The captain fretted over how the Dauntless would perform once they hit open water. She was new and untried, the paint practically still wet on her transom, but she had been chosen as the grandest of the ships in port, and thus suited to the noble task of transporting the new governor to his new home.
Norrington wasn't sure how he felt about playing nurse to a overdressed man and a little girl, but he at least trusted in his new ship's power should they encounter any trouble. They had fired a volley into the empty ocean to test proficiency, to Governor Swann's dismay and to his daughter's delight . The crew had performed well and the captain had been pleased with Norrington's own conduct. He credited the ship herself, how easily she responded, as if all the hinges of the operation had been newly oiled. And though she wasn't built for speed, they were making surprisingly good time.
He stood at the bow and looked out upon a choppy gray sea. Swann had gone below, still tormented by seasickness, and after fifteen minutes of coaxing had managed to drag Elizabeth with him. It was bad weather for passengers, but it was the sort of weather Norrington loved – a stiff breeze lifting the sails, the menace of the clouds vying with the promise of the sun peeking behind them.
It was as silly as the girl's games, perhaps, but he could not help laying a hand on the ship's rail. "You and I," he whispered, "we are going places."