldn't be far from the docks. And the crewman had pointed up this street . . . Will slowed his pace, the better to study the faces of the men on the narrow street. He didn't have much time to find Sparrow, he guessed, before either the Spanish authorities or his own shipmates would come after him. Where would Jack be?
Will had clearly found the vice area of town; brazen whores, their faces veiled but their bosoms all but uncovered, preened outside the brothels. At least one of them must have known Jack, but Will was at a loss as to how to question them.
Will heard singing down an alley. A tavern! He turned down the alley just in time to see his prayers answered. Not only was there a tavern at the end of the alley, its front no doubt opening onto another street, but slipping out its back door, holding two bottles of rum, came Jack Sparrow!
"Jack!" Will called out, involuntarily. Jack looked up, and the expression of astonishment on his face was almost comical.
"Turner?" he asked, incredulously. "You're on that ship?"
Will drew his sword, exulting inside. At last he could atone in some small measure for his poor judgment in trusting a vicious pirate. "I'm taking you in, Jack," he said, advancing.
"Lad," said Jack, as he carefully placed the rum bottles on a low wall and made "you stay here" motions at them, "I'm not the man you want. You can ask your lovely wife."
All his senses on high alert, Will sized the man up. Jack was still damp from a recent swim, though not as wet as was Will. Still, it took gunpowder days to dry in their part of the world, so Will was confident that Jack could not fire his pistol. Will continued to advance.
"How like a pirate to threaten my wife. How many women and children did you kill in George Town, Jack? You butcher! And to think I trusted you!"
Jack had stood his ground, not drawing his sword, but now, apparently convinced of Will's sincerity, he slid his sword free of its sheath and leapt nimbly onto the low wall behind him. "Will, I can outrun you," he said, darting glances around at the alley.
"Can you? You've seen how I can throw this sword."
"You'd stab me in the back?" Jack seemed genuinely appalled.
"I wouldn't if you were a 'good man,' but you're not." Will decided not to waste any more time in talk. He lunged, and Jack parried, but Will had expected Jack's success, seeing as the pirate had a height advantage on the wall, and he used momentum from the parry to try to sweep out Jack's legs. Jack danced over Will's sword, then beat it aside and stabbed Will's wrist. Will yielded in time to keep the thrust from penetrating, but the pain was so acute he almost released his sword. He backed off a few steps to let his hand recover.
"Listen, Will," said Jack. "That Navy ship you're on has been pretending to be the Pearl. They're the real villains. Haven't you seen anything strange on board? Black sails, at least?"
Will bounded onto the wall, reminding himself that Sparrow might sway and veer drunkenly in his normal course, but in swordplay the pirate was precise, quick, and crafty. "I do not think I ought to listen to you," Will said.
They engaged, as they had once before, on a narrow surface, moving forward and back. On one backward step, Will kicked over a bottle of rum, which tumbled off the wall and broke open upon the cobblestones.
"Ah, see now . . ." complained Jack.
Jack ceased his press so Will didn't need to step back again, where the second bottle stood. Will seized his opportunity and renewed his attack, but, to his frustration, Jack parried all his blows.
"Your heart's not in this, lad," Jack said. "Lets have us a drink and talk about this."
For the first time, Will noticed they were drawing a crowd. Jack, too, became aware of the men and boys sliding into the alley. He said something to the crowd in Spanish and their audience laughed. Will had a strong feeling that Jack had made another eunuch joke. He lunged again, but Jack jumped off the wall, easily avoiding his blade.
"Will, do you notice we have company?" he asked. The growing crowd was ringing them and placing bets.
Will followed him off the wall. "I don't care who catches you," he said, "so long as you're stopped."
"It wasn't me, you bloody fool," Jack said, backpedaling as he parried, and finally sounding like he believed himself to be trapped.
