Disclaimer: See Chapter One
A/N: No one is going to believe me when I say that I write slowly. I do, I seriously do. This story is demanding a lot of my time. I'm in the lull between classes ending and exams beginning, and studying isn't nearly this interesting.
Warnings: Other than language? Prostitution.
CHAPTER THREE—Ball And Chain
Mr. Watson had hit the nail on the head when he assumed that Elizabeth had not seen the isle of Tortuga at any point in her life, and until she had actually set foot on it, she would never believed that she hadn't been missing much at all. She often hounded Will about the island, what it was like with the pirates and prostitutes, what he had thought of it. He kept telling her that 'it lingered,' as though that was supposed to satisfy the curiosity of a young woman who had been coddled and protected all of her life.
She believed it now. There was nothing on Tortuga that she would ever lament not having seen. Oh, she supposed that one never truly lived until they saw a man sitting under the open tap of a keg, his mouth agape so as that he could catch the ale as it poured out. Or maybe it was whiskey, she couldn't tell from the scent. Neither Will nor her father indulged. However, you didn't look long, lest the prostitutes who were laughing and fawning over the drenched man might get the wrong idea, and decide that you might be interested in some company for the night.
A hat would have been nice. Something like Will wore, with a feather, to pull down over her eyes so that no one could see that she was looking around. It was new, and it smelled, and, as Will said, it would certainly linger. Will, Will, Will. She had her fingers crossed that this was where she would find him. She hadn't quite thought through what would happen should she find him—but that would be his part of the plan. All she wanted to do was bring him home.
If she had had it her way, she would have hung around the docks, looking to see what had come into harbour. If she found the Pearl—it seemed odd to trust Jack this blindly. To think that, perhaps, she could count on Captain Sparrow to find Will. He was, after all, a pirate, and all things considered, in it for himself.
Like these men, although Mr. Watson was quite interested in her lovelife or lack thereof. He kept pointing out the prostitutes to her, telling her which ones were especially good at what—it seemed all that more funny to him when she blushed furiously at the more graphic descriptions of what went on in the bawdy houses.
She didn't even want to comprehend half of them.
The rest of the crew was quite interested in what she would be like under the state of inebriety. No, she had not earned herself a place among the crew, she was very certain that she was the butt of every single joke, and the term 'sprog' was tossed about quite readily. That didn't even take into account the fact that she had a hard time remembering that she was supposed to answer to the name 'Charlie,' making the crew figure that she was a little touched in the head.
The tavern was the first of many that she went to, and Elizabeth learned that there was no such thing as drinking water on Tortuga. You either drank ale or you drank rum, and rum was cheaper. Way cheaper. Mixed nicely with water, the very same grog they served aboard the Dauntless. The justification was that the water itself was actually a little darker than the rum. If that wasn't enough to make you gag, the only reason they added the rum was to hide the taste of the water.
The pirates ran the island, there was no doubt about that. Elizabeth winced when a man came crashing through a window. He sat up, shook himself off, and took a mighty swig from his flask of poison. Amazingly, a man crawled out of the window after him—presumably the man who had thrown him—hauled him upright by the neck of the shirt, brushed the glass out of his clothing—and decked him one, right on the nose.
Mr. Watson slapped her mightily on the back, nearly knocking her off of the stool. "Well, lad, ya see anythin' ya want?"
The three prostitutes within earshot suddenly straightened up, waving their threadbare fans in front of their face in what Elizabeth would assume was a welcoming manner. One leaned forward a bit, so that she could see the depth of her cleavage. Elizabeth whipped her head away, covering her eyes. "I don' thin…"
"Whatcha sayin', lad?" Mr. Watson clapped his hand on her shoulder. "These fine young ladies don' be satisfyin' to ya, aesthetically?" Leaning forward, he said, sotto not so voce, "You best choose one of 'em now, lad, while ya still got yer wits about ya. Later on, they ALL start lookin' pretty."
She choked on her mouthful of ale, coughing mightily.
"Now, tha' one in the red, she's mine." Watson raised his glass to the woman in question. She looked him over disdainfully, and made a sound that came across as out-and-out rejection. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, looking up at Watson. He glared down at her, obviously miffed when she failed to give in, and walked away. "Blasted wench, never did get me money's worth."
