----
Chapter 7
There were, Anamaria discovered the next day, very few ships sailing for the Caribbean within the next week. None of them had need for another sailor. She found the news simultaneously depressing and vindicating - she could not take the advice of Jack Sparrow or the Turners even if she wished to, or not immediately at any rate.
So she went back to the inn. The innkeeper greeted her cheerfully enough, and pointed into a corner of the main room. "Got a visitor," he said.
"A visitor?" Anamaria peered into the gloom. "Thanks." She crossed over, and to her great astonishment found William Turner, in a good coat and hat, nursing a small mug of ale. He looked up.
"Anamaria."
"Mr Turner."
"Oh, for heavens' sakes call me Will!" he said. He looked down at the mug. "I came to apologise for yesterday. We could have been more courteous."
"You were not much help," Anamaria said, sliding into a seat.
"We weren't expecting to see you," Turner returned. "I'm afraid you rather took us by surprise. And your news …" He tailed off, and raised his drink to his lips. She watched him. After a moment, he put the ale down again. "How is he? Jack, I mean?"
"Sad," Anamaria said. "Like … like he lost someone he loved very much. I think it is the Pearl he is thinking about most, not that he is to hang."
"Oh." Turner frowned. "I feel bad about the whole thing, although I know it is not my fault. It's so long since we saw Jack - in fact, we only met him once or twice since the Barbossa affair."
"Quand meme," said Anamaria, "he was your father's best friend."
"My father died because of Jack Sparrow," Turner replied, his face going curiously blank. "But Elizabeth lives because of him." He drained his ale. "I want to see him. I spent last night considering, and I think I might be able to help. I would like to help."
Anamaria stared at him. Turner's face lost the blankness, and he smiled, which somehow made his already-handsome features even more so.
"I'm a blacksmith," he said. "I have a workshop full of steel and iron. Jack, you told us, is shackled, and therefore needs a key." He dug in a pocket and produced a ball of clay. "I'll make him one."
"You can?"
"Of course I can. If we visit today, I can have the key back to you by Thursday."
They wasted no time. En route to Newgate, Turner asked about how Anamaria had spent the past years. In return, she discovered that on arrival in England five years previously, he and his wife had set up their shop and begun their family. There was one small Turner already, and the business was running smoothly producing swords for the Navy and for private individuals. Turner's beautiful weapons were hugely fashionable and were to be seen on the hips of many a nobleman at Court.
On arrival at the prison, Anamaria was surprised to watch her companion turn on the charm, slipping coins into the guard's hand to get them inside. She was, unexpectedly, reminded of his father during some long-ago raid.
But then they were inside the dim dankness of the gaol, and Turner was pressing a handkerchief to his mouth - once again a gentleman, instead of a pirate. Anamaria led the way to Jack Sparrow's cell, hoping that he would be alone this time.
The door was shut, and they peered through the grilled window into the little room.
"You're blockin' me light," said Sparrow, from inside. "What's to do?"
"Jack?" Anamaria said, and there was the rattling of a chain as he got to his feet and came as close to the door as his restraints would allow him. "I found Will Turner."
"Bloody hell," Sparrow exclaimed. "Lad?"
"Hello, Jack." Anamaria moved aside to let Turner have a better view through the grille. "How are you?" the swordsmith asked.
"Fine. Thanks. You look just like your dad, what I can see of you. How's the lovely 'Lizabeth?"
"She's well, thank you," said Turner. "Jack … I … I'm sorry."
"Nobody's immortal," Sparrow cut in. "Well, 'cept Barbossa and his band o' lubbers, for a time, and me, for a bit. But even that didn't last very long. Don't waste your tears on old Jack, boy."
Turner folded his hands behind his back. "Actually, I meant I was sorry about the Pearl. Anamaria told us."
"Oh, that." From her sideways vantage point, Anamaria caught a brief glimpse of gold teeth. "No matter, mate. She and I had a good time."
"As for the other thing …" Turner delved in a pocket, and brought out his lump of clay, wrapped in a scrap of fabric. "Quickly now - what you need to do is …"
"Pass it over," Sparrow said, his voice suddenly a little sharper. "I've been breakin' out of gaols since I was a lad."
There was another round of rattling chains, and Anamaria glanced nervously up and down the corridor for guards. She had one hand on the dagger concealed at her hip just in case.