It was that faintly desperate note in Jack's voice that gave Will pause. He stopped advancing and glowered at the pirate, but he allowed the man's words to have meaning for him. Jack should have taken Will's hesitation as an opportunity and pressed in, but instead he also paused and regarded his opponent earnestly. The crowd made irritated sounds.
"Who else could it be?" Will asked.
"I'm telling you, it's that ship you're on. Haven't they asked you yet where the Isle de Muerte is?"
This question made no sense to Will, and he told himself sternly to lift his sword and attack again, but some other part of him objected. The part that remembered Captain Jack Sparrow as an ally and a good man. A friend, even.
And then there were voices and tramping feet, and contrary to what Stanley and the Chief Mate had insisted upon, a force of British soldiers came up the street and turned in the alley. The ring of civilians broke and faded before them. To Will's astonishment, rather than seizing Jack, they laid violent hands on Will, and, the Chief Mate commanding them, leveled muskets at him. Even Jack looked surprised, and then he tried to join the audience of townsfolk who were fast disappearing from the alley. Will struggled against the hands holding him.
"Sparrow! That's Jack Sparrow!" he yelled.
Almost as an afterthought, the Mate nodded and ordered, "Seize that man!" sending half a dozen red-coated soldiers to grab Jack before he got very far.
The detachment returned promptly to the docks, accompanied by an equal force of Spanish soldiers that materialized around them and escorted them down the street and to the gangplank of the ship. Will protested his own treatment until a vicious blow from the Mate silenced him.
"You're a deserter, Turner," the man hissed.
His head ringing, Will decided to hold his tongue until he could see Captain Stanley.
Once on board, the soldiers hauled both Will and Jack down the hatch and into steerage, which Will had never seen. One part of this level had bars and a door, to serve as a brig. Into this, Will was shoved and the door locked. Jack they took down even farther, into the hold.
Before Jack vanished from Will's sight, the pirate looked at him, and Will had to look away.
II
Will paced in the small cell for an hour, by the sound of the ship's bells, trying to calm down. Jack was caught, Jack was caught. That was good, wasn't it? It's what he had been working for since the George Town attacks. And Will was the one who had caught him, mostly. That was even better. Stanley wouldn't punish him once he learned the truth. And Will wouldn't have to live with the crushing guilt that had haunted him all this time. He stopped pacing and leaned his head against the bulkhead. Then why did he still feel so wretched?
Drained, Will sank to the floor, and stared absently out of his cell. He looked around steerage, the deck between the upper deck and the hold. Daylight was fading, the sinking sun making the thin shafts of sunlight glisten on the dust in the air. The odor of the bilge water was not so strong as it had been on the Deadly Earnest. Jones and the other junior men must be making their beds amid the gear stored there, under the sheets of black canvas.
Black canvas?
Will's eyes were now adjusted to the gloom, and the hair rose on his neck as he looked around at the black sails covering the other gear. Suddenly he had to know what was under them. He jumped to his feet and paced again, looking for . . . he found a rotting plank. Apparently the crew of the Tarantula never holystoned steerage like they did the main deck; some of the wood was rough and splintering. The plank he pried up was just long enough to reach the nearest heap. He stretched and lifted.
Beneath the sails was a large wooden object, irregularly shaped, with sweeping, rounded edges. Pressing painfully against the flat iron bars, Will slid the plank along the edge of the canvas and came to a carved wooden bird, its wings outstretched, gripped at the body by the fingers of a human figure the rest of which Will couldn't see. He didn't need to. He backed away, into his cell, until he was leaning against the outside bulkhead. He knew what it was. A woman's form with wings - an angel - gripping a dove. It was an exact copy of the Black Pearl's figurehead.
For a moment Will couldn't breathe. His world spun and he felt like his heart was in his boots. Will found himself sitting again, and fighting a suddenly rebellious stomach. At that moment, he heard feet and voices at the hatch. One of the voices belonged to Captain Stanley. Panicked, the only thing Will could think of to do was to feign sleep. He was in no fit state to face the man. Will curled up on his side and told himself to breathe deeply.
