Chapter 5
Parley!
That night, a heavy fog moved into the bay, making visibility for any distance very poor.
The prison was a dark, stonewalled place, housed in the fort, high inside its outer walls that overlooked the water. A heavy wooden door opened down some steps, and led out to a large room, where a lone desk and two cells were situated. The two cells had heavy iron-grid doors, and were barred from each other by the same iron-grid between them. It was lighted by only a couple kerosene lanterns, and reeked of unwashed bodies and stale air. A group of four ragtag prisoners were trying to use a bone to entice a dog, a ring of keys in his mouth, closer to their cell's bars.
"Come here, boy. Want a nice, juicy bone?" One man waved a bone in the dog's direction, while another held a small length of rope, ready to snatch the keys, if the dog moved closer.
Jack Sparrow sat against the back wall in the next cell, his arms rested on his knees, hat over his eyes. "You can keep doing that forever; the dog is never going to move," he intoned with annoyance. When would they ever shut up and let him think? He had to get out of here!
The group turned as one, and looked at Jack, while one answered, "Well, excuse us if we haven't resigned ourselves to the gallows just yet." Sparrow eyed them before smiling in amusement at them, and the group turned their attention back to the dog.
~*~*~*~
A round, pleasant maid in a snow-white cap filled a long-handled pan with hot coals from a roaring fire, snapped the lid down, and put it under the covers at the end of Elizabeth Swan's bed. "There you go, Miss. Was a difficult day for you, I'm sure."
Elizabeth lounged in bed and tried to read, her long hair down past her shoulders, a white cotton nightgown barely covering her breasts. "Hmm, I suspected Commodore Norrington would propose, but I must admit, I wasn't entirely prepared for it." She wasn't about to bring up the subject of the dashing pirate – she didn't want word spread around that she was still fascinated by them.
"Well, I meant you being threatened by that pirate," the maid's voice was filled with wonder, "It sounds terrifying," she spoke with sympathy as she smoothed up the bedcovers. How could her mistress so soon forget her how her life was in danger?
Elizabeth stared at her a minute, trying to decide how to answer. "Oh," she muttered stupidly, trying to hide how much of her thoughts Jack Sparrow was actually taking. "Yes, it was terrifying." Why did the mere mention of him give her delicious shivers? Did she still dream of pirate adventures after all these years? Or was it that he had noticed the medallion she wore – that it happened to be the first and same day it had seen daylight in eight years? It was all very confusing to her.
The maid had already leaped on the other bit of news. "But, the Commodore proposed! Fancy that! That's a smart match, Miss, if it's not too bold to say!"
Elizabeth spoke low, thoughtfully. "Oh, it is a smart match. He's a fine man. It's what any woman should dream of marrying." She said it as if she were trying to convince herself that she, too, should be dreaming the very same thing. She knew it's what society, and her father, expected of her. The trouble was, she never wanted to do what was expected of her.
The maid leaned in, "Well, that Will Turner – he's a fine man, too." She knew that Elizabeth had spent a lot of time with him as a child. And who couldn't notice those velvety brown eyes, and his courteous manner?
Elizabeth leveled her stare at the cheeky woman, "That is too bold."
"Well, beggin' your pardon, Miss. Was not my place," she intoned soothingly. Smoothing the covers one last time, she turned and left her mistress to her thoughts.
And they were busy thoughts, to be sure. Elizabeth had some hard choices to make. Norrington would not be a patient man to wait an interminable amount of time for an answer. She knew she didn't love him. But her father liked him, she was sure. She knew it would be easy for her father to view the man as the son he never had. But as soon as she tried to imagine being Mrs. Norrington, a lurch in her heart made her rebel against what was subtly but definitely expected of her.
She reached a hand up and fingered the medallion hidden just below the neckline of her nightgown. She couldn't get the image of William Turner out of her mind, his tall, strong, slim frame standing in the entry hall as she came down the stairs. She only hoped that the way he watched her descend indicated, in some small part, that he might feel the same way about her that she felt about him. She now regretted being so cool to him in her good-bye that morning. She knew that he followed society's laws of decorum, not wanting to blemish his fragile reputation within the small community. She knew his place in their town wasn't as assured as hers. As an unknown orphan, and then an apprentice, a class below the government officials and officers, she knew he had worked hard to get every shred of respect he held so dear. How she wished she could make it better for him! But she knew his pride wouldn't allow that. He might have been poor, but what he had, he had earned with his two bare hands and his brilliant mind, and that alone made him all the more attractive to her. She disliked her rich social peers that had everything in their lives just handed to them on a silver platter; they failed to appreciate the things they did have. Her time spent with Will as a child had opened her eyes to the fact that there was more to life than high tea every day and a ball for every occasion. She had far preferred to spend an afternoon roaming the outdoors with Will than to be cooped up in the house, learning "ladies' skills," such as sewing and embroidery.