Another thing to add to that lovely little spot in her mind that housed all the facts that she just didn't need to know. Or want to know. Muttering something unintelligible, even to her own ears, she raised her cup to her mouth, and pointedly did not look at Watson.
Why in the hell he took her in under his wing was a mystery of the universe. Then again, why would Cap'n Jack Sparrow be interested in a young blacksmith's apprentice such as William Turner. Save the blood that would have negotiated Jack the Pearl, had he had a wink of business savvy in his head. For all the swaggering, lurching, and bragging, the man was simply an endearing imbecile.
How she wanted to see him, now. The fun he'd make of her, well, that would be the price she needed to pay for the dubious honour of enlisting his help. The Caribbean was a large place… Will could be anywhere.
She didn't even know what made her so sure he was here. The direction of a voodoo woman? Elizabeth drained what remained of her watered rum, and stood up, giving the excuse that she had to relieve herself, when asked. Stumbling as though she were drunker than she actually was—as long as Watson was drinking, he didn't really notice that his cup was filling up, rather than draining—she headed out behind the tavern.
Damn and blast, she wished that she knew more. Like why. How. What had happened, that would have made her lose him like that? Was the woman telling the truth, as she had been blindly clinging to, or was it something else? Did he want to leave her, did he want to be the pirate she had called him. As much as she loved him, she knew… It was hard to miss… He loved the sea.
He loved the sea, and she wasn't sure that it was not competition.
Lurching out behind the tavern, she leaned heavily against one of the few trees in the whole blasted town. For the first time, she had little else to do but wallow in the doubt that had been trying to get a foothold in her mind since she had crossed the gangplank onto the Siren's Call.
A footstep on a branch caught her attention. Elizabeth turned around, horrified to see that someone was staggering around the back of the tavern, probably with much the same purpose as she had told Watson. A man, hunched over, using the wall to walk.
He wasn't much shy about anything. Elizabeth turned her back purposely on it, and shut her eyes, willing him to not notice her, to just get it over with and leave.
"Ahoy there, matey."
Her heart froze.
That voice… So utterly familiar, even if the words were not. In the light streaming through from the streets (when Elizabeth craned her neck around so that she could see just the barest of details), she hadn't recognized him. Backlit, he had appeared as just another man. Her voice was choked when she said, "Will?"
The stranger looked up. Their eyes met, and he suddenly reared back. But it wasn't recognition that Elizabeth read on that all-too-familiar face. It was surprise. "Well, now, lass whatcha doin' back here?" She turned around when he… Well, she was fairly certain what he was doing, but it was not something she wanted to see, and she was more than content to let that remain the case until hell froze over. "ain't no place fer a girl."
That was definitely him. Elizabeth wanted to weep with the sheer relief of it, but she didn't. He didn't look like he had been suffering all the much without her. The time had been good to him, from what she could tell. She had imagined their reunion as a grand occasion, throwing herself into his arms and holding him. No. She had expected to find him half-dead, or injured.
Not drunk and needing a piss on Tortuga.
Feeling braver, now that she was certain that… It… wasn't out where she could see it, Elizabeth turned around, hands on her hips. "And I suppose I should be back in Port Royal, pining away for you, then."
He frowned at her. "Do I know you?"
Slapping him seemed overly dramatic. No matter how her hand itched to cross his cheek, she kept them balled up at her hips, staring him down. "I'm sure once you dry your head out, you will." Pushing passed him, she headed for the street.
So, this is what it felt like to be stupid. She couldn't say that she liked it.
He was following her, though to accomplish what, she didn't know. It wasn't like she would readily forgive him, even if he did drop down onto his knees on this godforsaken street, and pledge his undying love to the heavens. He could talk until he was blue in the face, she would still have a hard time accepting anything that he said.
So, when his hand closed around her elbow, she met it with a fist to his face. Will dropped her arm, stumbling back, clutching his nose. She hoped that it had made it bleed, but if his eyes watered, that was more than enough for her. "Confounded wench!" He made a grab for her, even as she continued walking away. He did get her before she made it to the street, and—sticking out blows that she thought would have at least knocked him away—between a pair of buildings, far away from the prying eyes and ears of the streets.
"All right." He slammed her up against one of the walls. "Wha's yer trouble, lass?"
