Disclaimer: Jack, Elizabeth, William Turners I, II and III and all other original PotC characters do NOT belong to me. All of their offspring and other original characters, as well as the storyline and plot, are (c) Lady Asvin - me.
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From the door of his smithy, William Turner nodded in satisfaction as he watched the Pearl sail away. Looks like Jack decided to make his visit brief, he thought mildly, and smiled grimly as he returned to his shop. A red-faced urchin threw himself in the door before it closed, intercepting him.
"Be you William Turner?" asked the boy anxiously, dancing from foot to foot with the patience of a butterfly.
"Yes…" said Will, not sure what the boy wanted from him. He put a hand over his purse, hidden within the coarse fabric of his breeches.
"I been sent by th' younger William Turner," said the boy, elongating his name and pronouncing it "Will-yumm." "To infohm you of some terrible happ'nin's, suh." Will was growing impatient; in three minutes of talking, the boy had told him nothing.
"Yes, boy," he said, attempting to remain at least civil. The urchin stopped bouncing.
"Young master William says t' tell you that there's a storm stirrin', and that yer missus an' miss Madeleine are on that ship yonder. The mooring lines' been cut, suh, an' they headin' out." For a moment, Will feared his heart had stopped. In the next breath, his head ran with schemes to bring back his wife and daughter, each more ludicrous than the last.
"Elizabeth… Madeleine," he whispered, sounding far more broken than he cared to let on. The urchin looked at him, pity in his eyes.
"They's headin' out t' sea now, master Turner," repeated the boy. And William wondered when the world had turned upside down, that a street urchin should pity him and not the other way around.
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Madeleine turned from the horrid sight to catch her mother gazing at the captain, eyes softer than she had ever seen them before. The girl felt like an intruder; Elizabeth had never given that look to her husband on land. A soft smile graced the woman's face as she watched him shout orders, majestic as he was; when their eyes met, Madeleine could almost hear the crackle of intensity.
"He's a sight, isn't he," said Joaquin, noticing Elizabeth's gaze. The woman snapped out of it and drew her entire forty-three years into her stature. Madeleine saw where this was going and opened her mouth, but her mother beat her to the kill.
"Who are you," she said, dropping the words poisonously. "And – don't trifle with me, lad – what are your intentions with my daughter?" The boy was not at all cowed by Elizabeth's rough handling of the situation.
"I am Joaquin Castillon," he said squarely. "I am a pirate. And as for the little lass," he added cheekily, "I intend to make her a pirate also, unless you have any objections." To Madeleine's surprise, Elizabeth smiled. Where were her passionate speeches against seafaring, pirates, danger?
"None at all. Joaquin… I knew a woman once, on this very ship, who married off the coast of Portugal." Elizabeth became thoughtful. "I helped her deliver her first son. She named him Joaquin, also." Joaquin looked as though he had swallowed something bitter, but his curiosity overcame his apprehension.
"My mother married my father in Portugal," he began hesitantly. "And I am her only son." Elizabeth fixed him with a stern gaze.
"Anamaria?" Joaquin nodded furiously. "Is she…?" The boy nodded soberly.
"Died a few years back of the rot and a broken heart." Elizabeth's eyes shone with unshed tears, and she wordlessly embraced the son of her late crewmember. Somewhere above, the bell began to clang again.
"Go Joaquin. Madeleine will join you shortly." Madeleine's eyes turned to Elizabeth's questioningly, but the woman revealed nothing. Gazing after the boy's back, she realized that freedom was a double-edged sword.
"Responsibility must temper passion," she muttered, the mantra from some long-forgotten women's advice book. Madeleine looked at her mother curiously and followed her back to the captain's quarters.
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William Turner was in a rage, throwing tools from the smithy into their respective wooden bins. His pacing was making his second eldest son nervous; the eldest had given up hours ago, leaving his wife at their shuttered apartment, closing his tannery and abandoning his father and brother to help the men shuttering the public buildings.
"Those blasted, thrice-cursed, bloody pirates!" he seethed, agitating the donkey that kept braying next to Jackson. The boy of seventeen patted the donkey, wondering privately if his father would continue to rage throughout the storm. Port Royal was on a hurricane watch – anyone foolish enough to go out-of-doors once the storm began would be ripped to shreds. As it was, though… he looked at his father. Perhaps I should consider my chances. Outwardly, he tried to stay positive.
"They'll be fine," he said tiredly. "'Twas not a ship of ill repute, and the storm shouldnae harm a good captain." His father rounded on him.
"'Tis not the storm what worries me, Jack. Nor is it the skill of the captain, for I have sailed under the very man." Jackson looked at his father curiously, never ceasing to stroke the high-strung donkey.
"'Tis Elizabeth what worries me," he admitted so softly, Jackson almost missed it. Will sighed deeply, and Jackson remembered something his father had said to his brother when he was leaving with his pregnant wife: Would you leave Katrina and the child in the care of a rogue?
Will resumed his nervous pace.
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The rain fell like whiplash. Elizabeth and Joaquin strained against a rope, lowering the sails along with the rest of the crew. Elizabeth had abandoned Madeleine to the task of chasing stray livestock back into the hold. Taxing her muscles to their limits, Elizabeth realized that her hands were bleeding mightily; the calluses of hard work long disappeared. But no hand was spared for a storm of this magnitude; steeling herself, Elizabeth pulled harder.
"Lower the sails! Shift the ballast center! Look alive, men, you're not here on holiday!" Jack shouted orders at his men from the wheel, straining against it as furiously as Elizabeth strained against the rope. Madeleine appeared at the captain's side, skirts billowing and hair flying in a tangle of waves. I must get her changed out of that absurd clothing, thought Elizabeth, and sighed – that had been the plan until both had been given strict orders. Jack noticed the girl beside him. Fighting an irrational wave of panic, he signaled Elizabeth and Joaquin.
"Boy, take the women belowdecks. String them some hammocks. Elizabeth, you and he are on second shift." Joaquin nodded, but Madeleine was not going to be ignored.
"And my orders, captain?" she asked, face revealing her stubbornness. Her hard eyes met Jack's, boring into them. "I refuse to sit idle." That girl is uncannily like her mother, thought Jack, but replied in kind.
"Second shift, then, as well. Stay out of the way." Jack turned from them, and Elizabeth and Madeleine followed the youth as he made his way below the main deck. As he left them alone to string up hammocks, Madeleine turned her gaze to her mother, curious as to her situation. Elizabeth, fighting a rising feeling of guilt, met her dark eyes with lighter ones.
"We've quite a tale to cover, mum, haven't we?" The innocence of the question caught Elizabeth off guard. She nodded, but before saying anything pointed to her daughter's skirts.
"We have to take care of those, first," she said, pinching the fabric. "I've been on a ship with a dress. 'Tis bad luck, and a nuisance to boot." The woman looked around, but saw nothing she could use to her advantage. