See part one for disclaimers.
……………………………
Will walked the route to the Swann mansion in that ground-devouring pace generally adopted by people when they really want to run, but are attempting to be discreet. The quietly amused smiles he drew from the people he hurried past, though, suggested that even if he wasn't fooling anyone, they were at least misinterpreting his haste for the eagerness of a man in love to meet with his sweetheart.
Will returned their smiles pleasantly, even as he felt anxious sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades. Right underneath the sign on my back that reads "harboring a pirate – ask me where." Good God, has this walk always been so bloody long?
He'd left Jack sequestered in his rooms at the forge after wringing a promise to stay put out of the pirate. Jack hadn't sulked nearly enough to convince Will he was truly going to behave himself, and Will was near frantic with the growing certainty that he'd return to the shop to find it either burned down or filled wall-to-wall with soldiers.
Granted, there was no real reason to fear discovery (or incineration) as long as Jack didn't venture out of Will's quarters into the forge below. It had been a month since Brown had bothered to pull himself out of the bottle long enough to come to work; Will wasn't laying money on that pattern breaking any time soon. And anyone who came 'round to talk business would be deterred by the "back in one hour" sign on the shop door. Just because trouble seemed to find Jack Sparrow faster and more certainly than a needle finds north didn't mean he couldn't keep himself out of it for the time it took Will to return with Elizabeth. Jack would be fine where he was for the brief while Will intended to be away. No reason to think otherwise.
Of course, where he was happened to be directly above a room full of sharp objects and open flame.
Will walked faster.
He managed to avoid a dead run through the gate of the Swanns' house, took the steps two at a time, and had a wave of delighted relief wash over him when Elizabeth herself opened the front door, evidently having seen him coming. She'd hear it from her father for that, no doubt. Or maybe not; Wetherby Swann seemed to be learning to choose his battles when it came to Elizabeth's interpretation of decorum.
"Well good morning, Will!" Elizabeth greeted, stepping out. "I would have expected to you to be up to your ears in work at this hour. What a lovely surprise."
"You don't know the half of it, darling," Will replied in a lower voice, grabbing her hands.
The pleasure in her warm eyes turned to something approaching alarm at his tone. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly, urgently.
"Not so much as wrong as…interesting."
"My-what-a-good-book interesting, or bring-a-shovel-and-don't-ask-any-questions interesting?"
Will considered. "Familiarize me with where on your scale Jack being in town to celebrate our engagement would fall."
Elizabeth blinked several times. "It wouldn't so much fall as plummet screaming out of the sky, into the middle of the scale and out the other side."
"I see."
Her eyes widened. "Am I sensing this is not a what-if scenario?"
"One of the things I love most about you, Elizabeth, is your perceptiveness."
Elizabeth slumped back against the door, her hand at her throat. "Good Lord, is he out of his mind?" Will opened his mouth, and she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't. Stupid question." She stared at him over her hand, brown eyes enormous as she absorbed the news, and after a moment a little laugh bubbled up out of her. "Jack's here. Right now."
Will nodded. "Back in my rooms at the forge, actually."
"Alone?" Elizabeth asked, in a tone that reminded Will uncomfortably of Governor Swann's.
"He promised to stay put."
"Did you get that signed in blood, or did you two just pinky swear?" Elizabeth waggled her little finger at him, and struggled not to giggle under his glare. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. Let's just get back there quickly, shall we?"
It sounded like a wonderful idea to Will, and was no doubt exactly what they would have done, had the door Elizabeth still happened to be leaning on not swung inward at that very second, extracting a startled yelp out of her and very nearly depositing her on her rear end at her father's feet. There was a bit of a bad moment as the three of them attempted to get her ankles back down where they should have been, and she and Will wondered frantically at each other just how sharp the governor's hearing was today.
"Elizabeth? Good heavens, my dear, what on earth are you doing? Oh, hello there, William."
That was Wetherby Swann. Gracious and courteous even in the face of his daughter's knickers.
"Sorry, Father," Elizabeth said, righting herself with as much dignity as possible. "Will and I were just…having a little talk."
"Well why not invite the young man inside and converse like normal people do, Elizabeth?" Swann suggested, catching Will's eye and shaking his head with a long-suffering smile. "It's positively stifling out here. You're both looking rather flushed."