"You can stop that act, William Turner." She very much had abandoned her role as Charlie Turner. Her words were as clipped and precise as her vocal teacher in London would have liked, all those years ago. "Out of curiosity, did you think that you could just leave Port Royal without a single word to me? That I would not try to discover why the man I love suddenly disappeared without so much as a trace?" What she liked about this—would look back on with absolute glee, actually—was that she had Will backing up a step for every one that she took. "I'm warning you that my temper is very short right now. I don't know what sort of excuse you would like to make, but I suggest that you make it a good one, and fast."
"I don' rightly see where's I need ta be explainin' nuffin' ta a little…"
Elizabeth seized him by the scarf tied around his neck. "Finish that, Mr. Turner, I dare you." She thought about pulling her dagger, but she supposed that she might be tempted to use it.
He looked down at her, an almost sneer on his face. "Yer playin' wiff fire, lass."
"Call me lass one more time…" Elizabeth didn't get a chance to put her threat into words. Will grabbed the back of her head, pulling her in for a rough kiss.
What she realized, as Will tried to push his tongue into her mouth, was that it was different. Oh, she didn't realize that right away, of course, because she was so spitfire mad that she didn't want to do anything more than let that tongue into her mouth, so she could bite it off. She was smart enough, though, to clamp her lips shut and pull back as best she could.
Still, it wasn't Will. Will would never kiss her like this, even if he were drunk (she had seen this once, when he had saved Jack from the gallows, and felt like celebrating. It seemed like a lot of fun, until he had been sicker than a dog for the next day), because Will had always treated her as a treasure. The fragile little flower that he had always been afraid of holding. He also knew full well that she was capable of knocking his head off his shoulders, should he try to either be too delicate or too rough. His kisses were meant with love, not lust, even when they anticipated their wedding vows.
When she got away, though, she was surprised with herself for being more calculating than honestly, openly offended. Wetting her lips, more to get the taste off of her, she frowned up at the man she thought was Will Turner. "What was that for?"
He shrugged. "Ye looked like ye needed it, lass."
"How's your memory?" When he looked at her sceptically, Elizabeth continued. "If you are William Turner, and I assure you, you look every bit like him, you would know that I am not in the need for anything of the sort. If you are William Turner, and I remind you that you did not say you were not when I called you by that name, you would know that I have every reason to be livid to find you here. I had thought that you were dead or dying at the bottom of the sea, but as it turns out, you're whoring and drinking in Tortuga. And, finally, if you were William Turner, you would stop calling me lass and call me by my given name."
An eyebrow arched. "And what would that be?"
She shook her head. "Are you William Turner?"
"Aye, that I am." He nodded his head. "And it appears that you, young miss, have the advantage of me." He squinted at her. "I haven't a blessed clue who you are."
She nodded. "As I asked, how is your memory?"
"Bit patchy in places. Most of the last ten years." He said this with a smile.
She smiled back, just as tightly. "Then you don't remember the day we met?"
He spread his hands. "It was a lovely evening in Tortuga."
"And the Black Pearl?" She asked.
And his face closed off. She had never seen such an expression on his face, not even when he had thought that Barbossa's crew was going to kill her. Backing up half a step, he glared at her. "And where did you learn that name, lass?"
She stepped forward. "Do you remember the medallion you had about your neck? You thought you lost it. What was it, Will?"
"Will?" The man—she was certain he was not her William Turner—his face drained of colour. It was easy to see the greenish-grey cast that it had taken, even in the poor light from the street. "What of Will Turner?"
"Are you he?" She asked.
He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her arms. "The curse is broken. I had thought they'd killed him. Are you telling me he's alive?"
"Who is?" Elizabeth asked. She had expected a reaction, but nothing like this.
He gave her a shake. "Will Turner. My son, William. Is he alive or isn't he?"
Elizabeth met his eyes, and she saw something there. A panic, as bone-deep as her own. A disbelief that she didn't understand. "Your son…" She knew of Will's father, knew what happened to him, of course, but she hadn't thought that he might have survived, that seemed a little outlandish. " You're Bootstrap."
He set her down slowly. "I go by Bill, now. Bootstrap was…" He hesitated.
"Killed, yes. By Barbossa." The story he had told her, about who he thought was her father… It had curled her toes. She gave a half-hysterical laugh. "When I told them my name was Turner, they thought I had your blood…" She shook her head. "They said they tied you to a cannon and threw you into the sea."
