Title: Of the Sea
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 6. Gifts
Summary: Matthew wanders Port Royal and does some shopping.
Timeline: Thursday, May 5, 1675 to Friday, May 16, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

The next day, Jack announced his intention to stop at Port Royal. It was common procedure for such a declaration to be preceded by a vote, but because it was in the way, no one bothered to argue, and it was thus decided. They were still some eight or nine days distant from Port Royal, but the hours were quick in their passing. Matthew almost regretted the flight of time.

When he gave it thought, it was strange. He enjoyed spending time with the quirky pirate captain, despite the man's obvious insanity (however exaggerated). Jack was moved easily to mirth, and despite his over-confidence, his excessive hand-gestures, and his fixation with rum, Matt liked him. Of course, he was amusing, but there was something about him that Matthew couldn't place; as if under all the layers of frivolousness, of absurdity, there lurked something more. He loved to watch him; his drunken gait, the way his body was always in motion when he spoke (unless he was trying to make some sort of a point, in which case he would conspicuously hold himself completely still).

If Matthew hadn't known better, he might have assumed he was attracted to the man; but he didn't have time for such things. He admired him, but romance? It was out of the question. It was impossible to fall in love under the circumstances.

He had other worries. He was surprised to find himself readily accepted by the crew. There was not one of them he didn't like. Gibbs, despite being a little slow on the uptake, was a good man, and Anamaria never failed to bring a smile to Matthew's lips. To see a woman who could sail a ship such as this and not be forced to assume another identity--it almost made Matthew jealous. What worried Matthew was not the fact that the crew endured him, or even liked him; it was the fact that he was beginning to feel attached, something he'd always avoided. Jack hadn't even said it was definite that he could stay after Tortuga, but the truth was that Matt didn't want to leave.

"If I let you stay, are you just going to stay a few months and then run off?" Jack had asked, and Matthew had delayed. Then, it was because he didn't know the ship well enough to say anything, but now he was torn. The Black Pearl was the most incredible ship he'd ever had the joy of sailing, and her crew were of the decent sort (as pirates went), and her captain... he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

They arrived near Port Royal on a sunny Friday in the late morning. Because the Black Pearl was a pirate ship, they dropped anchor about three miles to the west of the settlement, and rowed ashore. They hiked to town.

He'd only been to Port Royal once, five years prior, and he'd stayed with the ship. It was a bustling town, filled with people, small shops, assorted buildings, carriages... overall, it was not particularly impressive, but it presented an opportunity for the crew to set themselves up in a bar and get plastered, and perhaps later on in the evening find themselves some company for the night. They would be here two days.

As soon as they entered the hub of the town, most went their separate ways, some in groups of three or four, to take care of whatever business needed tending, or replace a worn belt or bootstrap or what-have-you that could not wait. Matthew simply stood, his arms folded across his chest, peering curiously at his surroundings. He wasn't sure where he intended to go, as he had no money, nor any pressing matters to look after.

"So," a voice awoke him from his reverie, and he turned his head to see that Jack was still standing there behind him, "what are you planning t'do?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I'm skint, so nothing in particular."

"That reminds me," Jack said, and taking Matthew's hand, he pressed into it three coins and a folded piece of paper, still warm from being in his pocket. The younger man stared at them, shook his head in disbelief.

"Jack, this is three guineas. You can't give me this."

"It's your share of the other stuff we borrowed, and there's a catch, so don't thank me yet," Jack said irritably. Matthew nodded, because it seemed more like the man he knew. "There are the conditions: You must buy everything on the list," he indicated the folded parchment, "and when you have everything on that list, you will meet me back here in no more than four hours, and we will discuss what is to be done with whatever remains."

Before Matthew had a chance to say anything else, Jack turned on heel, and was gone. Bewildered, he unfolded the piece of parchment. Jack's writing was dark and thick, and while legible, it was none too neat. While it was a list, each item on it was annotated; Matt had at first assumed that these were notes as to the exact nature of each item, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that the additional information was in fact the reasoning behind each purchase.

