Savvy-Rum-Drinker: Can I ever live up?! :)
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Turner Blacksmith and Metalworks was devoid of customers even though it was only midday.
Will Turner sat quietly in a corner, carefully sharpening the blade of a newly-made sword. The only sounds in the room was the harsh metal-on-metal of the sword against the whetstone and the crackling of the huge blacksmith's fire in the grate. Near the center of the room, bent studiously over a rickety wooden table and a dismantled lantern frame, was Tom Shilling, Will's apprentice.
After Will's former master Mr. Brown had died and Will had inherited the Smithy, it had been necessary to take on an apprentice of his own, thus the signing on of Tom. He was a sandy-haired youth, at sixteen nearly seven years Will's junior, with long limbs, and a thin, pale face sprinkled with burnished freckles. Tom was extremely keen, and took to metalwork with determination. Will had seen much improvement in him since he had begun his apprenticeship two years prior, and now felt fully confident to entrust to him the more complicated orders.
The only job that Will would not let him touch was that of sword-making. It was Will's specialty and his joy to create the beautiful weapons. It thrilled him every time to feel the clean, fluid metal blade in his hands, and to balance it evenly, coupled with its decorative curved handle. Will still practiced with the swords that he made, though not as long nor as often as he had before his marriage for as much as he liked swordplay, it took a back seat to his home obligations.
The day had grown uncommonly hot and inside the shop the air was no better. The fire, kept roaring in the grate at all times, increased the heat inside at least twice over, and Will had thrown open the little window at the side of the shop in an effort to benefit from any wind that chanced to blow down the alley outside. Already both he and Tom were soaked with sweat.
Will worked silently at his job. The sword had taken him little over four weeks to make, and just under three days to fit the guard to it. It was a magnificent weapon, nearly three feet in length and made of genuine spring steel. It had been a special request by the Governor Forinney who needed it to wear when he presented himself to the king at Court that winter in England. Will had labored feverishly over his task, making every effort to perfect the weapon. It was the pride of his career, he told himself. There surely could be no better sword. What disappointed him most was the realization that it would never see battle. Nor daylight either, most likely. Charles Forinney wore swords with his dress uniform, but Will doubted very much that he knew even how to use one properly, or even at all.
With a sudden creak the shop's door swung open to admit the burly figure of Caleb Suthing followed closely by Derk and a few select members of their mottled band. Tom's head shot up to look at them expectantly, then turned to glance at Will who's thoughtful gaze had also left his work in order to inspect the newcomers.
One look at the group was all it took to arouse Will's suspicion. They were well dressed - at least, some of them were - but their faces were dirty and their hair unkempt. Will recognized them as the sailors who had recently come to the Port and now enjoyed themselves as the center of all private attention, and though they had not yet caused any harm to anyone he was still wary of them. They were strangers after all. But then, Will Turner was always suspicious.
It was part of his nature. Elizabeth had tried to tell him again and again that in order to live in sea Port filled with unsatisfactory seamen and rabble from everywhere in the world one must not look at everyone as if they were criminals. Will disagreed: he thought that when living in a Port one must always be aware of oneself. Naturally Elizabeth would counter this neatly by saying that perhaps this was true but if he spent so much time labeling good men as bad ones, wouldn't he overlook the really bad ones in the process?
Somehow now Will had a feeling that the sailors in his shop were not of the right sort and resolved to keep an eye on them. This he did as subtly as he could from over the handle of the unfinished sword in his hands.
Caleb came to a halt in front of Tom's table.
"'Ello lad," he said with a gruff sneer. "This your shop?"
Will laid the Governor's sword down carefully on the stool in front of him and got to his feet.
"No," he said warily, "It is mine."
He could have swore that he saw a little smile twitch at the corner of his guest's mouth.
"Then you're Turner?" Caleb asked slowly.
"I am." Will furrowed his brow at Derk who had looked down suddenly at the floor. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Caleb shuffled his big feet.
"Just a couple of sailors come on request of their Captain."
"And who is your Captain?"
Derk glanced quickly up at Caleb, but was silenced from speaking by him.
"Captain Wilde."