"Ancient history." Bill Turner turned away from her slowly. "Ancient blasted history." Abruptly, he spun around again. "Who are you?"
"Elizabeth." She felt no need for a last name.
He supplied one of his own. "Elizabeth Turner." A wicked smile crossed his lips. "Yes, I suppose that the only lass who would follow a boy to Tortuga would be his wife."
She didn't bother to correct him. Semantics, after all. "Well…"
Bill Turner didn't give her a chance to say anything else. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her clear from the ground. Elizabeth gave a scream, pressing her face against his shirt to dampen the noise. A deep, throaty laugh echoed through the clearing as he set her down on her feet. "Shame me Katie ain't alive ta see ya, lass. She always wanted a daughter."
Oh. Oh! Elizabeth returned the hug with a reserved enthusiasm to that, smiling a little. Daughter? Well, yes, she supposed that that was what she was. "Bloody awful coincidence, running into you here." She muttered to herself. "Or was it?"
"Smart lass. I don't believe in those, either." He smacked a kiss soundly on her cheek. "But I need to know, lass. Surely you can understand that. Is Will alive or not?"
"I…" God, those were not tears welling up in her eyes. She would not cry over this. Not without knowing if he was alive or dead, if the tears were wasted, or no. "I don't know." She managed a smile. "What the hell would I be doing in Tortuga if I knew?"
Bill gave his head a shake, putting his hands on his hips. "But he didn't… Barbossa didn't kill him?"
"No." She confirmed. It was the very least she could do for him. His face crumpled, for an instant, before he turned away from her. She hadn't… God, what that must have done to the poor man. "No, Barbossa wanted to. I think Jack tricked him…"
"Jack." Bill repeated. "Jack Sparrow."
"This is going to be a long story." Elizabeth admitted.
When Bill turned back to her, it was with the devil's own smile. "Well, that'd be fine, Mrs. Turner. I've got more than my fair share of time."
&&&&&&&&
I am a rational man, or at least, I like to think so. I know, academically, that it has been ten years since that fateful day when the soon-to-be captain Barbossa marooned Jack Sparrow on an island, and threw me overboard. Ten years since I managed to fight my way free of that cannon and swim to the surface. Ten years that I hid, ashamed of what I had become.
More than ten years since I had seen my son. I remember him, just a little boy. He always had my looks, but he inherited his mother's personality, her innate curiosity. He was always in things, trying to understand how they worked, why it had to be that way. He was precious to me in ways that I still cannot fathom, even now. A new person, someone that I helped to create.
I am ashamed to say that I had thought that time had stopped there. That the boy that I knew somehow froze at that age, because I was not there. If I was not there, he couldn't have grown, he couldn't have changed. He would always been knee-high, with large inquisitive eyes, and a steady assurance that his father could do anything.
Until I met his wife, that is.
The William she describes to me over a flagon of ale is not the William I knew. She has the look about her that my Katie had when we were courting, a love that surpasses all things. She still does not know Will's faults, or if she does, she still has patience for them. She speaks of a man—a man!—who risked it all, who chanced death to save her. I probe deeper, as deep as I dare to go, to learn the fate of the Black Pearl. She tells me how Jack Sparrow is back at the helm, though more than that, she cannot say.
Jack Sparrow and my son. Together. It is almost too much for me to comprehend. She speaks of him as 'Jack', without any sort of title, and a fond exasperation that I do not entirely understand. The tale she tells me, how Jack got off that godforsaken island, is a farce, but truly worthy of the telling of Captain Sparrow. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she divulges the true, far more believable story: of the rum, and the runners, and the thousand foot signal she sent up when she burned that cache.
I had a stab of fear for her at that moment. Sparrow was many things, but forgiving when someone came between him and his drink? He might have pulled his pistol on her. But then, she is young Will's wife. She has to made of stronger stuff than the shrinking violets that usually crossed the Atlantic. No, this lass would take on a shipful of pirates if she thought that she might benefit from it.
I can see what young Will sees in her. It's my Katie, all over again.
