PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 5
"Commodore! Good evening, sir. How may I help you? I was just closing up."
They would not bother to knock if they were hunting pirates, Will's good sense silently shouted, though his heart threatened to jump up his throat. He did not stand blocking the door, but neither did he entirely open it. Instead he simply behaved like what he was, a man astonished to find the commander of the local Royal fleet standing at his shop in the dark.
"Deucedly awkward, this." Norrington clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin. "Forgive me, Mister Turner, but have you seen Miss Swann today?"
"Why, no." His mind leapt from panic to confusion and Will frowned. "Is something amiss?"
"I'm not sure." The young commodore unclasped his hands and dropped his right to the hilt of his sword. The very sword Will himself had made for Norrington's promotion almost a year ago. "I had hoped perhaps you had seen her or might know of her whereabouts. Has she spoken to you of any plans for this evening?"
As Will watched, Norrington again shifted his hands behind his back, and a bolt of unease shot through him. Despite the fact Will was known to be courting Elizabeth Swann, there was absolutely no reason under the sun for Commodore Norrington to come here asking after the Governor's daughter. Unless -.
Drawing himself to full height, Will said firmly, "Sir, I assure you, she is not here, nor have I seen her since she and I took a walk along the harbor yesterday. I would not compromise Miss Swann's honor!"
"No, that's not -." Norrington sighed tightly and met Will's eyes again. "She appears to have gone astray, Mister Turner. She went to the market to place an order with the butcher, and she has not been seen since." That rigid military spine suddenly seemed to lose some of its stiffness and his gaze dropped as he added, "The Governor is frantic, and to be honest, I would have much preferred to find her here admiring sword-smithing and forgetting the hour."
Worry drew Will's brow into a straight dark line. "How long has she been gone?"
"Since late afternoon." The commodore straightened his shoulders and abruptly shifted to a depreciating tone. "I shall hope she stopped with a lady friend in the town, as most likely she has, and simply lost track of time. These long summer days, you know."
"Can I do anything to help?"
Norrington glanced over his shoulder at his shadowy Marine escort, then back at Will. "Her father has informed me of her friends whom she might be calling on. Being young it's entirely probable she is simply delayed by a late tea and womanly gossip."
Offering a prim smile, he took a precise step back. "I thank you for your time, Mister Turner."
"I'll look, as well. Perhaps -."
"If you do, Mister Turner -." Norrington paused and gave him a stern glance. "Pray use discretion. We do not wish an alarm over the governor's daughter if she is simply having a bit of punch and cake somewhere."
Forcing a smile, Will nodded. "Of course, sir. I will inquire after her tomorrow. Good night."
As Norrington and his escort turned away, Will closed the door between them. For a moment he pressed his hand against the wood, head bowed. There was no real reason to fear for Elizabeth, he told himself, and she knew this town like the back of her hand. Furthermore, if there was one thing he could trust about Commodore Norrington, it was that the man would meticulously turn over every stone in Port Royal to assure the safety of his governor's daughter.
"Will, you scalawag."
He had almost forgotten Sparrow was here, and turned to see the pirate again ambling his unsteady, sea-legged way about the dimly-lit shop. Gold glinted as Jack cast a sly grin over his shoulder.
"You must 'ave quite the reputation if the commodore himself is sent to fetch Miss Swann from a lover's tryst. My, my, my."
"For pity's sake, Jack. She is only delayed with friends."
"Why you haven't married that girl yet is beyond me, mate. She's not getting any younger, you know."
"I'm saving my money! I'll not ask her hand as a pauper without a house to live in. I'm not a pirate to ignore practical good sense!"
Blithely disregarding Will's annoyance, Sparrow continued his stroll. "And fancy me blowin' in from the briny blue just when me old chum Commodore Norrington himself shows up at your doorstep." Jack wheeled about to sweep off his hat in a broad parody of a bow. "It's me that should not be forgettin' the high-toned company you keep these days."
Will could only frown and turn away, his distracted gaze falling on the broom he had yet to put away. His thoughts tumbled uncomfortably between concern for Elizabeth and anxiety over a pirate standing in his shop. In silence he propped the broom in its corner - then abruptly spun to face Sparrow with his jaw clenched.
"Jack, if you -."
"Don't even think it, mate." The pirate's tone and gaze were both steady as steel. "I would risk no harm nor hurt, nor so much as a hair out of place on the head of your bonny lass."
Wishing he could heartily kick himself, Will sagged and braced his spine against a workbench. "I'm sorry, Jack. That was uncalled-for."
"No harm. I'd 'ave suspected me, meself."
Mutely Will nodded, hoping the flush heating his face was not visible. His mind noted the irrelevant fact that the coals in the forge were dying away to dull glimmers.
"Why do you want me to make you a sword, Jack? I know you could steal, pilfer or pinch any number of fancy blades."
When the expected impudent retort failed to come, he lifted his gaze to find Jack watching him, or perhaps more rightly studying him.
His purring voice oddly quiet, Sparrow said, "Because it would mean a thing to me."