Stanley and his company didn't even pause in steerage; they continued down the companionway into the hold. Will sat up, relieved, when they were gone and his thinking cleared. If both he and Jack were to get out of this mess he had gotten them into, they would both need to be very clever. Jack, Will was sure, could be clever while drunk and half asleep, but Will would need to try to guess what Jack would be doing. He smiled grimly. Doing his best to guess what Jack would do had been his explicit charge from the beginning.
Will began a systematic inspection of his cell. The loose plank he had pried was too brittle to be of much use as a weapon, but he set it aside carefully, in case. The bars . . . Will knew that construction and considered its implications. Crossed flat iron slats made excellent cells when set in stonemasonry, but affixing them in a wooden ship had some inherent weaknesses. The bars were only as effective as the wood was strong. As a consequence, shipbuilders generally ran the bars entirely through the middle deck, down into the hold, the better to set the ends in the solid wood of the keel. One level might serve as a brig, the other as secure storage for loose or valuable items.
It occurred to Will that Jack was probably incarcerated directly below him. He laid a thoughtful hand on the bars, remembering an interesting property of metal. Casting an appraising glance around steerage, judging the amount of creaking noise the ship made as it lay in port - much less noise than it would make at sea - Will lay down next to the bars, and pressed his ear to one. Faint and tinny, but still clear, like distant voices heard across a lake, Will heard Stanley speak.
". . . until the Commodore gets here."
"Well, Mate," Jack's voice said, "you've got to be the worst pirate I've ever heard of."
"Imagine my disappointment," Stanley replied. "Why, in particular?"
"Attacking poor settlements? What's the point and purpose? If there's no treasure to be had, a real pirate moves on. Plunder a Spanish treasure ship, now, and you're sitting pretty. Unless you're afraid to attack someone who can fight back."
"I have nothing to fear," sneered Stanley. "You, on the other hand, have a very short life expectancy right now."
"That's nothing new to me, chum. No pirate expects to live very long. Makes every day worth living well. Something else you'd understand if you were a real pirate."
"I intend to be richer than any living pirate soon. That will take the sting out of not being accepted in your brigand ranks. You're going to help me to the gold at the Isle de Muerte."
"Swag, mate, swag. At least learn how to talk like a proper pirate!"
A loud pounding noise reverberated in Will's head, as something slammed into the bars. Will guessed it to be Stanley's fist.
"Enough! Where is the Isle de Muerte?"
"Good God, man! Can't you even conduct a proper parley? You've given me no incentive whatsoever to tell you!"
"How's this for incentive? You tell me where the Isle de Muerte is, or I cut off your ears, your tongue, and any other parts that protrude. Savvy?"
"Much better! I liked the 'savvy' part at the end. Maybe you are teachable, after all. But you gave your bluff away with the tongue. How can I tell you what you want to know with no tongue?"
"You think I bluff? Mr. Sparrow, I have men on this ship who are highly skilled - and I do mean highly - in the finer arts of making a man talk. You will tell me what I want to know."
Jack's reply sounded subdued, to Will's hearing. "And then you'll kill me Mate, once I tell you. I know the drill. I don't look forward to your men practicing their skill, but I'll tell you one more thing about a real pirate. The worst day living is better than the best day dead. We have only Hell to look forward to, savvy? So rather than be dead I'll take the worst you have to give for a very, very long time. How much time do you have? The Commodore's arriving soon, isn't he? Will you never learn to negotiate?"
Will heard nothing for a time, but some muted voices. Stanley was not alone with Jack, he remembered; the Chief Mate and some other men were there.
Stanley spoke again. "Well, Mr. Sparrow, suppose I allow you to instruct me. What do you suggest I offer you?"