Will nodded vaguely. "The name is unfamiliar to me."
"What can I do for you gentlemen?"
Ignoring Will, Caleb ambled over to one of the many stands around the shop that served as a display for the swords that Will made. Will's jaw tightened as Caleb ran his hand clumsily over the weapons.
"Such pretty things," said Caleb. His beady eyes wandered over the display and then to the stool whereupon lay the Governor's sword. "Wot's this?" he remarked, stepping over to it.
Will placed himself hastily in the man's path.
"It's not for sale," he told Caleb grimly.
Caleb looked affronted at first, but suddenly the look slid off of his face and he chuckled lightheartedly.
"No harm young sir," he cackled. "I just wanted a look."
Will paused. Well, what harm could looking do, he thought.
"Very well." He moved aside.
Caleb's eyes lit up at the sight of the sword. A stray beam of sunlight had broken through the small window and lit upon the weapon, sending effulgent streams of light coursing all over it's silvery exterior.
"Who's this one for?" Caleb asked in a hoarse whisper.
"The Governor."
Caleb's eye twitched. "Would you happen to have any more of these in the shop?" he asked with ill disguised covetousness. Will resisted the urge to laugh outloud.
"I think not," he replied. "That one there's taken me nearly a month to finish."
He watched as Caleb continued to inspect the weapon. Suddenly the man looked up.
"Would you be willing to make another one?"
"For a sum, yes."
"How much d'ye charge?"
Will surveyed his guest doubtfully. "At least thirty pounds," he said. "Swords do not come cheap."
To his surprise, Caleb merely nodded and looked back down at the weapon on the stool. Will became instantly more suspicious. It was apparent to him that the man was in no state of wealth and in order to purchase the sword he required he would have to be moderately well-to-do.
"D'ye have any designs about the place?" Caleb was asking. "Of the kind that tells the different swords?"
"I do."
"I'd like to see them, if'n ye don' mind."
Will forced himself to smile. "Not at all," he said untruthfully. With one last regretfully look at his masterpiece on the stool, Will turned and went to the back room for his book of designs.
When he came back he was shocked to see Caleb nonchalantly wielding the prized sword.
"Put that back!" Will ordered in a panic thinking how the handle was not firmly fixed on the blade and how long it would take to fix it if it fell apart. Caleb brandished the weapon in the air with a grin.
"This is a lovely sword," he said.
"Yes I know. Please return it to the stool," Will responded.
"I want this one for the Captain. Are you sure ye can' give it to 'im?"
"Very sure. Your Captain will have to order another if he wants one of that type."
Caleb's face turned instantly cold. He glared at Will for a second before leaning stiffly over the bench and dumping the sword over the stool. Will watched in horror as it fell onto the floor and the pile of metal shavings and tools with a sickening screech.
He turned fiercely to Caleb.
"Get out of my shop."
Caleb came up close to Will and raised himself to his full height, which was nearly six foot two. Feeling slightly less daring at the size of his enormous customer Will took a step backwards.
Caleb glared at him.
"No one tells me wot to do," he said.
"I'm am now," Will countered neatly. Caleb clenched his fists with a loud crunch of his knuckles. There was a suspenseful pause.
Finally Caleb stepped away from Will and the glare disappeared from his face.
"Al'right, al'right I'll not hurt ye," he said jocularly. "Jess make me Captain a sword like the one ye got thar an' I'll be back far it in a week or so." Will looked bitterly at the sword lying unevenly in the pile of rubbish and nodded. It was taking all his self-control to withhold from flying at Caleb and whaling on him.
Caleb turned around. "We're leavin'," he announced to his escort. With a sharp wink at Tom, he went to the door and exited the shop followed one by one by the rest of the sailors.
Tom looked over at Will who was still standing where Caleb had left him.
"If I may say so, sir," he said slowly, "Being a blacksmith is terrible subjection."
Will said nothing.
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A/N: Okay now, the next chapter is one especially for you who have been begging me to write one about Jack. I had been a little nervous about writing it cause how in the world do you (accurately) describe a character like Jack Sparrow? But I gave it a shot and even if it may not live up to ideals, I had fun writing it so :P
Hope you like it and please review!
