The Tortuga Chronicles

Act I

It had taken two days for Will's anger to die down.

He had been incensed enough after Elizabeth left not to immediately follow her. Instead, he waited until he was sure her ship had left before walking down to the strip of beach. It was small, tucked away in a cove some distance away from the town. Will and Elizabeth had discovered it years ago and they had always, rather fancifully, remarked that it was as though a pirate's treasure horde had been ground to dust on the shark-teeth rocks. The sand resembled nothing less than scatterings of powdered diamonds that had been washed in by the sea, glaringly white in the afternoon sun.

He had time to think here, time to sort the clamour in his head. He was not worried for Elizabeth; she was strong and Will had taught her to fight like a demon. She could fend for herself well enough in Tortuga and, after all, the town wasn't that terrible a place. Will had not witnessed one drop of blood shed in all his time there with Jack Sparrow and even though it was a den of drinking and debauchery, Elizabeth would be interested in neither of those. He knew what she was waiting for. Eventually, the Black Pearl was bound to dock there (Jack had loved that town almost as much as his ship) and Elizabeth would step aboard and sail away as she had always dreamed of doing. And Will would be by her side.

Her father would be heartbroken, but he had raised a headstrong child who loved fiercely and completely. And she loved the life of a pirate, always had. It would have destroyed her to stay in Port Royal.

Will had been quite comfortable on land. Since the fated crossing from England, he had kept his feet on dry soil and quite happily given himself up to the forge (and Elizabeth). But then the Black Pearl had come and wreaked havoc on Port Royal, and Jack Sparrow had meandered his way into Will's life, turning everything on its head. And he had never really left.

They had not seen each other for a good year (although it felt like more), but Will thought about Jack a lot, wondering whether the leaden ache that had sunk deep into his bones was a result of him ignoring his pirate blood. Now, as Will contemplated the sun rising above the golden thread of horizon, he realised that Jack had been right about a great many things.

Will stood. He knew what he had to do. It was so clear that he almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. He had nothing left here: Elizabeth was gone and he hadn't crafted a satisfactory blade in weeks. Everything was falling into place; the fog that had clouded the edge of his awareness was receding. He would book passage on the next ship sailing to Tortuga, would meet Elizabeth before the week was out. He suspected that Jack would not be the least bit surprised to see them both, had probably expected them sooner.

So Will turned, breaking into a run as he passed the swaying line of palms, finally surrendering to the tides that pulled at his blood.

Wind battering the hatch, he could hear it howling like a furious beast, rolling the ship (the Fia-Nuala, his mother's name) onto its side. He wrapped his arms tighter around the beam, not caring about the splinters pricking under his nails because he was terrified, stuck down here in the storm. He could hear crewmembers yelling overhead, their feet beating a frantic tattoo across the deck, but Captain Howells had insisted Will was not to get in the way (never mind that he had basic nautical knowledge) because he was a landlubber who had not stepped on a ship for a whole year.

But a ship never let you forget her and Will knew that the groaning creak of boards was the pained warning of a vessel who wasn't going to hold much longer.

She can hold a bit longer!

Only she couldn't, and neither could Will, because that had been on the Interceptor with Jack, and this was only a tiny merchant vessel with a skeleton crew.

Will closed his eyes, trying to conjure up Elizabeth's face (that's why he's doing this, there is a reason, it's for her -- and for himself), but the pounding of waves drowned out any thoughts that he might have comforted himself with. The ship gave a sickening lurch that almost sent Will flying across the cabin. Damn the captain; he wasn't going to hide below-decks any longer.

Within an instant of hauling himself out of the hatch, he was soaked to the skin. Blinking salt out of his eyes, he could barely see two paces in front of him, but he dragged himself along, keeping flat against the deck, trying to swallow down the rolling nausea crawling up his throat. He suspected that the captain would be at the helm, and there he was, fighting with it, roaring out orders to people that Will could barely make out. When he spotted Will he grinned, so much like Jack Sparrow that Will almost called out his name.

"Mr Turner, took y' long enough!" Howells snagged Will's shirtsleeve as the ship banked sideways. "Take the helm!" They both ducked as a line whipped past their heads. "And I don't want her a single point off course!"

And he was gone, leaving Will to grab onto the helm. It tried to wrench itself out of his grip, but Will planted his feet firmly on the deck, as he had seen Jack do, feeling the strain along the muscles in his arms. It hurt (the sting of seawater against his face, the burn of wood under his fingers) but his blood was singing and he was grinning madly, like Captain Howells, like Jack Sparrow, and he understood and he swore never to let go.