"Now we're talking! Excellent. Let's look at it this way. I presume you intend to share the swag with all your men? Good. Properly piratical, equal shares and all. What's more, if you don't, and they get wind of it, it's mutiny. I have some experience in the area and know what I'm talking about. You've already made them outlaws, why shouldn't they turn on you? Out of curiosity, how did you turn a Navy crew into pirates? Good bit of business, that."
"I'm so delighted to have your approval. I see no harm in satisfying your curiosity. I hand picked a crew for pirate hunting. All men with no families and reputations for brutality. When we took our first pirate ship, I suggested we keep their . . . swag, as you call it. Every man agreed, and then they were bound to me by the need for silence and the promise of more wealth. Murdering innocents was an unfortunate necessity, but they were up to the job. Now, would you please get to the point?"
"Aye, I will. You have, how many men? Two hundred or so? You agree - and get your men to agree - to make it two hundred and one. Let me have an equal share of the swag, and transport with my share on your ship, and I'll be glad to tell you where it is. It's really a lot of treasure, Mate. There's plenty there for everyone."
Will wondered if he had heard right. Was Jack really offering to throw in with Stanley?
"You would cut your own crew out?"
"Of course. They have a ship; let them get their own loot. I'll take my share and retire to an island a rich man, as I imagine you lot hope to do."
Will couldn't believe what he was hearing. Then he stopped his thoughts, dead. He wouldn't believe what he was hearing. Had he learned nothing? Once before, he had thought Jack was throwing in with Barbossa, and he'd been wrong then, too.
"That sounds suspiciously disloyal, Sparrow. Surely that's not proper pirate behavior."
"You know nothing of the Code, do you?" Jack sounded exasperated. "We stay together only so long as it's mutually profitable. Why do you think I'm out alone? I'm not letting any of them go and find their own way to the Isle de Muerte. Now it's more profitable for me to throw in with your lot. Mutually profitable, savvy?"
Now Jack's voice lowered and grew seductive sounding.
"There is so much gold there, Mate, it will fill your entire hold and then some. I'll be glad of the help hauling it."
Again Will heard only muted voices in the background. Then,
"Captain Sparrow, you have a deal."
"An accord."
"An accord, then. You tell us where the Isle de Muerte is, and we will give you an equal share of the . . . swag."
"Excellent! Now, perhaps you'll let me out of here, and I'll find me some dinner."
"No, Captain Sparrow, you will tell me the location, first."
"I don't know the actual coordinates, Mate; I have to find it by dead reckoning."
"That's convenient," Stanley said, a warning note in his voice.
"No, that's magic. 'Can only be found by someone who already knows where it is.' Sorry."
"In that case, you will give me a good faith offering or the deal's off. What part of the Caribbean is it in? You'd have to tell me where to sail toward, in any case."
"There's some truth in that," Jack sounded thoughtful. "It's in the Bahamas."
Will's heart leaped. He couldn't name coordinates, either, but he knew what part of the ocean he had been in when Barbossa's crew had tried to use him to lift their curse. They hadn't been anywhere near the Bahamas. Bless Jack! He swore to himself he would never distrust the man again.
"More than that, Captain, or we'll return to the torture scenario."
"A day and a half's sail north of San Salvador. But you'll still need me to find it."
"You, or someone else who's been there. What did you do with Turner?"
For the first time, Will heard the Chief Mate's voice.
"He's in the brig. He thinks it's for desertion."
"Turner?" Jack asked. "What's he to do with it? That boy couldn't find a rock he threw himself."
"He can corroborate your general location, Sparrow. If you're telling the truth, our deal is good. If not . . . I'll hang you and we'll use him. Stay here; I should be the one to bring Turner."
"Yes sir," said the Mate.
If Jack had anything else to say to that, Will didn't hear it. He rolled on his back away from the bars, his heart pounding. He would have to pretend he knew none of this and he hadn't even noticed the black sails, let alone what was under them. He would have to be convincing: his life, and certainly Jack's, depended on it.