Now, she dreaded that she may have to put those skills to use as a Commodore's wife. What did an officer's wife do, anyway, besides just be an ornament on his arm at every party? She shuddered at the thought. She would strangle herself in that kind of life! At least here, she had some measure of freedom, with her father's attention on his duties a good portion of the time.
Elizabeth's thoughts turned to that pirate, Jack Sparrow. The very name sent a shiver up her spine. She had been rescued by a pirate! That alone went against everything she had heard or read about them. Pirates were thieves and murderers; they would as soon slit your throat as save your life. But Jack had been different. In spite of his turning right around and threatening her. But she had a feeling he wouldn't have shot that pistol. He was just making good his escape, which was also typically pirate-like. And he had been unusually interested in her medallion. She fingered it thoughtfully, wondering just what it all meant.
She looked over at her lamp, and noticed it start to flicker, with a strange breeze blowing in the window. Then it went out.
~*~*~*~
The fire still burned down at the smithy. Will Turner took the heated sword out of the fire and continued hammering it into the proper shape, taking his frustrations out on it. Once again, he felt completely helpless at the way life worked. He loved Elizabeth, had loved her since the day she found him. For yes, he had been told the story of the burning ship and her spotting him in the water. For the umpteenth time, he wished she could have been anything but the governor's daughter. Or he could have been anything but an orphan, and something better than a blacksmith's apprentice. Well, a blacksmith now.
Brown's name was still on the sign, but they both knew that he essentially ran the shop now. Brown was just too stubborn and scared to give him the credit. He was afraid that Will would turn him out. This lack of faith chapped Turner's hide the most. No matter what his personal feelings were towards the lazy drunk, he did see to his needs as a boy, and taught him a viable trade that could support him. Will owed him for that. The least he would do is take care of the man in his old age. But because of the man's fears, Will must suffer the humiliation of doing all the work while the town continually thought of him as a mere worker. He banged a few more times on the white metal.
A strange sound halted his thoughts and he stopped to listen. The wind had picked up. He pushed out the window's shutter to look down the street toward the harbor. The street was empty, but something strange stirred in the air; he could feel it.
~*~*~*~
Without anyone noticing, a very black ship cruised into the bay, smoothly and quietly.
~*~*~*~
*************** I hope everyone has enjoyed this so far....I certainly have! More to come...please let me know what you think, what suggestions you have....anything!
That night, a heavy fog moved into the bay, making visibility for any distance very poor.
The prison was a dark, stonewalled place, housed in the fort, high inside its outer walls that overlooked the water. A heavy wooden door opened down some steps, and led out to a large room, where a lone desk and two cells were situated. The two cells had heavy iron-grid doors, and were barred from each other by the same iron-grid between them. It was lighted by only a couple kerosene lanterns, and reeked of unwashed bodies and stale air. A group of four ragtag prisoners were trying to use a bone to entice a dog, a ring of keys in his mouth, closer to their cell's bars.
"Come here, boy. Want a nice, juicy bone?" One man waved a bone in the dog's direction, while another held a small length of rope, ready to snatch the keys, if the dog moved closer.
Jack Sparrow sat against the back wall in the next cell, his arms rested on his knees, hat over his eyes. "You can keep doing that forever; the dog is never going to move," he intoned with annoyance. When would they ever shut up and let him think? He had to get out of here!
The group turned as one, and looked at Jack, while one answered, "Well, excuse us if we haven't resigned ourselves to the gallows just yet." Sparrow eyed them before smiling in amusement at them, and the group turned their attention back to the dog.
~*~*~*~
A round, pleasant maid in a snow-white cap filled a long-handled pan with hot coals from a roaring fire, snapped the lid down, and put it under the covers at the end of Elizabeth Swan's bed. "There you go, Miss. Was a difficult day for you, I'm sure."
Elizabeth lounged in bed and tried to read, her long hair down past her shoulders, a white cotton nightgown barely covering her breasts. "Hmm, I suspected Commodore Norrington would propose, but I must admit, I wasn't entirely prepared for it." She wasn't about to bring up the subject of the dashing pirate – she didn't want word spread around that she was still fascinated by them.
"Well, I meant you being threatened by that pirate," the maid's voice was filled with wonder, "It sounds terrifying," she spoke with sympathy as she smoothed up the bedcovers. How could her mistress so soon forget her how her life was in danger?
Elizabeth stared at her a minute, trying to decide how to answer. "Oh," she muttered stupidly, trying to hide how much of her thoughts Jack Sparrow was actually taking. "Yes, it was terrifying." Why did the mere mention of him give her delicious shivers? Did she still dream of pirate adventures after all these years? Or was it that he had noticed the medallion she wore – that it happened to be the first and same day it had seen daylight in eight years? It was all very confusing to her.