"Oh, it isn't so bad yet," Elizabeth dismissed.
"In any event, this is excellent timing, simply excellent," the governor carried on, taking friendly hold of Will and Elizabeth's arms and ushering them inside, oblivious to the looks of quiet panic they exchanged under his nose. "I've been wanting to speak to the two of you about some of the work being done on the house. William, you have time in your busy schedule for a cup of tea and some discussion on your future home, don't you?"
"Well, actually, sir--"
"Splendid! Estrella, be a dear and put the kettle on, will you?"
Will swallowed dryly as the governor swung the door shut behind them, and put what he hoped was a pleasant expression on his face, though it felt like it was being held on with mortar.
If at the end of the day he and Elizabeth were the only ones who'd spent time detained in the custody of the governor, he'd go gratefully to his engagement masque dressed to do the dance of the seven veils. God could quote him on it.
……………………………………
Jack sighed heavily from his perch on Will's worktable. He'd done his fair share of talking himself out of awkward spots, but this one made the books.
"You know, mate, it occurs to me that you and I…well, we got off on the wrong foot when I was here last. I'm sure you're none too happy to have me hanging around now. Perfectly understandable, that is. In your place I don't expect I'd be happy to find me here, either. If it's any consolation to you, I shall only be in town for a little while. But as I am here, the thing of it is, mate, I think perhaps we ought to let bygones be bygones. Start fresh, savvy? I'm man enough to admit my conduct when last we crossed paths was rather despicable. In my defense, I was having a very bad day. I'm not excusing, mind, just explaining. Still…it was a sour note to start out on, and I'd be much obliged if we could move past it."
The donkey paused in his chewing, one large ear flicking around as he stared at the pirate but otherwise gave no response.
"Quite sorry I singed you on your bum, is what I'm getting at, mate," Jack continued, swinging one foot rhythmically against the table leg.
The ear flicked back in the other direction, and the rest of the donkey turned around after it.
Jack cocked his head to the side, crossing his arms, eyes narrowed critically. "The hair's grown back quite nicely, you know. If you didn't know where to look, I don't think you'd even notice."
The donkey swished his tail, and seemed to decide that Jack without a poker in his hand didn't warrant any further attention.
Jack leaned back on his hands, sucking his cheek between his teeth and casting an appraising glance around the quiet forge. Smells like brimstone and barnyard in here. I wonder if Barbossa's corner of hell smells like this.
That thought tickled him enough to set him chuckling for a minute or two straight, stifling the mirth against the back of his hand when he caught sight of the shapes of people outside passing close by the forge.
Not that it mattered much to Jack where the evil old cur had ended up after his body had gone cold. Barbossa's shadow had darkened his thoughts for ten years; now that he was free of it, Jack certainly wasn't going to waste energy dreaming up torments for a dead man. Whatever karma Barbossa was currently reaping, Jack preferred to leave him to it.
That being said, the idea of eternal justice reeking of soot and donkey wasn't entirely unfunny.
……………………………………
The hunt would take longer if the Pearl's captive crewmen didn't know where to find Barbossa.
The possibility didn't please him, but if it came to pass, it would only be a setback. It would take as long as it took, be it a month, a year, a decade. He existed now for one purpose, one end. He would see Hector Barbossa dead. The time required to bring that end about was irrelevant. There was nothing beyond it or apart from it for him to neglect.
What purpose was there for an arrow, but to strike the target?
Bill Turner sat on the bed in his rented room, head bowed, his cutlass across his lap. The fingers of his right hand rested feather-light on the hilt, his left, on the flat of the blade near the tip. The noontime sun spilled bright and hot through the window, bathing him in its warmth and light.
He had never felt colder. Not even in the suffocating depths of the sea, when water that had never seen sunlight surrounded and filled him.
In the first days after the breaking of the curse, he had wondered why the ocean had bothered to release him at all. He had agonized over it for long hours; how much better it would have been if he'd still been bound beneath the waves when Will's blood was spilled. His heart wouldn't even have had the chance to beat before the sea bore down on him, and there would have been no time to mourn his son's murder. It would have been better. It would have been peace.
That was probably why he'd been denied it.