Full night had fallen while he had been concentrating on the faint sounds transmitted through the metal. Steerage was dark and foreboding. Will pushed the plank back out into the open, and returned to feigning sleep. Stanley's footsteps were on the stairs.
"Mr. Turner."
Will rolled to his feet. "Captain!" he cried. Stanley stood there. Behind him stood a man holding a lantern.
"Mr. Turner, I understand you single-handedly caught Jack Sparrow."
"Yes, sir. No, I . . . I had to leave the ship to do it, sir. I'm really sorry. But, you know, my enlistment is only conditional, until the Black Pearl is stopped, and I thought . . ."
"Yes, yes," said Stanley, producing a large key ring, and unlocking the door. "Very well done. I'll put you in for a commendation for this. I'm sure the Commodore will approve it. He may add his own."
Will exited the cell.
"I apologize for the misunderstanding. I'm sure you understand how serious a matter the Navy must view desertion."
"Of course, sir." Will's voice shook a little, but Stanley didn't appear to notice.
"Now follow me, Turner." Stanley whirled smartly and returned to the companionway. His heart in his throat, Will followed.
The hold was as Will had imagined. Stacks of casks and crates, and some loose articles such as fine silks and tapestries were stored there, in addition to piles and piles of gunpowder kegs and cannon shot. In the equivalent to Will's cell, leaning negligently against the bars, stood Jack. A wave of regret washed over Will. He could see the man again as a friend and ally, but he was behind bars again because of Will. He looked away from Jack's cool gaze, afraid of giving too much away.
The Mate and three men perched on upended barrels, but they stood when the Captain entered. The Captain gestured Will forward, to stand near the cell.
"Will," the Captain said, kindly, "you understand that it is your duty to serve your country and me unfailingly, even when your orders may seem strange?"
"I understand, Captain," Will replied earnestly. "I am the slave of duty."
Stanley frowned and Jack rolled his eyes. The Mate and some of the other men snickered. Will considered that he might have overplayed his part.
"I mean, how can I help?"
"It's important that we catch the Black Pearl at the Isle de Muerte, and Captain Sparrow has been kind enough to give me its location. But in order to check his good will, I'd like you to tell me where it is."
"Stanley, I'm telling you, this lubber had no idea where he was," Jack said.
"Jack, you're a liar," Will managed to say. He prayed he sounded convincing. "Sir, I can tell you generally where the Isle de Muerte is."
"That's all I require of you, lad. Where is it?"
Carefully not looking at Jack, Will said, "It's in the Bahamas."
Will heard a distinct click from Jack's direction, which he was sure was the sound of the man's teeth as he snapped his mouth shut.
"We were only a short ways out of a Spanish port, San something. San Salvador."
Stanley was nodding, slowly. "How far from San Salvador?"
"Only a day or so. I couldn't tell you what the wind was doing, so I'm not sure exactly - we had to wait for the opportune moment - but it took us about a day and a half."
Will did not even glance at Jack. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.
"What direction were you headed?"
"Mostly north, sir."
Stanley turned to the Mate. "Lieutenant, we set sail at dawn for the Bahamas."
"Yes, Captain. What about the Commodore?"
"My orders were to deliver his letter to Rodriguez. He won't expect me to wait for him when I have such a good lead to the Black Pearl. Turner, return to your duties. Under no circumstances may you leave this ship again. Sparrow, you may enjoy your life a while longer."
Will escaped from the hold, feeling like a drowning man who breaks the water's surface and can gulp the air again.
III
They did not leave at dawn. All night the weather worsened until by morning eastern Cuba was in the grips of a tremendous storm. Shortly after midnight, "all hands" were called, and the Larboard Watch, Will's watch, turned out to assist the Starboard Watch in battening the hatches. All hands were on deck, but for Will. As they tumbled out of the forecastle, the Second Mate stopped him. "Not you, chum," he said. "We can't watch you in the dark and the rain. You're not deserting again." So Will stayed behind, useless, in a locked forecastle, his tired mind trying to keep track of the various deceptions. They might pretend they were watching that he not desert, but he was really under guard. Will was as much a prisoner as Jack Sparrow was, but he was not supposed to know it.
