Chapter V

Docking

As dependable as the sun rising every morning, the Dutchman spotted land just as the first light of dawn graced the sparkling water of the coast of North America. Will gazed upon it with a fondness that seemed both nostalgic and overwhelming. He had the choice still not to go ashore, but it seemed almost as if Calypso was indirectly encouraging him to leave his own issues behind, at least for a little while. He had a month to walk on land…would he take this opportunity now, or let it be, waiting another ten long years?

Yet if he waited, would he have the same resolve to go the next time? Or even after that? If he denied himself this pleasure, who is to say he wouldn't be indefinitely cut off from all contact with land because of his ridiculous fear.

He knew it was absurd and unreasonable. He truly did. But it wasn't pointless, despite it all.

Because as long as his behavior meant something to him, it wasn't pointless. It still didn't mean it was healthy for his mentality either.

So he could stay on the Dutchman, risking the will to roam on solid earth again…or he could confront his problem and join his crew.

The latter was certainly more appealing.

As the sun broke the surface of the water and climbed higher in the sky, the Dutchman approached land ever faster. The light gleamed and glinted off the remarkably tall buildings, dazzling his eyes with their splendor. They looked like radiant, rectangular boxes just reaching to touch the sky.

The harbor was crowded with all sorts of ships and boats, all with far more variety than in any of the ports he had ever looked upon in all his days. There were large barges, with strange metal objects seated upon them, men clambering everywhere. It was a jumble of new sights and smells, all overpowering and completely foreign to them.

Will spun around as a small boat, -perhaps used for fishing, judging by the nets- zipped past him, and the man aboard hollered, "Nice pirate ship!"

Will looked after him quizzically and his crew was all equally mystified. He received many bizarre looks and points. They seemed to have no fear of the Flying Dutchman, the harbinger of death. In fact, everyone awake at this hour seemed to giggle and shout friendly greetings.

Ever since Will took command of the ship, the effigies of tortured humans that littered the hull, mouths open in screaming, silent agony…had faded as if they had never been. The barnacles and sea life too fell away, and a beautiful bronze-gold paint was discovered beneath. The skeletal, ghost-like appearance of the Dutchman ceased to exist, and the Grim Reaper masthead had long ago vanished, leaving the ship looking in all the world like an ordinary fluyt.

So, aside from their dated appearance, and since people seemed unconcerned with their presence here…their biggest problem now…was docking. One of the unwritten laws was that the Dutchman could not dock at a port. Weigh anchor, certainly. Will had done that many times before…but not dock. There was such a collection of ships that there was almost no chance to get in close to land without usage of their longboats, but it was impossible to tell if that would be allowed.

Currency, too, was another problem. If his money would not work, he couldn't very well muscle his way past the harbormaster.

He hoped a variety of coins to choose from was sufficient.

All of his crew were scattered about the ship, uncertain of how to act or conduct themselves. Bootstrap was at the wheel again, surrounded by other officers, and he steered cautiously past all the ships…

…Or large crafts that were floating on water, at least. There were hardly any similarities now between Will's ship and those, and all on the Dutchman were staring around themselves in wide-eyed wonderment, like a little child meeting grandparents for the first time in their memory.

The sun rose steadily higher, casting an orange glow on the newly-risen world. Turning his face towards the brilliant orb, Will shaded his eyes, staring up at it beseechingly, as if the celestial body would provide him answers or help.

He received neither, only a glaring bright light streaming into his vision. He tore his gaze away, settling it on the ship's direction. Currently, they were headed to a less populated section of the port, where it would be easier to drop anchor and launch the longboats.

As they continued to scour the harbor, looking for a place to beach, they noticed that there was no sand to be seen. It was all metal dock, or wood. This was another odd sight for Will, and he had difficulty believing how much had changed.

Still, they sailed along dutifully, hoping for some sign of something, anything, that was familiar to their eyes.

Decades prior, the crew -excluding Will, who opted to stay behind- had shore leave on the island of New Providence, which was once a major pirate base. Nassau -a prime city- had morphed over the years, however, into a wealthy tourist spot, with a healthy, wholesome reputation of relaxing days and exciting nightlife.

Nightlife that didn't entail drunk pirates swaggering over to the lap of the nearest broad.

The crew had also made discoveries about the state of technology. It was only after Finnegan was nearly barreled over by a large, fast moving metal monstrosity did they really stop to examine the line of motionless beasts that gleamed in the hot Caribbean sun. After many inquiries and quests for information, -met with mixed looks of befuddlement, amusement, shock, and quick, wary answers- they gathered that it was a form of transportation of some sort, piloted by humans from within, due to a mechanical breakthrough made years ago.

These transports came in a variety of colors, shapes and forms, with a diversity of dealerships, mileage, and eco-friendly designs. Some of the names mentioned were Chevrolet Corvette, Cadillac Convertible, Buick Century, Ford, and a myriad of other words that meant nothing to them.

The most cherished piece of data was that they best look both ways when crossing the street.

"Captain, look there! See that ship?" Maccus, now Second Mate, was pointing towards a small bark whose sails were fixed breadthways, and with a black and red metal hull. As they continued to drift closer, more recognizable ship forms floated past. Only one of the models appeared to be from the 18th century, yet is looked too new; as if it was a replica. It had an alien feel about it, and did not lessen the agitation of the Flying Dutchman's hands.