No more than that did Jack Sparrow say, and for once his flamboyant gestures and glib tongue were still. The weight of shared memory hung heavily between them, memory of peril and battle and a brave ship sunk, whilst another found her way back to her true master. And Will Turner facing the very man who had just been at his door, placing himself between Jack Sparrow and a hangman's noose. Just as Jack had, in his own twisted way, risked all to free Elizabeth Swann from the cursed crew of Captain Barbossa. Last but not least, Will's long lost father, once known as Bootstrap Bill, had been Sparrow's friend and perhaps his last true friend.
"I could work on it between orders. After tasks and jobs I must do for Master Brown."
"Fair enough." Sparrow reached into a coat pocket and pulled forth a small but heavy purse. Jingling it enticingly, he said, "Name your price, mate. It's not every day I'm in the mood for spendin' at the same time as I have loot to spend."
Will gave a brief laugh before turning to the business of taking the order for Jack's new sword. While he asked questions and jotted quick notes, Sparrow draped a heavy but companionable elbow on his shoulder and peered at the words and sketches appearing on the page. His ringed fingers twiddled restlessly at the edge of Will's vision as they discussed the particulars, but the younger man ignored what he knew was a friendly annoyance tactic. The simple fact was he felt satisfaction in knowing that even though this blade went to a scoundrel of a pirate captain, said pirate would truly appreciate the craft that went to its making.
"There," he said finally, straightening so the weight of Jack's arm fell away. "Remember, it will be several weeks before completion."
"Not a difficulty." Jack waved off that detail. "The tricky part was gettin' meself 'ere to make the order in the first place."
A worrisome thought occurred and Will cast him a suspicious look. "Please tell me the whole crew of the Black Pearl is not skulking about Port Royal."
Chuckling deeply, Sparrow said, "Not a chance, mate. The Pearl is anchored away off on the eastern coast of this lovely island. Pretty little cove and a cozy little 'amlet were the rum flows, the ladies are welcomin' and nobody asks questions."
"If it's anything like Tortuga, I don't want to know."
Jack wagged a chiding finger. "Now, Will, no place on earth compares to the bibulous and bountiful beneficence that is Tortuga!"
"Thank heavens. How may I notify you when this is finished?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Or shall I wait until you climb through my window some night?"
"Send word to New Town at the mouth of the Savage River, around Point Morant. Direct it to the Inn of the Slippery Eel. I be known there." Sparrow pressed both hands together in a prayerful half-bow that managed to look both ridiculous and sincere at once.
Then he was meandering towards the door, he was leaving, and suddenly Will found himself swallowing a big gulp of unexpected emptiness. Words crowded at his teeth but remained unspoken, for the courtesies he might offer to an ordinary friend, for a shared supper, a pint or two at a local tavern, or a bed overnight and talk until the small hours, could not be applied to a hunted pirate who dared not let daylight find him here.
"Jack …"
"Aye, Will?" Sparrow pivoted tipsily and faced him.
"You … you'll look after yourself, won't you?"
A white grin curled the ends of Jack's moustache. "It's what I do best, son. Oh, and do give the charming Elizabeth my love, eh?" He scowled darkly. "And for pity's sake, give her something to do at night besides take tea and crumpets! Ta!"
And he was gone, the door thudding gently behind him. Will sighed and stood in the silence a moment, feeling the room seem to sag in upon itself at Jack's departure. When Jack was present, there was certainly no mistaking the man was there. Looking at the paper on the workbench he lightly touched the lines there, and his mind's eye already envisioned what the finished sword would be. Just this morning he had completed a newly-made steel billet, which waited only to give a blade birth. In some strange way that eased him, knowing that at least a fine sword would remain as a tangible link between them.
And he smiled to think how perhaps he could indeed persuade sweet Elizabeth to take a moonlight stroll amidst the hibiscus flowers. His smile faded. Where could she be this night, anyhow? Moments later the lantern went out and the blacksmith shop fell silent.
***
Morning came but never Elizabeth. Will sat on the edge of an ornate chair in the governor's parlor with his dark head bowed, listening as Lieutenant Gillette gave his report. The young officer's frustration was evident in the clipped speed of his speech.
"Governor, we have spoken to every friend she has, every hansom cab driver in town, every merchant or craftsman who has your custom and every vendor on every street she could conceivably walk. She has been seen nowhere, sir."
Governor Swann's mild rounded features were pinched in distress and seemed pale beneath his grey wig. "This is not like Elizabeth. She can be headstrong, yes, but she would not worry me so without cause or provocation. Is there anywhere else you can think to search?"
"Sir, we are searching along the waterfront - just in case -." Gillette swallowed and ceased speaking as the governor's face blanched.
"Yes …" he replied faintly. "Of course …"
Will watched as Swann turned away, touching lightly, helplessly at the breast of his waistcoat. Not for an instant could he forget the vast gulf in station between a governor and a blacksmith, and he counted it a nervous blessing that while Swann did not embrace him, neither did he interfere with his and Elizabeth's courtship, as he could have so easily done. But if there was one absolute truth about Weatherby Swann, it was that he loved his only daughter more than life itself. Nor was that uneasy bond one that Will took lightly and his own frustration rose in his throat like a smothered scream. He had spent the entire morning walking the length and breadth of Port Royal, but he had found nothing nor seen anything that the governor's men had not scrutinized first. Elizabeth had simply and truly vanished.