The storm kept them in port for three days, and they should have stayed another few days to repair the damage it did to their hull, but Stanley ordered them to sea at the first opportunity.
It had been a miserable three days for Will. All around him were men who had committed the brutal attacks on a dozen settlements for no more reason than to implicate the Black Pearl. These men were fast growing tired of the deception they had to maintain around Will, just as he grew tired of pretending he knew nothing of it. Everyone on board knew they had Sparrow, and if they didn't know that Stanley had the location of the Isle de Muerte, they assumed that he would soon have it. Eager for the gold, but trapped in port, tempers ran high and the other men grew incautious of what they said around Will. Many times he overheard "What do we need 'im for?" It occurred to Will that by corroborating Jack's story, he had made Jack valuable to Stanley at the expense of his own worth.
All Will could learn of Jack was that he had been moved to the brig when the hold began to leak. Will had volunteered to help with the repairs in the hold, in the hopes of seeing Jack, but the Mate had only laughed at him. He thought wistfully of his snug cottage in Port Royal and was thankful that at least Elizabeth was safe.
As they left port on the fourth day, Will watched his only real hope for escape fall behind him, and finally drop off the rim of the horizon. He tried to boost his spirits by thinking of Jack. What would Jack do? Well, he told himself, Jack wouldn't give up. Even though they were now literally between the Devil and the deep blue sea, Jack would still try something. The best thing Will could do would be to try to be ready for any opportunity.
Although his sword had been appropriated when he went in the brig, and somehow never returned, no one had taken his sailor's knife. It was seen as more tool than weapon, and, since everyone had one, having one was not viewed as any particular advantage. Will removed the hilt and put the blade in the sole of his boot.
As the Tarantula sped across the Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola - across, not into, because Stanley was loath to meet any returning Royal Navy ships on their way to Jamaica, and had decided to round Hispaniola the long way, from the south - repairs were carried out while under full sail. Sealing leaky planking with hot tar and oakum was a nasty job, made even more unpleasant when it had to be done on the outside of the hull while hanging from the Boatswain's chair, but it gave Will an idea.
Mindful of the Mate's laugh at his obvious ploy to get to see Jack, Will didn't volunteer for the Boatswain's chair. Instead, he busied himself as far from that activity as he could manage, until it became obvious that he was ducking his turn. Then he was promptly ordered onto the chair, supplied with hot tar and a loggerhead, and lowered over the side. He was just above the area in steerage where the brig was.
He worked diligently at sealing the planks, but he wanted to be lowered to outside the brig, and that wasn't in the pattern the Boatswain's mates were working with him.
"Hey!" he called up. "Not so low! There are sharks!"
The faces of the two mates leered at him over the gunwale. The lines holding his platform abruptly played out, dropping him sharply to just above the waves. One of the buckets of tar tumbled into the sea. The spray soaked Will, and the Boatswain's chair swung wildly, thumping against the hull. The hold itself was below the waterline, and could only be repaired from the inside, but now Will was outside the brig, and below the curve of the hull, where he could not be seen. He had to work fast before the Boatswain's mates decided they had enjoyed their joke long enough.
One end of the loggerhead was for prying planks, not sealing them, and Will put all his strength behind loosening the planking at the brig level.
"Jack!" he called, but his voice was carried away by the wind and the waves. He abandoned any hope of hearing or being heard under those conditions.
He struggled further to do the very last thing one would normally want to do to a ship under weigh - weaken its seals. He managed to bend open a crevice far enough to cram the loggerhead in. Was he imagining it, or did it feel like someone had gripped the other end of the tool, and pulled? Will couldn't be sure, because once the planking snapped back in place, he had no way to pry it again. All he could do was hold on, wet and cold, and wait.