1. A shirt: Yours is too small. Buy one that fits you.
2. Breeches: Yours are too large. You look like an idiot in them, and one of these days you're going to be raiding a ship and they will fall off. That's no way to impress the ladies, now is it?
3. Waistcoat: It's not required, but you should have one.
4. Belt: That piece of rotting leather you wear around your waist is not a belt.
5. Boots: Yours are falling apart, probably from soaking in the ocean for however long you were floating around. And they're ugly. Enough said.
6. Cutlass: Yours is dull, ugly, and has little to no balance. Go see William Turner. He's the best blacksmith I know in this joint, and he'll be able to set you up with a blade that isn't a child's toy.
And don't think I'm being kind. I simply don't want to be seen in the company of a pirate as ill-equipped as you are. Now get going.
-Captain J. Sparrow.

The man is right, Matt thought, looking down at himself. When first he'd received his clothing, it had seemed luxurious; but anything would when compared to the torn, stained, bloody, and otherwise disheveled apparel he'd been sporting beforehand. He smiled and shook his head ruefully, pocketing the coins. He was a little disoriented; it wasn't every day that a man you'd only know a little over a week gave you three guineas. He felt a little awkward with the small fortune in his pocket, and determined to spend it as quickly as possible, starting with the store directly to his right.

It was three hours later when Matthew stood, a little awkwardly, in front of the door to the smithy. The sign above it had obviously once read "J. Brown", but this had been crossed out, and now over an anvil and hammer was painted, "W. Turner". He stood, unsure if he should knock or let himself in. He might have turned around and walked away, had the door not opened itself in that moment.

A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, stood in the doorframe, dressed in a simple white shirt, breeches, and a blacksmith's apron. His dark hair was tied back away from his face, and he smiled. "You must be Matthew," he stated, and was greeted by a nod. "Well, come in then. Jack said you'd be coming by around this time. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up."

Inside, the smithy was dark. There were only a few windows, high up. A donkey was tethered in the corner, and eyed him warily. A few horseshoes, iron nails, and other such things were about, as well as the expected tools of the trade. For the most part, however, there were swords; they hung off the walls, from various wooden blocks, assorted stand and cases.

William Turner eyed Matthew curiously; he wasn't what he'd expect from one of Jack's friends. For a pirate, he was rather clean. His shirt was dark crimson linen, his breeches and waistcoat navy. The cloth was still stiff, as if it had yet to be worn in, and the man in it seemed uncomfortable and rather nervous, but after they had stared at each other for a moment, he seemed to relax.

"You're... Bootstrap's son, aren't you?" Matthew asked, with a slight smile. Will blinked, nodded.

"Yes. Did Jack tell you that?"

Matt shook his head. "No, you just look a lot like him. He used to frequent the same bars that I did, we shared a few drinks. Good man. Used to always talk about his family back in England, show me the stuff they'd sent 'im. Said it was of more worth to him than all the gold in the world."

Will Turner smiled broadly. He couldn't place it, but this 'Matthew' looked vaguely familiar, as if he'd known him once... perhaps he'd seen him with his father, he didn't know. He brushed the thought aside, and held out a sword. "Try this one. Swing it a bit." He furrowed his brow. It was too light. Taking it back, he gave him another. Too heavy. Another was close, but not quite right. He sighed, "You're difficult to fit to a blade."

"Sorry, left handed," Matthew offered.

"Left handed? Wait! I have just the thing!" Will darted to the other side of the smithy, and pulled from the wall another sword. Matthew took it from him, and in his hand it was the most natural thing in the world. It was neither too long nor too short, its weight and balance perfect, the blade sharp. A cutlass it was, and the most beautiful piece of work he had ever laid eyes on: it was flawless. The half-basket was wrought from a fishnet of black steel in the shape of a conch, the hilt itself encased in leather both tough and soft. "Do you like it?"

No words could be found to describe the beauty of the sword in his hand. Do you like it? "I... It's incredible. I don't think I can afford it."

"Nonsense. Consider it a gift."

"But you don't even know me."

"You seem very familiar to me. And I like you. Besides, Jack said the cheaper the sword I gave you the better; said it meant there would be more left for him to buy rum." They both grinned, and Will shrugged, "And nobody else would buy it."

"What?"

"Said it was a pirate sword. So I was waiting for a pirate to come along." There was a pause, and Will said, "There's a belt, that goes with it, if you like. I had it made."

"If it's not too much to ask."

