A clever apprentice could almost always find a half-an-hour free if he tried, even if he had the shrewdest master in Port Royal, which Will Turner did not. John Brown, blacksmith – bladesmith as he liked to call himself, but the title was scarcely deserved these days – might once have been sharp enough to keep a close eye on his business and his apprentice, but years of drinking more than he hammered had dulled both wits and eyesight. So when Will caught a glimpse of Elizabeth Swann through the shop window on a fine Tuesday afternoon, the day after a merchant ship from Southampton had come into port, he was soon out of the smithy and weaving among the market stalls.
As he had expected, she was at Matthias Caldicott's, sorting through a pile of newly-arrived books and pamphlets.
"Haven't you any about pirates?" she asked the man.
Caldicott snorted, then recalled his manners. "Pirates, she asks for. Aren't they enough trouble in the flesh without wanting to be reading about them, too? Yes, miss, I think so. I haven't opened the last crate yet." He heaved it onto his bench and began to pry off the tightly-nailed wooden slats of the lid.
Will hovered at Elizabeth's elbow, unwilling to interrupt her as she turned over the pages of a Puritan tract, her attention clearly on the gruesome woodblock illustrations of punished sinners rather than the text accompanying them.
"Are ye looking, or buying?" said Caldicott to Will.
Elizabeth looked up, ready to retort indignantly that she was buying, thank you, when she saw Will and realized it was to him that Caldicott had spoken. "Will! What are you doing here? It isn't suppertime yet, I would have thought you would be hard at work."
"I was on an errand," Will said, shading the truth, "and thought to see how you were."
She looked up at him, and he realized that he must have grown more than he had thought in the several months since they had last spoken.
"I am well, and you?" Her eyes were wide, darker than he remembered.
"Oh – well enough," he fumbled, having thought no further than greeting her.
Books thumped onto the counter and Elizabeth turned to look at them. "Help me choose, Will, if you have time?"
He might risk a beating from Master Brown if he delayed, but it was only a small risk. Even if Brown noticed his lengthy absence, he would be more likely to make Will work longer into the evening than usual than to do anything that would delay his daily visit to the Bell & Whistle. "What are you looking for, Miss Swann?"
Her brows drew together at the formal name, but she had more sense than to argue it in the public square. "Pirates, of course." She took half of the pamphlets and moved them toward him. "Look over these and tell me if you find anything."
Will had never understood her fascination with such rogues and scoundrels, but he supposed that reading about them would do no harm. Dutifully he went through the stack, finding several that he thought Elizabeth might wish to see.
"I've read that one already," she said, tossing the first aside. "This, perhaps. Now here – The True & Accurate Adventures of Capt. Jack Sparrow, Being an Account of his Daring Escape from Sea-Turtle Isle, Together with a Narrative of his Capture of Three Spanish Ships. That sounds exciting."
"Do you really think any of these stories are true?" asked Will curiously.
"They might be." Elizabeth's eyes slid away. "I suppose most of them are not."
"So why read about them, Miss Swann? Murderers, thieves; they're all but lewd fellows, fit only for hanging, as the Governor well knows, and Captain Norrington is most assiduous in hunting them down and ensuring that they get what they deserve." Will was unsure why he mentioned Norrington, except that he knew of the man's upright reputation, a contrast to the pirates and a man to admire.
"If you do not understand, Will Turner, I do not think I can explain it," she said, turning away. "How much for these two, Master Caldicott?" She handed over the pamphlet on Sparrow and another from her own stack, and several coins, and was given back a neatly-wrapped parcel.
Will did not want to leave when Elizabeth seemed to be angry with him, even though every moment's delay now put him in greater jeopardy with Master Brown. So he offered to escort her home.
She looked him up and down, and he wished that he were not in his working clothes, stained linen shirt and coarse brown breeches, with his leather apron still on, but rather in his Sunday clothes. Then he would be fit to be seen with her.
"I think not, Will," she said, but softened the refusal with a smile. "Since, unlike my pirates, you are an honorable man, I am sure you are obliged to return to your duties now."
She walked a little way with him towards the smithy nonetheless, and when they were out of Caldicott's earshot, she said, "Master Brown does not require you to work on Sundays, does he?"
"No, Miss Swann, he honors the Lord's day." More because it was an excuse for him to not work himself, of course; Brown's notion of honoring Sunday included only the occasional appearance at church, but the invariable presence in his favorite tavern.
"Come and see me on the Sunday coming, then, and I will read to you from these stories of pirates," Elizabeth said. "And do not tell me that it is not fitting," she added when he opened his mouth to reply, "or that my father would disapprove. He will never know. There is a side-gate into our garden, and I will meet you there at 2 o'clock, after dinner."
He had not the strength of will to refuse. "I will be there."
Sunday came and as Will had promised, he was at the iron gate as the bell struck two. Elizabeth arrived shortly thereafter and let him in. Her hands were full of the tracts on pirates that she collected so untiringly as she led him to a bench hidden from the house by a large bush.
She read the stories with feeling, the words tumbling over one another, her breath rapid as she turned the pages. She showed him the illustrations that decorated each one, most of them simple black woodblock prints but a few of them colored to show lifelike gore. Will listened, but his attention was more on Elizabeth herself than on what she said. He saw how she kept pushing back the lock of hair that had escaped its binding and tumbled forward against her cheek; how her lashes brushed against that same cheek as she looked down at the page; how her quick breath made her bodice rise and fall. He looked away, then, and resolved to listen instead.
It was one of the new pamphlets she was reading from now, the one about the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow, and she had clearly already read it several times to herself.
"He sounds a desperate fellow," said Will when she finished.
"Oh yes. This is not the only tale of his deeds; he was caught once and branded by the East India Company, but escaped. And another time he impersonated a clergyman to avoid capture by the soldiers who were after him. And he. . ."
Will interrupted her by leaning down to pick up the pamphlets that had slipped from her lap to the ground. "I beg your pardon, Miss Swann."
"Please, Will, call me Elizabeth. There is no one else here."
"Elizabeth," he said, and the name tasted sweet to him. "I must go, Elizabeth. It grows late."
She knew he was right, and for once did not argue, but took him back to the same gate and unlocked it to let him out.
He stood outside as she closed it, and thanked her for the afternoon. "Though I confess, I still do not see the fascination these pirates hold."
"They are free," said Elizabeth.
"But one may be free without turning to lawlessness, surely?" said Will, thinking of himself. He was bound as an apprentice, true, but one day that would end and he would be free to make a place for himself, work where and how he chose.
"Some may, others may not," she said, but did not explain further. "You said you have to go, Will. I will see you again soon, I hope."
"Good-bye, Elizabeth." He touched her hand and walked off down the hill, turning to look back once. Elizabeth still stood there, one narrow hand gripping the black iron of the gate, the other clutching a pamphlet.