The bark's name, however was visible as they passed it, and the lettering 'Star of India' was revealed. Will had heard of that location. It was reputed to have exotic treasures of spices and teas. The ship, he figured, must be a merchant trader from that land, perhaps.

No one was active on deck, and it seemed futile to call out. The same was repeated with the other sailing ships. They seemed inactive.

Finally, a gap opened next to one of those ships, and Bootstrap had given Wheelback control of the helm, steering them smoothly into the spot when Will gave the order. He maneuvered the Dutchman to fit in comfortably, and then they dropped anchor.

With another command from the captain, two longboats were prepared to be lowered, seating ten men each. Old Haddy, a quiet fellow who was already aging when he became indentured to the Flying Dutchman, softly offered to stay behind and watch the ship, explaining patiently that there was nothing here that he wanted to see.

Almost all of the original crew had opted to continue their service, hoping to find redemption with Will as their leader, feeling that they damned themselves by laboring under Jones for all those years. Many of them were beginning to feel the pangs of nostalgia, finding it more and more difficult to cope with the changing times.

They were indeed on the Flying Dutchman for most of these years, but the differences of life were still painfully evident. Will knew that these men; men who he grew very close to, would soon like to pass on to the Other Side. Their years of service had long ago been paid off; they stayed now only out of loyalty to their captain.

The longboats hit the water, and the men began to row towards the wharf, where a very surprised -and sour- looking harbormaster waited with a clipboard in hand, staring them down shrewdly, as he would if he were judging whether a man were sane or not.

When they reached the dock, the harbormaster approached them slowly. Will leapt out of the boat and moved forward to intercept the man before he bit off the heads of one of his crew. He looked just about ready to do so.

"What is this-this boat doing here?" He asked snappishly.

"Why, docking, sir." Will answered in his most influential tone. He gave a charming smile.

"Do you have a permit?" There was so much tension in the man's voice, it sounded like he was about to pop.

"Pardon?" Will asked, confused by the question. "I have payment, if that's what you mean."

The harbormaster's expression grew very suspicious and guarded.

"What…kind of payment?" He said the very seriously, and in a hushed tone.

Will's crew stood awkwardly behind him, unsure of what quiet words were being exchanged by the two. They could hear nothing, and itched to move forward to listen better. They knew, of course, that their captain -and the harbormaster- would not appreciate that. So they stood at a distance, fidgeting and anxious.

Will reached into a pocket of the frock coat that he was wearing, and his hand emerged, clutching a fistful of coins.

"Well, I'm not sure what currency you use, but I have crusadoes, deniers, daalders, guineas, doubloons, pieces of eight…"

The words were all complete nonsense to the harbormaster, who lived a sheltered life with his hen pecking wife and three kids in San Diego, California. He had no clue what a denier was. The only thing that came to mind for him was a diner. A guinea sounded vaguely familiar, but he was sure he associated that with small, furry rodents…

However, when this bizarre, no doubt insane man mentioned doubloons and pieces of eight, he pictured squawking pirate parrots immediately. He squinted his beady eyes and said, "What d'you mean, pieces of eight? I don't want any plastic crap."

Will wasn't sure what 'plastic' or 'crap' was, but it was clear the man wanted neither of them. He did, however, seem intrigued by the prospect of pieces of eight.

Will had traveled the oceans of the world, and, when sometimes stumbling into the deserted rooms that once belonged to wealthy passengers in crashed ships, his men would loot and raid their possessions. While Will did not approve, the majority of his crew were pirates, and the people were, after all…dead. He would put a limit to this pillaging, and if a personal item was taken, he would of course order his hands to put it back.

He divided the rest between his crew and himself, and he personally kept his own money saved, to use for times like this.

"When I say pieces of eight, I mean the Spanish coin, sir," Will pocketed the rest of the unwanted money, and a sad look flashed across the man's face at this action, yet Will still held up the item of interest, "The total value equal eight reales. Would this appease you? I'm afraid I have no permit to speak of."

The harbormaster's reaction clearly showed he understood none of this, but he noted the white-grey color of the coin, and inquired, "Is it…silver?"

"Most assuredly." Will replied. This interaction reminded him of his years as a Blacksmith's apprentice, delivering swords he crafted to wealthy, posh clientele who knew next to nothing about fencing, but wanted to hang the weapons above their hearths, if only for aesthetics and boasting rights.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Good." The man said. "You got any more?"

"Yes," Will replied, digging once again in his pocket and pulling out two more pieces of eight. "Are these enough?"

"Silver? You sure?" The harbormaster repeated.

"Yes."

The man snatched the coins away greedily and tucked them into his wallet, which he pulled out, hunkering over it protectively before sticking it in his back pocket.

"You must be here for the pirate festival…" The man remarked, with a thin-lipped and rather unpleasant smile. "Hmpph." With one last, shifty, distrusting glare at Will and his crew, the harbormaster sauntered off self-importantly. That surely meant the transaction was done.

Will could tell, this would be a long day.