She fears he is dead. She fiddles with the glass as she says this. I had thought it to be the truth, until this very night. I knew what we needed to break the curse, I was more than aware of it. It was why I sent the medallion to Will in the first place. To scatter the gold, and hold back the blood. I hadn't thought, at the time, that it might have put his life in danger. I knew Barbossa, unfortunately. He would have no qualms about hunting down a child and killing him.
Again, I realize my folly. Young Will wasn't a child when the Pearl came to Port Royal. He was a man, and he had gained the love of this young lady. I know she's a lady, even if she does not want it revealed. She holds herself a certain way, drinks her ale a certain way. Even the way she speaks tells me that she's not a low-born wench that my son met in a tavern. She smiles when I tell her this, and nods. She doesn't tell me more, only that Will is not the sort who would find a wench in a tavern.
She tells me of Master Brown, the blacksmith who raised my boy. How she found him in the waves on the crossing, how she first saw the Pearl. How she found the medallion and feared that he was a pirate. Then she smiles again. It was a grand adventure, even though she would not want to do it again.
Barbossa is dead, Jack and my son are still alive. Polar opposites of what I thought. Elizabeth gets a soppy look in her eyes, and tells me that under this light, she knows I'm not Will. She can see it, our eyes aren't quite the same, you see. And something about the breadth of my shoulders. I take away the ale, and she laughs. "I was quite upset when I thought you were Will."
"I would imagine." I know many occasions when Katie would come to the tavern to drag me home. She wasn't one that became jealous easily, so long as I gave myself to the ocean, not to another woman. She knew she couldn't compete with the call of the sea, but other wenches, she would have killed them, had I actually tarried there.
I hadn't, not while she was alive. After the curse, I stopped. It had been a particularly horrible scene, where the wench had opened a window, to let the silver moonlight in. Imagine her surprise when the man who was touching her with the intent to love her pressed a bare bone to her face. I told her, in the morning, that she had drank too much, and had a frightful nightmare. The young woman had been too drunk to discern reality from fantasy, and accepted that. I paid her more than she asked, and sent her home.
I grieved for my Katie. Don't get me wrong.
Young Elizabeth smiles shyly. I know that she's drunk, as well. It's easy to see in the high colour of her cheeks. She is a heart-stopper, and she is blissfully unaware of it. If she thinks that the crew of the ship she's on are fooled for a blessed moment, she's sadly mistaken. I noticed that there was a man who paid attention to us when we came into the tavern. He can't hear what we're saying, but he's scowling at me. If she's aware of the danger he poses, she says nothing of it.
I make up my mind there. I have failed Katie, I have failed Will. The best I can do, now, is keep his wife safe.
&&&&&&&&
"Bill Turner?"
He had been trying to sneak Elizabeth back onto the ship. In her present state of inebriety, she probably would have chosen the wrong one, of the three gangplanks she had reported seeing as they stumbled their way back to the ship. He left her in what he had been assured was her bunk, and would have been heading back out of the ship, if it weren't for...
"Bill Turner." This time, though, the certainty in the words brought his head up.
It had been years since he had heard that voice. It was as familiar as a splinter in his finger, and about as welcome. He turned around to face it with a cringe. "Ah… Tanis."
Tanis drew her blade, cocking her head to the side. Bill stayed perfectly still, a trick he had perfected eons ago. Particularly when dealing with the other half of the love that dared not speak its name. Oh, he had seen worse matches in his time. Gun powder and fire. Chain shot and masts. Hull and rocks. That's about where they ranged in potential disasters.
She curled her lip in a snarl. "Fancy seein' you breathin'."
He drew in a nosy lungful through his nose, and blew it out with equal relish. "Surprise."
"Quite." She commented. Of a sudden, she threw her dagger. It stuck the wall beside his head.
To his credit, he didn't move. It was because he was shocked, not because he was as cool and collected as he would like to be. He glanced at the knife still quivering in the hull. "Nice shot."
"I missed." She snarled. "I was wondering when you would show up again. Can't keep ole Bootstrap Bill down long, can you?"
He ducked his head, chuckling ruefully. With a little effort, and a little wiggling, the knife came loose. He turned it over, admiring the workmanship with an educated eye. "Fine balance. Nice weight. Must have been desperate if you have to resort to using such a fine blade to threaten me."