The belt, when Will retrieved it, was nearly as beautiful as the sword, crafted of the same black leather as was wrapped around the hilt, the buckle of the same black steel, only with silver trim. It was obviously made for the sword, and it fit it perfectly when Matthew buckled it about his waist and sheathed the sword.

"I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Turner."

"You can start by calling me Will."

Matthew grinned. "Alright, Will. It occurs to me that I'm late to meet Jack... You've given me an indication as to his intentions," he paused, considering. "I have the feeling he intends to spend the rest of the night carousing. Perhaps you'd like to join us?"

Will shook his head. "I'd love to, but I can't. Elizabeth is expecting me. However, perhaps you and Jack could come by sometime tomorrow. I'd like to talk more with you about my father, if you wouldn't mind."

"It would be my pleasure. I doubt Jack would object. I'll ask him when I see him."

When Matthew left, Will was left to wonder. The man, a few years his senior, reminded him of someone, though he could not put the face to any name. He'd been well-spoken for a pirate, and well-dressed, though not particularly clean. He'd known his father... Will shook his head. If Matthew came by tomorrow, and hopefully he would, he'd find out more then.

"You're late," Jack said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, "but I see you got everything."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"You look good. Not for long I imagine." They both smiled, for they knew that 'new' clothes never lasted long in their trade. Jack spent a moment appraising Matthew's clothing, but immediately noticed the sword, "That's a piece of work." He did not bother to hide the awe in his voice. "How much?"

"'E gave it to me. Said he liked me, an' that no one else'd buy it."

"Good man, Will Turner."

"Also said you needed the money to buy rum."

Jack grinned, "Aye, I said that."

"I assume that's what you meant when you said 'discuss what to do with whatever remains.'" He nodded. Matthew smiled, "And he wants us to go and visit him and Elizabeth tomorrow. I assume Elizabeth is his wife?"

"Aye."

Jack looked down at Matthew, who wore an unusual thoughtful expression. Of course, thoughtful expressions were not unusual for his piratical companion. The man thought too much. He slammed a bottle onto the table in front of him, and he looked up, surprised. "Stop thinking so much and drink, y'sea-roving scallywag!" Jack ordered, sliding into the seat across the table from him.

"Sorry, Cap'n," Matthew muttered, offering a smile. He took the bottle, and pulled the cork with his teeth. He took a hearty swig of the stuff, then set it back down. He didn't mean to think so much, but it had been rather a shock to see young William Turner again after so many years. How long had it been since he had last seen him, a young lad of six or seven years by his mother's side? He looked like his father now. Matthew prayed that the lad didn't recognise him. That's the last thing I need, he thought.

"You're thinking again."

"Sorry, Cap'n."

"Least you could do is tell me what about."

"It's nothing."

"Oh, really?"

"I was thinking that I need to get loaded to the gunnels!" He raised his bottle of rum in a silent toast, then threw back his head and knocked back at least a quarter of it.

Author's note: Finally. This chapter is really long. Longer than any of my other ones, anyway. So Matt used to know Bootstrap. Funny, 'e didn't mention that to Jack... Matt may be honest, but he doesn't say everything all at one time. There's still one more chapter about Port Royal on the way, so stay tuned. Then they're off to Tortuga at last! I want Matthew's sword. It's pretty! Pirates don't usually go shopping, but Matt was in desperate need of new clothes, so Jack decided to be unusually nice. I don't know how in character that is, especially since three guineas is the equivalent of damn near $500, maybe a little more. So now Matt is trendy, and he has a nifty sword. As to why he didn't immediately connect "William Turner" with Bootstrap, "Will" and "Turner" are probably both fairly common names. I need to get to sleep. Translation notes: "skint" is british slang for broke. I don't know if it actually existed back then, but I love the word, so I used it. "Loaded to the gunnels" is pirate slang for "really really drunk."

Review responses:

Reese Sparrow: You're too kind. And what does a girl love more than shopping? Well, in Matthew's case... swords. And rum. And sailing. Okay, well, still! And yes, I adore Jack's list. I like how he's trying to say, "I'm not being nice! At all!" When really he is. Oh well. He can deny it all he likes, we know the truth. grin

DaydreamBeliever14: Will do, luv, will do. Chapter seven is in the works. Tea! ... Er, "ta!"