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Turner Blacksmith and Metalworks was devoid of customers even though it was only midday.
Will Turner sat quietly in a corner, carefully sharpening the blade of a newly-made sword. The only sounds in the room was the harsh metal-on-metal of the sword against the whetstone and the crackling of the huge blacksmith's fire in the grate. Near the center of the room, bent studiously over a rickety wooden table and a dismantled lantern frame, was Tom Shilling, Will's apprentice.
After Will's former master Mr. Brown had died and Will had inherited the Smithy, it had been necessary to take on an apprentice of his own, thus the signing on of Tom. He was a sandy-haired youth, at sixteen nearly seven years Will's junior, with long limbs, and a thin, pale face sprinkled with burnished freckles. Tom was extremely keen, and took to metalwork with determination. Will had seen much improvement in him since he had begun his apprenticeship two years prior, and now felt fully confident to entrust to him the more complicated orders.
The only job that Will would not let him touch was that of sword-making. It was Will's specialty and his joy to create the beautiful weapons. It thrilled him every time to feel the clean, fluid metal blade in his hands, and to balance it evenly, coupled with its decorative curved handle. Will still practiced with the swords that he made, though not as long nor as often as he had before his marriage for as much as he liked swordplay, it took a back seat to his home obligations.
The day had grown uncommonly hot and inside the shop the air was no better. The fire, kept roaring in the grate at all times, increased the heat inside at least twice over, and Will had thrown open the little window at the side of the shop in an effort to benefit from any wind that chanced to blow down the alley outside. Already both he and Tom were soaked with sweat.
Will worked silently at his job. The sword had taken him little over four weeks to make, and just under three days to fit the guard to it. It was a magnificent weapon, nearly three feet in length and made of genuine spring steel. It had been a special request by the Governor Forinney who needed it to wear when he presented himself to the king at Court that winter in England. Will had labored feverishly over his task, making every effort to perfect the weapon. It was the pride of his career, he told himself. There surely could be no better sword. What disappointed him most was the realization that it would never see battle. Nor daylight either, most likely. Charles Forinney wore swords with his dress uniform, but Will doubted very much that he knew even how to use one properly, or even at all.
With a sudden creak the shop's door swung open to admit the burly figure of Caleb Suthing followed closely by Derk and a few select members of their mottled band. Tom's head shot up to look at them expectantly, then turned to glance at Will who's thoughtful gaze had also left his work in order to inspect the newcomers.
One look at the group was all it took to arouse Will's suspicion. They were well dressed - at least, some of them were - but their faces were dirty and their hair unkempt. Will recognized them as the sailors who had recently come to the Port and now enjoyed themselves as the center of all private attention, and though they had not yet caused any harm to anyone he was still wary of them. They were strangers after all. But then, Will Turner was always suspicious.
It was part of his nature. Elizabeth had tried to tell him again and again that in order to live in sea Port filled with unsatisfactory seamen and rabble from everywhere in the world one must not look at everyone as if they were criminals. Will disagreed: he thought that when living in a Port one must always be aware of oneself. Naturally Elizabeth would counter this neatly by saying that perhaps this was true but if he spent so much time labeling good men as bad ones, wouldn't he overlook the really bad ones in the process?
Somehow now Will had a feeling that the sailors in his shop were not of the right sort and resolved to keep an eye on them. This he did as subtly as he could from over the handle of the unfinished sword in his hands.
Caleb came to a halt in front of Tom's table.
"'Ello lad," he said with a gruff sneer. "This your shop?"
Will laid the Governor's sword down carefully on the stool in front of him and got to his feet.
"No," he said warily, "It is mine."
He could have swore that he saw a little smile twitch at the corner of his guest's mouth.
"Then you're Turner?" Caleb asked slowly.
"I am." Will furrowed his brow at Derk who had looked down suddenly at the floor. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Caleb shuffled his big feet.
"Just a couple of sailors come on request of their Captain."
"And who is your Captain?"
Derk glanced quickly up at Caleb, but was silenced from speaking by him.
"Captain Wilde."
Will nodded vaguely. "The name is unfamiliar to me."