Eventually the Boatswain's mates pulled him higher again, and when he showed them that he had lost a bucket of tar and his loggerhead, they hoisted him all the way up.
"That wasn't funny!" he yelled at them. "I told you there were sharks!"
The mates thought it was funny. They laughed.
The Chief Mate approached. "What's going on here?" he demanded.
"Mr. Turner dropped his tar and a loggerhead, Lieutenant," one of the mates said, all innocence.
Soaked to the skin, Will stayed silent as the Mate looked him over.
"On your way, Turner," he said. To the Boatswain's mates he said, "Get someone else in the chair."
Will moved to the bow of the ship and looked out over what seemed like endless sea. They were still headed south, as fast as the world's winds could take them, in order to get out of potentially busy traffic lanes. Although the ocean was a moat, imprisoning him, he couldn't look off the bow without being stirred by a feeling of excitement. The safety of his smithy was a distant dream of normalcy, but it also now looked to him like a prison of another kind. He wondered with a strange detachment if he would survive this adventure, and if he did, if he would be able to return to life on land.
A flash of blue-green against the grey of sea and sky caught his attention. He looked up to see a parrot perch on the foremast shroud. That struck him as odd, since they were well away from land, now.
He looked down again, and noticed what he was leaning against. It was a third capstan in the bow of the Tarantula, and he had once wondered what it was for. The other two raised and lowered the forward anchors, as on the Deadly Earnest, but the chain from this one went . . . he followed it forward, and saw that the chain must go to the lion figurehead. Of course. They had to have a way to change figureheads while under sail.
"What are you doing, Turner?" Will had not heard the Chief Mate come up behind him. His voice was full of suspicion.
"Nothing!" he answered, not very convincingly.
"Getting an eyeful?" growled the Mate. "Have you figured out what it's for?"
Will recovered quickly. "No sir, but I was curious. What is it for?"
"Enough of this!" the Mate said, and grabbed Will by the bicep. He dragged him from the bow. "Take him!" he yelled to two crewmen, who stepped up and gripped Will's arms. "I'll get the Captain."
Will said nothing as Captain Stanley approached with the Mate. Behind him, two more men brought Jack Sparrow, blinking in the sunlight, his hands bound in front of him with rope.
"So, Turner, how much have you learned?" Stanley asked, without any trace of friendliness.
"I don't know what you mean, sir," Will tried, but his protest sounded forced, even to his own ears.
"What really concerns me," Stanley said, looking out at the sea, "is how long you have known it. How long have you been in league with Sparrow?"
"I'm not!" Will cried. "You must believe me! I hate pirates!"
Stanley looked now at Jack, who gave him a genial grin. "So now," Stanley mused, "I can't trust your information."
"Of course you can," said Jack. "What's Turner to do with my interest in the gold? When could we have agreed on a story?"
Stanley appeared to consider that. "In the street before you were caught. You could have planned it then."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Bilge water," he said. "Why would I agree to be captured? Just to mislead you and then get myself killed?"
As Stanley regarded Jack, something white and fluid fell from above onto his blue uniform. An expression of outrage spread across Stanley's angular features, and guffaws passed through the watching men.
"A guinea to the man who kills that bird!" Stanley cried.
The laughter turned to greedy cheers as the Watch sprang into the rigging. Will watched in amazement as normally agile sailors overreached themselves trying for the parrot, and slipped and stumbled, and tangled themselves in rigging. The parrot, for its part, hopped and flapped, and kept just out of reach.
"And someone tie a noose!" Stanley ordered. "Turner, I'm afraid you've outlived your usefulness."
"Sir!" Will gasped. His blood turned icy. "What . . . what will you tell the Commodore?"
Stanley showed an evil smile and said, "I don't expect to ever see His Nibs again. But if I must, I'll tell him Sparrow murdered you." He looked to the Mate. "Tie the noose on that yard, there."