The maid had already leaped on the other bit of news. "But, the Commodore proposed! Fancy that! That's a smart match, Miss, if it's not too bold to say!"
Elizabeth spoke low, thoughtfully. "Oh, it is a smart match. He's a fine man. It's what any woman should dream of marrying." She said it as if she were trying to convince herself that she, too, should be dreaming the very same thing. She knew it's what society, and her father, expected of her. The trouble was, she never wanted to do what was expected of her.
The maid leaned in, "Well, that Will Turner – he's a fine man, too." She knew that Elizabeth had spent a lot of time with him as a child. And who couldn't notice those velvety brown eyes, and his courteous manner?
Elizabeth leveled her stare at the cheeky woman, "That is too bold."
"Well, beggin' your pardon, Miss. Was not my place," she intoned soothingly. Smoothing the covers one last time, she turned and left her mistress to her thoughts.
And they were busy thoughts, to be sure. Elizabeth had some hard choices to make. Norrington would not be a patient man to wait an interminable amount of time for an answer. She knew she didn't love him. But her father liked him, she was sure. She knew it would be easy for her father to view the man as the son he never had. But as soon as she tried to imagine being Mrs. Norrington, a lurch in her heart made her rebel against what was subtly but definitely expected of her.
She reached a hand up and fingered the medallion hidden just below the neckline of her nightgown. She couldn't get the image of William Turner out of her mind, his tall, strong, slim frame standing in the entry hall as she came down the stairs. She only hoped that the way he watched her descend indicated, in some small part, that he might feel the same way about her that she felt about him. She now regretted being so cool to him in her good-bye that morning. She knew that he followed society's laws of decorum, not wanting to blemish his fragile reputation within the small community. She knew his place in their town wasn't as assured as hers. As an unknown orphan, and then an apprentice, a class below the government officials and officers, she knew he had worked hard to get every shred of respect he held so dear. How she wished she could make it better for him! But she knew his pride wouldn't allow that. He might have been poor, but what he had, he had earned with his two bare hands and his brilliant mind, and that alone made him all the more attractive to her. She disliked her rich social peers that had everything in their lives just handed to them on a silver platter; they failed to appreciate the things they did have. Her time spent with Will as a child had opened her eyes to the fact that there was more to life than high tea every day and a ball for every occasion. She had far preferred to spend an afternoon roaming the outdoors with Will than to be cooped up in the house, learning "ladies' skills," such as sewing and embroidery.
Now, she dreaded that she may have to put those skills to use as a Commodore's wife. What did an officer's wife do, anyway, besides just be an ornament on his arm at every party? She shuddered at the thought. She would strangle herself in that kind of life! At least here, she had some measure of freedom, with her father's attention on his duties a good portion of the time.
Elizabeth's thoughts turned to that pirate, Jack Sparrow. The very name sent a shiver up her spine. She had been rescued by a pirate! That alone went against everything she had heard or read about them. Pirates were thieves and murderers; they would as soon slit your throat as save your life. But Jack had been different. In spite of his turning right around and threatening her. But she had a feeling he wouldn't have shot that pistol. He was just making good his escape, which was also typically pirate-like. And he had been unusually interested in her medallion. She fingered it thoughtfully, wondering just what it all meant.
She looked over at her lamp, and noticed it start to flicker, with a strange breeze blowing in the window. Then it went out.
~*~*~*~
The fire still burned down at the smithy. Will Turner took the heated sword out of the fire and continued hammering it into the proper shape, taking his frustrations out on it. Once again, he felt completely helpless at the way life worked. He loved Elizabeth, had loved her since the day she found him. For yes, he had been told the story of the burning ship and her spotting him in the water. For the umpteenth time, he wished she could have been anything but the governor's daughter. Or he could have been anything but an orphan, and something better than a blacksmith's apprentice. Well, a blacksmith now.
Brown's name was still on the sign, but they both knew that he essentially ran the shop now. Brown was just too stubborn and scared to give him the credit. He was afraid that Will would turn him out. This lack of faith chapped Turner's hide the most. No matter what his personal feelings were towards the lazy drunk, he did see to his needs as a boy, and taught him a viable trade that could support him. Will owed him for that. The least he would do is take care of the man in his old age. But because of the man's fears, Will must suffer the humiliation of doing all the work while the town continually thought of him as a mere worker. He banged a few more times on the white metal.
A strange sound halted his thoughts and he stopped to listen. The wind had picked up. He pushed out the window's shutter to look down the street toward the harbor. The street was empty, but something strange stirred in the air; he could feel it.
~*~*~*~
Without anyone noticing, a very black ship cruised into the bay, smoothly and quietly.
~*~*~*~
*************** I hope everyone has enjoyed this so far....I certainly have! More to come...please let me know what you think, what suggestions you have....anything!