"What can I do for you gentlemen?"
Ignoring Will, Caleb ambled over to one of the many stands around the shop that served as a display for the swords that Will made. Will's jaw tightened as Caleb ran his hand clumsily over the weapons.
"Such pretty things," said Caleb. His beady eyes wandered over the display and then to the stool whereupon lay the Governor's sword. "Wot's this?" he remarked, stepping over to it.
Will placed himself hastily in the man's path.
"It's not for sale," he told Caleb grimly.
Caleb looked affronted at first, but suddenly the look slid off of his face and he chuckled lightheartedly.
"No harm young sir," he cackled. "I just wanted a look."
Will paused. Well, what harm could looking do, he thought.
"Very well." He moved aside.
Caleb's eyes lit up at the sight of the sword. A stray beam of sunlight had broken through the small window and lit upon the weapon, sending effulgent streams of light coursing all over it's silvery exterior.
"Who's this one for?" Caleb asked in a hoarse whisper.
"The Governor."
Caleb's eye twitched. "Would you happen to have any more of these in the shop?" he asked with ill disguised covetousness. Will resisted the urge to laugh outloud.
"I think not," he replied. "That one there's taken me nearly a month to finish."
He watched as Caleb continued to inspect the weapon. Suddenly the man looked up.
"Would you be willing to make another one?"
"For a sum, yes."
"How much d'ye charge?"
Will surveyed his guest doubtfully. "At least thirty pounds," he said. "Swords do not come cheap."
To his surprise, Caleb merely nodded and looked back down at the weapon on the stool. Will became instantly more suspicious. It was apparent to him that the man was in no state of wealth and in order to purchase the sword he required he would have to be moderately well-to-do.
"D'ye have any designs about the place?" Caleb was asking. "Of the kind that tells the different swords?"
"I do."
"I'd like to see them, if'n ye don' mind."
Will forced himself to smile. "Not at all," he said untruthfully. With one last regretfully look at his masterpiece on the stool, Will turned and went to the back room for his book of designs.
When he came back he was shocked to see Caleb nonchalantly wielding the prized sword.
"Put that back!" Will ordered in a panic thinking how the handle was not firmly fixed on the blade and how long it would take to fix it if it fell apart. Caleb brandished the weapon in the air with a grin.
"This is a lovely sword," he said.
"Yes I know. Please return it to the stool," Will responded.
"I want this one for the Captain. Are you sure ye can' give it to 'im?"
"Very sure. Your Captain will have to order another if he wants one of that type."
Caleb's face turned instantly cold. He glared at Will for a second before leaning stiffly over the bench and dumping the sword over the stool. Will watched in horror as it fell onto the floor and the pile of metal shavings and tools with a sickening screech.
He turned fiercely to Caleb.
"Get out of my shop."
Caleb came up close to Will and raised himself to his full height, which was nearly six foot two. Feeling slightly less daring at the size of his enormous customer Will took a step backwards.
Caleb glared at him.
"No one tells me wot to do," he said.
"I'm am now," Will countered neatly. Caleb clenched his fists with a loud crunch of his knuckles. There was a suspenseful pause.
Finally Caleb stepped away from Will and the glare disappeared from his face.
"Al'right, al'right I'll not hurt ye," he said jocularly. "Jess make me Captain a sword like the one ye got thar an' I'll be back far it in a week or so." Will looked bitterly at the sword lying unevenly in the pile of rubbish and nodded. It was taking all his self-control to withhold from flying at Caleb and whaling on him.
Caleb turned around. "We're leavin'," he announced to his escort. With a sharp wink at Tom, he went to the door and exited the shop followed one by one by the rest of the sailors.
Tom looked over at Will who was still standing where Caleb had left him.
"If I may say so, sir," he said slowly, "Being a blacksmith is terrible subjection."
Will said nothing.
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A/N: Okay now, the next chapter is one especially for you who have been begging me to write one about Jack. I had been a little nervous about writing it cause how in the world do you (accurately) describe a character like Jack Sparrow? But I gave it a shot and even if it may not live up to ideals, I had fun writing it so :P
Hope you like it and please review!