He could have delivered himself to death, of course, as it refused to come and claim him. But just as he had accepted the curse's grip as punishment, so Bill submitted to this new sentence. He wasn't allowed to die yet? So be it.
But he'd been restored to an empty life, and something was going to fill that void. He would suffer his time in the world, however long that would be, but he wouldn't be suffering alone.
Oh, no. Not alone.
Bill slid off the bed, sinking to his knees, the cutlass' tip pressed into the floor, hands clasping it white-knuckled around the hilt, his forehead pressed to his hands.
"There is no forgiveness for what I'm about to do," he said, voice quiet and rough. "I'll beg for it anyway, now. While there's enough of me left to be ashamed of what I'm becoming."
"But I don't want you to go, Papa!"
"Please, Bill. Don't do anything stupid."
He shut his eyes tighter, but couldn't restrain his tears. His grip on the cutlass clenched, became crushing, but he couldn't still the shaking of his shoulders.
"Please, boys," he rasped breathlessly. "Please don't watch me now. Don't watch me now. Don't watch me."
The words filled the room, filled his ears, until his own was the only voice he heard, deafening him to any others.
…………………………………
A cup of tea and some discussion, it turned out, entailed a forty-minute conversation on roofing materials and household staff references, followed by an hour-long touring of the property being renovated to house the future Mr. and Mrs. Turner, who were nearly to the point of gnawing off a limb each to escape by the end.
Elizabeth might have faked a fainting spell to get them out of there if she thought she'd get away with it. Her father, however, had learned she was made of stronger stuff back when she'd last pulled that stunt, buying Will a second's grace to throw a well-placed sword.
Presently, William of the unerring aim was staring into space looking slightly nauseous and biting nervously at his thumbnail from his position behind the governor's back. Elizabeth reached out smoothly and drew down his hand, clasping it between her own.
Leaning close, Elizabeth said quietly, "Relax, Will, I think we're nearly done here." They followed a few steps behind Swann as he swung open the door to yet another room, stepped through beaming, and uttered the words that would have been the signal to evacuate even if there was no Jack waiting in hiding for them.
"And this room would be perfect for the nursery, don't you agree?"
Elizabeth walked into the wall.
"You could fit three or four little beds in here, easily," the governor continued. "Girls on one side, boys on the other?"
She clutched her throbbing elbow and attempted not to use the f-word loudly and repeatedly while the pretty multicolored spots in her vision went away.
"Good Lord, Elizabeth, are you all right?" Will was hugging her around the shoulders, and brought one hand up to gently touch her forehead where it had met the doorjamb.
Governor Swann had apparently not noticed his daughter leaving an eyebrow-shaped dent in the molding, because the verbal furnishing and decorating of the would-be nursery continued.
She had to get them out of there before he started naming his imaginary grandchildren.
"That reminds me, Will. Did I tell you about the book I've been reading on conception methods?"
The last time she'd drawn such mortified and undivided attention to herself had been when she'd stood on the deck of the Black Pearl and threatened to drop her medallion into the sea before the eyes of Barbossa and all his crew. She'd felt slightly less exposed and terrified with the homicidal undead pirates, though.
Will opened his mouth, but made several false starts before actually convincing his larynx to work with him. "I…I don't…"
"Well," Swann broke in, squeakily, and cleared his throat. "Well, I think perhaps that's enough future planning for one day. That's, ah, why it's the future, after all, isn't it? Mustn't forget to live in the here and now. These things will work themselves out in due time." He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow. "William, shall we expect you at dinner tonight?"
……………………………
"I think we should take Market Street; it'll be quicker." Elizabeth abruptly changed her course as she spoke, drawing Will along by his hand.
"Elizabeth!"
"Yes?"
"I can't believe you said that!" Apparently Will's faith in his own ears hadn't improved since the third time he'd made this same exclamation.
"Neither can I, but it got us out of there, didn't it?"
"It'll be weeks before I can stand to look your father in the eye again."
"I suppose the masks will end up being a good thing then, won't they?"
Will frowned in annoyance. "You're taking entirely too much enjoyment out of this."
"Oh yes, what a bloody laugh riot that was. I'm sorry, Will, next time you can be the one to humiliate yourself before witnesses to slip us out of a tight spot." She glared until his frown smoothed out and the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. "That's more like it," she said, appeased.