Whilst Jack Sparrow was busy with the clay inside the cell, Turner quickly pressed another lump into the keyhole of the door. When he extracted it, an impression of the keyhole was left. He rewrapped the clay and secreted it in a pocket, and soon had Sparrow's piece safe too.
"You two had best go," said Sparrow. "Ana?"
She came to the grille, and peered inside at Jack Sparrow. His whole demeanour had changed, and she thought she recognised the old spark once more. "Quoi?"
"Sendin' a messenger with Will's bits o' metal might not be a bad thing. Don't visit again. If this works, I'll meet you by Tyburn Tree day after tomorrow. You know where that is?"
"Oui."
"Good lass. Will?"
"Jack?"
"Ta, mate."
Turner nodded.
"Well, hurry off, then," Sparrow urged them. "Got work to do, haven't you?"
He turned, the beads clacking in his hair and the chain clanking, and shuffled to sit down with his back against the wall of the cell. He flicked his hand at them. "Go on!"
They went, neither speaking until they were out of the gaol and several streets away. Turner let out a deep breath.
"God, that was horrible."
"It is not a nice place," Anamaria agreed.
"And Jack … how can he be so … flippant?"
She raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Flippant?"
"I mean, how can he act as if it doesn't matter?"
"He's Jack Sparrow," she pointed out. "He knows it matters. He just does not want you to know that he cares. Now go - you have work to do, Mr Turner."
"Will, please. You're right, I had better get back. I shall send Jimmy with the keys when they're ready. He's a trustworthy lad, and I think he should be able to manage the task." He touched his hat. "Good day, Anamaria. I'm glad I can help. But please, don't bring Jack to Greenwich if this succeeds. Norrington will certainly come to see if we know where he is."
Turning away, he strode off in the direction of the river and ferries back towards Greenwich.
Anamaria wandered off more slowly. Turner's visit had been a surprise - a pleasant one, certainly, but after the previous day's reception, still a surprise. She reflected on the man he had become. There was a trace of the impetuousness that, nine years earlier, had caused the young Will Turner to leap up on the rail of the Black Pearl and put a gun to his own head in order to save the girl he loved. But mostly, Turner now reminded Anamaria of his father. Not just in looks, though the resemblance was close. Will Turner, she saw, would be the same steady, calm influence on those around him as the elder Bill Turner had been, and yet willing - where necessary - to do something that others would see as crazed, in order to help a friend.
She suddenly found she was ravenously hungry, and went to find some food. London did not seem to offer very much more than meat, and variations on it, mostly somewhat suspect, but the pasties available from bakers, butchers and carts on the street were generally tasty. Anamaria ate and watched the builders at work on the new cathedral that was slowly being erected close to Newgate. She had heard that the church was to be a masterpiece, with a great dome on top, but as yet it was only half-complete.
Two days later Anamaria had her bags packed, and was hanging anxiously around the inn waiting for Will Turner's apprentice to appear. Part of her doubted that he would ever turn up, but the other half trusted the swordsmith.
Jimmy arrived in the early afternoon, and displayed the keys for her perusal. They were rough-edged, but serviceable.
"You know what to do?" she asked the boy.
He nodded. "I'm to take them to a man called Sparrow, in Newgate. And Mr Turner says as how I'll know him by stuff in his hair."
"That's right. Can you do this?"
"No problem," Jimmy said, with a beaming grin. "Missus Turner don't know, but I did a bit of fingersmithin' 'afore Mister Turner took me on as his 'prentice. I've been into Newgate before, and out. One o' the things you learn on the street." He tucked the keys away. "It'll be easy. What's Mister Sparrow in for? Mister Turner never said."
"Can you keep a secret?" Anamaria asked.
Jimmy gave her a scornful look. "Course I can."
"He's a pirate. And a good one. Best in the Caribbean," she said. "But he's not a bad man."
The boy's eyes had widened. "A pirate? A real one?"
"Very," Anamaria told him.
Jimmy fought the urge to look more impressed, and failed. But he stayed calm, and patted his pocket. "Best go and free him, then, hadn't I?" He grinned at her, and ran off.
Left alone, Anamaria had nothing to do except collect her bag, pay the innkeeper for the time she had spent in the 'Dagger', and begin the long walk to Tyburn.