The smile she gave him was cold. A finely honed expression from the time in her life when she was the tender young wife of his best friend. Back when her weather-roughened frizz was sedated into ringlets, hanging down the centre of her back. She was never the lady that Elizabeth was, but she had been the prize of the tavern, the one that caught everyone's eyes, the woman you would love to go home with that evening.
"I'm gonna assume that you're another of me first mate's hires." She held out her hand for the knife, and he returned it. "I'm gonna 'ave to keelhaul that man."
"Ah, c'mon, now, love." Bill favoured her with one of his best smiles. "It ain' all bad."
&&&&&&&&
She had never been seasick. Ship life was always too much of an interest to her to even think about spending any time at the railing. She had seen a few passengers, though, on the crossing, and what she had felt was certainly the same mocking that she was getting from the crew.
Elizabeth leaned over the rail of the Siren, and tried to keep her stomach steady.
Was she supposed to be surprised that Bill Turner had signed on with her crew? Should she have been angry? She didn't know, but she was irritated. Not that he was on the ship, no, but the attitude he had towards her. She didn't NEED someone to hold her hand. She didn't need someone to 'run interference,' which was what he had given her as an excuse. She didn't want him holding her hair back, even though she was glad she hadn't thrown up on it.
There would be talk. Being from her standing in society, she was more than aware of that fact. On a pirate's ship, it was even more pronounced. This voyage had been an eye-opener: until recently, she had thought that old ladies were the worst gossips she had ever heard. No, it was in fact these men. Everything was a potential story, from something as simple as an accidental brush on the deck to the finding of a couple of the crew in a compromising position (although the parties involved insisted that it had been an accident—believable because they were both still very much in their clothing). Even so, an accidental fall into a pile of ropes had no resemblance whatsoever to a man coming over and holding back the hair of a very sick teenage boy.
Even if he was the man's daughter-in-law. After a fashion. Sort of.
Blast it, she was hung over, that was too confusing.
Sagging down onto the deck, she cast a murderous glare at Bootstrap "Call me Bill" Turner. He studied her with that damnable look Will gave her when he thought that she was a little off. It made her want to hit him, even though she had never raised her hand to Will, not even once. Not that she was without provocation. Even a little smug was coming across as bloody arrogant.
"Don't you have something better to do?" She asked him, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.
He shrugged. "No, not really."
Well, that was fantastic. Rolling over, Elizabeth used both hands to push herself upright. "Won't that get you flogged?"
Bill laughed. "Not as much as being hung over on watch." Elizabeth looked sharply at him, and he raised his hand. "I wouldn' worry about it, lass. Captain Tanis seems a might bit lenient for a sprog who cannot hold his liquor."
Her lip twitched. "Quit calling me lass."
"Mr. Turner!"
They both looked. Elizabeth could only imagine what it must have looked like, because they promptly turned to each other with what could only be called a scowl. Well, no, he was smirking.
Mr. Watson glared at both of them. "Ah, pardon me. Young Mr. Turner, if it don' interfere wiff yer busy social life, would ye mind gettin' off yer lazy arse, and doin' some work." Then, he turned to Bill. "And wha' in hell are you laughing at? I though' I asked for those barrels ta be tied down an hour ago."
Sending him a triumphant look, Elizabeth got up. The change in altitude was detrimental to her, er, uprightedness. That wasn't a word, she was certain of it.
Provisions had been… oh, blast. Provided? Elizabeth was sent below decks, to be certain that their cargo (to be offloaded in Port Royal when the market was not quite as hot as it was now) was still secure. Considering how her head was pounding, the darkness was a blessing. She wasn't certain what exactly was in the crates, but the ones that she was handling were marked food. One of the men popped it, to be certain. His smile was quite gapped. "Jes ta be sure."
And, certainly, that was what it was. Supplies, so that their cook might make something other than hardtack and swill. Morale was hard enough to maintain without serving rotting, overcooked food. Certainly, being on a ship for months and months, meeting the basic needs of the crew was a good idea, but on a pirate ship where there was only a loose set of rules binding the crew? She certainly understood the need for morale in a pirate crew—while she wasn't awake to hear Barbossa weasel his way out of getting killed, but she was certain it would have had to be quite inventive.
Prying the lid off the last case, she gave it the cursory glance she was supposed to, quite ready to call it a day, seal it up, and put it away. Unfortunately, she had obviously grabbed one of the crates she shouldn't have. Obvious, because it was not foodstuffs inside. It was weapons. Rifles. She quickly covered it again, nailing it shut, and moving it another part of the hold.