In the rigging above, the converging sailors were now banging heads and trying to push each other away from the parrot in their attempts to be the first to reach it. The parrot flew down around the heads of the men on deck, calling "Anchors aweigh! Anchors aweigh!" before landing on a mizzenmast stay.
Every man looked at the parrot in surprise. Behind them was Spanish Cuba, and to the east was French Port-Au-Prince and this bird spoke in English? Then the men aloft dropped to the deck or swung across in a scramble aft to the mizzenmast. They never reached the parrot. It flew off the stern, heading northwest, amid many disappointed cries and oaths. Will marked its heading carefully, and he saw Jack doing the same.
Though Will had been trying not to look too much at Jack, now their gazes locked in a moment of mutual, perfect understanding. Then Jack looked away and began shaking his head.
"Captain Stanley, Captain Stanley. You can't hang the boy."
"Oh? And why not? Why should you want him spared, if you're not in league?"
"You're still thinking like a military man. Hanging? Come now, what would a pirate do?"
Will spotted the two vicious Boatswain's mates, watching avidly.
"Shut up, Jack!" Will hissed, and his performance was perfect. "There are sharks!"
The two mates hooted.
"You think he should walk a plank," Stanley said, his anger at the parrot fading into amusement.
Jack shrugged. "It's always more fun for the men."
"He's terrified of the water, sir!" called one of the mates. "Thinks there's sharks in every wave!"
"The men have been wanting to throw Turner overboard for days, sir," added the Chief Mate, grinning.
"Very well, then. You arrange what's needed." Stanley ducked into his cabin.
Jack gave cheerful instructions to the men on how to rig a plank for "walking," which they seemed to ignore. The whole scene became dreamlike for Will. Isolated at sea with an entire shipload of men who wanted him dead. It had to be a nightmare he would waken from. He had to fight back a growing panic that was making his knees shaky. He reminded himself he was a strong swimmer, and if they tied his hands, he had a blade in his boot.
Finally the plank was ready, on the starboard side of the ship, and Stanley reappeared, wearing a clean uniform jacket. Will was forced onto the plank, his heart beating so hard it hurt his chest. He couldn't stop seeing Elizabeth on the Black Pearl's plank, so lovely and so brave. How he hoped he would see her again.
Before Will got very far onto the plank, someone called "Sail ho!"
As frightened as Will had been of walking the plank, now pure terror gripped him that they would hang him after all, rather than risk him reaching another ship. Sure enough, before he could move, Stanley ordered him hauled back on deck.
"Who is it?" bellowed the Mate.
"Deadly Earnest!" came the reply. The lookout directed everyone's gaze to port, to the southeast, where the sails were sighted.
Stanley swore, showing an impressive proficiency with sailors' profanity. "Now we'll waste more time with that man."
"You're still not thinking like a pirate, Mate," said Jack.
"Be still! I've had enough of your games," Stanley ordered.
"But you're still playing your own games. How long do you keep up this charade? Lure him in close with all that Navy falderol, then hoist your true colors and blast the bejeezus out of him. He's the only thing standing between us and all that treasure!"
Will's head was spinning too much for him to make sense of what Jack was up to now.
"Captain," added the Mate, "the Commodore'll delay us some more. And we've got to get rid of Turner before he talks to him."
Stanley nodded. "Put Turner overboard, and this time, tie his hands. Get Sparrow out of sight, back in the brig. Break out the pirate ensign, and make ready the guns. One last battle and then we're all rich men!"
"Aye, aye!" came the response from the crew. Will's hands were bound in front of him with rope, and he was shoved once again onto the plank. He managed a glimpse of Jack, who was watching Will as they forced him to the hatch.
"We'll meet again!" Jack called to him.
"You'll see, Sparrow!" Stanley called in a ringing voice. "I am a pirate!"
Will didn't even struggle as they pushed him out onto the plank. He walked to the end, took a deep breath, winged a prayer to Heaven, and dived.