When the Fia-Nuala limped into Tortuga, there were but five men on board. The storm had not left many of them unharmed and a ragged cheer went out as they docked. Captain Howells was the last to step off the ship and so Will waited, watching the man's practised eye check for damages.

"She doesn't look too bad, considering," Will commented, as the captain approached him.

"And what would you know of it, Mr Turner?"

"I once sailed with Jack Sparrow. He's a good instructor."

"Jack Sparrow!" Will had been expecting the exclamation, but not the dark flash of eyes that accompanied it. "How's he been keeping?"

"You know him?"

Howells glanced sidelong at Will, a strange wistful smile twisting his mouth. "I know him."

So it went like this: there I was with me crew, sailing to our island, when ol' Timmy up in the crow's nest shouts out 'bout someone lying on the beach. No, I says, no one knows of our cache, but the man insists and as we get closer I spot him. All sprawled out, he was, our rum cache broken into. The men weren't too happy, t' be sure, and they were all for duffin' him up, whoever he was. But no, I says, let me deal with the stupid blighter. 'Twas my first glimpse of Jack Sparrow, y' know, and he was drunk as a lord. I threatens him and I gathers round me crew, but Jack, he don't care. His Pearl had left him, he says, and we all thought he was bemoaning some pretty lass and when the lads tease him he gets all affronted, like. He growled and glared and almost went for ol' Timmy's jugular, but I pins him down and tells him to 'splain himself. Cap'n Jack Sparrow, says he (and he was grinnin' like a madman by now 'cause all the men gasped), and I've lost me Black Pearl. Daft, I thought he must be, to lose a grand ship like that, but pirates respect Jack Sparrow and I was soon to become one meself, and so we sits down with him while he tells us his tale. I can't admit to understandin' the part 'bout the sea monsters-- Turtles? Why would there've been sea turtles? Anyway, 'twas a good 'un, 'specially from a man who had drunk half our cache. The men didn't mind no more (they were a soft lot, really) and 'fore we knew it Jack Sparrow was sailing along with us back to Tortuga, charming me men with his promises of riches and women. We all joined him, y' know, and those were the most profitable years of me life. Best ones, too, 'cause he's a clever one, Jack Sparrow, and he knows how to live. Once, when he was deep in his cups, he told me the real tale with Barbossa and Bootstrap Bill and everything. Bill was y' dad? The things you learn. It took a lot out of him, y' know, the mutiny an' all, ripped his heart out and left him without his ship. I've heard he's got her back -- he has, hasn't he? -- and is terrorisin' the east with her. 'S good, y' know, that he was never one for givin' up. The Pearl always was his world.

So, what you doin' in a place like this, Mr Turner?

"Elizabeth!"

Howells stumbled back from the counter. "Calm down, mate, 'twas only a question!"

"What's the date?" The lazy warmth of the tavern was gone, replaced by a terrible cold. Only moments ago, Will had felt his eyes drifting shut from the ale and the familiar wash of Howell's voice, but now… How could he have forgotten? "Tell me!"

"I don't know! But if you'd like to calm down…" Will pushed away from the counter. "John, mate, what's the date?"

"Twelfth. Why?"

Will felt his heart shudder in his chest. The twelfth. Thank God. He had another week. It was all right. Everything was fine and Elizabeth was here somewhere, he just had to find her… A thought almost choked him. "Twelfth of what?"

The barman frowned over at him. "September, of course."

No. No, it couldn't be, he couldn't have missed her. He was out of the bar, down by the dock, searching the crowds of women, but they were all brunette or some hideous shade of red, their faces painted like china dolls, not bronzed and freckled and fine-boned.

"You all right, love?"

Will pushed the whore out of the way, ignoring the indignant curses that trailed after him; he was down at the docks, searching, searching, searching for a ship… But the Black Pearl wasn't there. He squinted at the horizon, willing a smudge of black to appear, but it didn't, of course. Jack would have left three weeks ago, taking Elizabeth with him.

"Mr Turner, you all right? William?"

Will dragged his eyes away from the ocean. "They've gone."

"Who?"

"How long were we at sea?"

"Three weeks, p'raps four. The storm turned us 'round, remember?"

"Three weeks." He laughed, but he didn't know why, because nothing seemed remotely funny.

Howells frowned. "Y' scaring me, mate. What's wrong?"

"Everything." Will turned back to the empty horizon. "Everything."