It bothered her, though. There were enough weapons there to arm a small contingent. Certainly every man on the ship. Perhaps that was what it was, a storage place for extra weapons for the crew. If that were the case, though, why weren't they in the armoury?
"All hands on deck!"
That was one of the orders you simply did not just ignore. Elizabeth clamoured to the deck with the rest of them, ignoring the buzz of conversation and speculation as she came up onto the deck. Attention seemed to be focussed to the south, including the usually unflappable captain. Tanis frown stood on the rail, grasping the rigging as she looked out onto the water. "Are weapons ready?"
Elizabeth wanted to see how the men arming the cannon were faring, when Bill came up beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder without a word, and turned her back towards the sea. And, when she saw what the fuss was about, she felt all the blood drain from her face. "No."
The Black Pearl, in all her majesty, sailing in the opposite direction.
"We're out of range, Captain." One of the gunners reported.
"Blast!" Tanis hopped down, glaring at the assembly. "What are ye lookin' at! Man the sails, we give chase!"
Watson shook his head. "We're too far out, Cap'n. They'll have her moored before we can reach 'er wake."
Tanis's face twisted in a mighty scowl. Elizabeth had seen that look often enough to know what it was: Murderous. A hush had fallen over the crew as she stared at Watson. He didn't look away, just rose his chin up, crossing his arms. Without taking her eyes from him, she rose her voice, "Man the sails!"
"Belay that!" Watson contradicted. "Cap'n, far be it fer me ta question yer…"
She cut him off rather effectively. The pistol was aimed right at his head. Very slowly, she cocked it. "Then I'd sugges' that ye don', matey. I'm tellin' ya once more, lads, then 'eads start rollin'. Man the sails."
Given a choice, Elizabeth would have headed straight for the rigging. The Black Pearl had made berth, and she had missed it? Because she had been drinking, no doubt. Somehow, she knew, she would find a way to blame it entirely on Bill Turner.
Still, hardly the time. Watson narrowed his eyes at her. "Fine. We can chase our tails 'roun' this whole globe, we still wouldn' stan' a chance at catchin' 'im. We wanna take tha' chance, fine wiff me." He raised his hands. "Bu' I though' we 'ad a plan."
Tanis's gun hand started to shake. "He's here. He's right here under me nose, and he's getting' away."
"Though' we were waitin' fer the opportune moment." Watson continued.
Very, very slowly, she lowered the pistol. At that point, she noticed that the crew was standing around, gawking. "All righ', get back ta work!"
Elizabeth stumbled back a step, into Bill's side. Their eyes met. "He was coming." She said, her tone low.
"Aye, so it would seem." Bill grabbed her arm, and pulled her away, somewhere they could speak. It involved the rigging, and before Elizabeth knew it, she was aloft, holding on for dear life as the wind howled passed. A blessing, really, as it blew away the words that they were speaking.
"Did you know?" Adding accusing offence to words shouted was difficult, but she managed. "Did you know that they were to be coming here? Did you know that Jack Sparrow would be right here?"
"Nay, lass, nay." He assured her. "If I had, we'd be on their ship."
The white canvas of the sail blocked the direction that the Pearl had been sailing. Into Tortuga. If she hadn't been up so high, she might have thrown herself into the water, chased after them, or died trying. A sharp look at Bill confirmed that he had feared the same thing. Oh, he tried to look away before she saw it, but he was Will's father. He hadn't just passed on his looks to Will, it was a good deal of his mannerisms, right down to the 'protect at all costs' instinct that had him standing on the rail of the Pearl, gun to his throat. "I don't need you to take care of me." She bit out.
"Someone has to." He countered.
Elizabeth closed the distance between them on the ratline. "I don't take that from Will, and I won't take it from you. I managed just fine on my own against Barbossa, I even saved Will and Jack. I don't need someone coming into my life and telling me how to run it. I already have a father, Mr. Turner, I don't need a second one." A gust of wind came up, threatening to throw them both from the ratline. To her chagrin, Bill stood the gust with little more than a flexing of his knees, while she had to hang on for dear life. A fine way to prove her point. "But if I find out that you knew…"
He nodded, taking the unspoken threat quite seriously.