"Never let it be said you won't do what needs doing, Elizabeth Swann," Will marveled. "Come on, let's cut through here."
They wove between buildings, moving at a jog, and emerged onto the street across from the forge. Will let them in, casting sharp eyes around for unexpected visitors as they entered, and closed the door behind them.
"Well, he hasn't drawn the navy down on the place," Elizabeth observed. "That's a good sign."
"Assuming he stayed here even ten bloody seconds after I left," Will muttered, moving to the back entrance and making sure no one was poking around behind the shop.
"I beg your pardon, whelp, but you sound suspiciously like you doubted my word." Jack appeared at the bottom of the narrow staircase from Will's rooms, arms crossed, leaning against the edge of the doorway. "Did I not say I'd stay here until you and your bonny lass returned? And here I stand, even if you did take a bloody eternity getting back. Of course, it did give me the opportunity to make amends with your donkey."
"We'll all sleep better for that tonight, I'm sure. My apologies for keeping you waiting, Captain," Will shot back. "We were held up. You can thank Elizabeth and her bottomless nerve for getting us here."
"Elizabeth, my most sincere gratitude for your nerve and your bottom." Jack said, pressing his hands together and bowing in her direction. He barely had time to straighten before her weight hit him.
"You idiot!" Elizabeth cried, flinging her arms around Jack's neck, both of them laughing wildly as he spun her off her feet. "I can't believe you actually came here! Of all the foolish, reckless, crazy--"
"Careful with the sweet talking in front of your betrothed, luv," Jack broke in. "He might start to suspect something."
"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth exclaimed, repositioning her arm around his waist when he set her down. "Did you really come just for our party?"
Jack grinned. "Well, that was the story I fed young Turner there, but truthfully I've come to kidnap you and make you my cabin girl before you make the paramount error of binding yourself into wedded servitude."
Will snorted. "Clearly you misunderstand who wears the pants in this relationship, Jack," he laughed.
Jack nodded his head in Will's direction. "Watch out for him, 'Lizbeth. I think he's planning to make a play for your pants."
Elizabeth slapped him, but it wasn't very hard, and she kissed his cheek right after. "So how exactly were you planning to infiltrate this party, Jack? Which incidentally, both my father and Commodore Norrington will be in attendance at."
"Interestingly enough, Lizzie, seeing as how we were just on the subject of your pants--" this time he intercepted her hand before it made contact – "I shall require the use of some clothing in your possession."
Elizabeth glanced at Will, who shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not asking."
Stepping away from Jack to face him squarely, Elizabeth crossed her arms and gave him a dead serious once-over. "All right," she ceded after a moment. "But if you look prettier than me, you can't come."
Jack pressed both hands to his heart. "I make no promises on that front, luv."
………………………………
That evening, several hours after dinner (which Will, to the surprise of absolutely no one, had passed on), Elizabeth stood on tiptoe before her wardrobe. She was barefoot and in her dressing gown, attempting to fill the time while Estrella drew her bath, since the maid had chased her off for trying to help with the water. It was an old argument, and one of few that Elizabeth had never been able to strong-arm, sweet-talk, or negotiate her way to winning.
Biting her lip, Elizabeth stood as tall as she could and stretched her arm until she felt the folded cloth pushed to the very back of the topmost shelf in the wardrobe. Catching it between the tips of her fingers, she uttered a small grunt of triumph when she pulled the fabric down.
She stepped back and shook out the cardinal red soldier's coat. She couldn't have told anyone why she'd chosen to keep it when they'd come back from la Muerta those many months ago, only that the thought of throwing it away had, at the time, twisted a knot in her stomach. That morning, having walked away from Will to fulfill her promise to James Norrington, knowing Jack awaited execution, she had taken the coat off and, blind with tears, folded it carefully, tucked it away.
It was the only time during the whole ordeal begun by Barbossa's attack on her town that she had cried.
Elizabeth raised the coat to her face and drew a deep breath. The scents of saltwater and sweat and gunpowder clung to it, faintly, and with them the ghosts of near-misses and averted tragedies.
Maybe it had been good luck, this coat; some sort of armor against misfortune.
She liked that idea. Especially considering that its next task would be to hide a pirate in plain sight.
TBC