"Sir," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll go out and look again also. Perhaps something is simply being missed."
"Yes, yes." Swann's distracted reply drifted over his shoulder as he wandered across the room. He stopped before the ornate hearth and rested his hands on its ledge as if the burden of his worry was pressing the strength from him. "Forgive me my preoccupation, Mister Turner. I know you are neglecting your own duties."
"Not at all, sir." Will's brows furrowed in empathy. "Master Brown understands fully -." He did not mention that his hasty explanation had not allowed the senior blacksmith time to do more than sputter. "- and nothing is more important than Miss Swann's safe return."
A sudden knock echoed hollowly from the foyer outside the parlor and all three men turned. They heard the butler's muffled voice at the door, then a clap of approaching footsteps. The crimson-and-white uniform of a Royal Marine appeared in the parlor doorway.
"My lord …?"
The young man held a folded paper gingerly in one hand. Behind him stood Commodore Norrington, and his face was grim as a hangman's.
***
"The Black Hand?" sputtered Governor Swann. "Why, I've never heard of such a thing!"
"Nor have I," said Norrington, two fingers pinning a rudely-lettered page to the top of a polished table. The scrawled words were underscored by the clumsy drawing of a clenched black fist.
"And why would they make such ridiculous demands?" Swann snatched the offending paper from beneath Norrington's hand and read allowed. "'We command the freedom of all our African brotheren - good lord, they can't even spell - who languish in bonds on this island or your 'dotter' will be seen no more. You have 5 days to comply.' Heavens, I could not order such a thing even if it were possible!"
"Of course not, my lord," Norrington replied smoothly. "Nor have we any intentions of doing so. They have given us time, and it is time we shall not waste. I will send men inland into the hills immediately -." He snapped his fingers towards Gillette, who hastily bowed and fled. "- and whomever has her will swiftly rue the day."
"You will never find her so."
All heads turned at Will's words. Nor did he lower his stubborn gaze. "If she is held hostage by the maroons, your men will never find them. They have raided plantations to free other slaves and escaped into the mountains for years, with only limited hindrance. They will see your redcoats coming from a league away and vanish like smoke."
"Mister Turner." Norrington's tone almost dripped chunks of ice. "What would you have me do?" Their stares met and held like locked swords, and Norrington spoke on. "I will spare no effort to secure Miss Swann's rescue, and I think you underestimate me sorely. My men were not born in red coats, and I believe you will find that I can pick men for the job who are at least as clever as a certain very willful blacksmith."
"Gentlemen. Please." Governor Swann's gentle, weary voice broke the tension and both men turned to face him at the fireplace. The lines of his face seemed to sag as he spoke. "We all work towards the same end. Do as you see fit, Commodore. I trust your judgement. And you, Mister Turner … you have proved yourself resourceful in the past. I will question nothing, young man, if it brings my daughter back safely. Do I make myself clear … both of you?"
He lifted one eyebrow and Norrington and Will answered together. "Yes, sir."
"Very well. Please return to your duties. I will await your reports, and do be sure I am informed of any least thing, even if it proves a false lead."
"Of course, sir." The commodore bowed before stepping away and Will followed suit.
Moments later both stood on the stone steps of the governor's mansion. Below on the driveway a carriage awaited Norrington, while Will had only his two feet. The commodore paused to regard Will, and the young blacksmith offered a weak smile.
"I know you will do your utmost," he said.
"Of course I will." Then as if wishing to take the edge off those words, Norrington added, "As will you. But use care, Mister Turner. I would not wish to find myself searching for both you and Miss Swann."
For an instant the commodore's stern face seemed to soften, and Will was reminded that this man also loved Elizabeth. Yet he had somehow possessed the grace and strength to step aside when she had chosen Will's suit instead. It was simply not in Will to feel anything but compassion and respect for that, and his smile found strength.
"I will, Commodore. I should dislike being a distraction."
"You have long been a distraction, Mister Turner. It is apparently what you excel at." Yet humor glinted in Norrington's eyes as he turned away, and Will watched him descend the steps.
As the carriage trotted clattering out the wrought-iron gates, Will lifted his head and narrowed his eyes to the bright Caribbean sun and the glittering expanse of blue-green waters beyond. Across the harbor loomed the long blue-green shadow of the main island of Jamaica. If a band of militant maroons had indeed taken the governor's daughter hostage, they would want to find deep hiding as quickly as possible and with minimal chance of detection.
"If I were a runaway slave," he said softly, "bearing away a captive white woman, which way would I go?"
Turning about to view the town and its environs, he reminded himself that there would be no hiding places on the long, narrow finger of land upon which Port Royal stood. And once again his attention was drawn to the harbor.
"The quickest way out," he murmured.
Will's feet abruptly clattered down the stone steps. He had a waterfront to haunt.
***
TBC ….