&&&&&&&&
"Damn and blast."
Will waited patiently with his hand outstretched for the spyglass. Jack hesitated a second before slapping it down into his palm. It had come right from Commodore Norrington's cabin on the Dauntless, or so Jack told. If it had, it would have been before he was Commodore, because the design had already been replaced. He focused on the ship they were sailing away from at top speed. Sparrow had sworn up a blue streak when he noticed her leaving the harbour. "And why is this ship so intimidating?"
"'oo said a word 'bout intimidation?" Sparrow frowned out at the sea. "Why ain't she givin' chase?"
It looked like just another ship. Pirate ships didn't come out of dry dock like that, they had to be commandeered and then refurbished. Nothing about the schooner screamed threat. Will closed the glass, and handed it back. "And we would want her to give chase, because…?"
"Because it's normal, lad." Sparrow glared at him. "Do try ta keep up."
Will crossed his arms and waited.
Rolling his eyes, Sparrow climbed down from the rail, tucking the glass away wherever in that costume he hid his 'effects.' "She's the Siren's Call. Bloody menace on the water, if ya ask me."
"Nothing wrong with her from where I'm standing." Will countered.
"Ye'd think so." Jack smiled enigmatically. Then again, whenever did the pirate mean what he said? "Nay, she's a fine ship, credit to her designer, fastest bloody ship that size… But she still ain't no match fer the Pearl." Right, right. The ego needed stroking. Will didn't contradict him. "It's 'er cap'n tha's the problem, mate."
"Ah." Will nodded. "A friend of yours, I take it."
"Friend?" Jack scoffed. "Ain' no bloody friend o' mine, let me tell ya that."
Will laughed. "What's wrong with the captain?"
"She's a bloody crackpot, she is." Jack cast an eye back in the direction of the Siren's Call, now hidden behind the bend in the isle of Tortuga.
Now, if Jack Sparrow declares someone a crackpot, one could only assume that it must be true. There was fairly little Sparrow considered crazy. The undead pirates, the sea turtles, it was all this side of sane when you spoke to the captain. What he took in stride, everyone else would take as a sign they should be in an insane asylum. "Takes one to know one, I suppose." Will mused.
"I'm 'gnoring that." Sparrow informed him.
"What are we going to do?"
Sparrow shook his head. "nothin'. Not a blessed thing, unless she follows us. I would hate to have a fight 'ere."
"You said so yourself, we have the fastest ship on the water." Will reminded him. "We can always run if you can't beat her."
Sparrow made a reach for the rudder wheel, but Will had learned from their first voyage together. The arm swung by harmlessly over his head, instead of catching him as it had the last time. "Yer pushin'." Sparrow aimed a finger at him.
"Then, tell me."
He started to walk away, then paused. Turned back. "You and yer lady, ye think the world's standin' back in awe of ye, right?"
Will shook his head. "Now, that is the strangest way of changing the subject…"
"Jes answer me, yay or nay."
"All right. Nay. We're just two people." Will crossed his arms over his chest. "Where are you going with this, Jack?"
Sparrow nodded. "Aye. Shows a lot of wisdom fer yer age." He reached up, twisted the edge of his moustache. It looked like… Well, that just couldn't be. The unflappable Jack Sparrow looked a little…flapped, particularly if he was fidgeting. Will had seen him do many things, but not fidget. "Lots of people in the worl', mate. Plenty of 'em pair off."
Will raised an eyebrow. "Jack, perhaps it's my injury, but you're making less sense than usual."
"I was young once, mate." Sparrow smiled a bit. "Young and foolish. Though' it was love." He shrugged. "Bit of a misunderstandin'."
"All right." Will tried to wrap his head around that one. "You and this captain were… lovers?"
"Worse, mate." Sparrow looked truly pained to have to say this. "She's me wife."
&&&&&&&&
To Be Continued…
After many edits and rewrites, I was told to get over it and post it. Thanks Forwyn Redearth!
And thank you to the people who reviewed!
Evergreene: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Jack's just too much fun.
williz: The Tortuga strumpets were a blast to write! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last one.
Ankhesenamun: You're more than welcome. My issues with not writing in a sexual assault rise from more than just technicalities with a story, I must admit, but they are on the list. Thanks so much!
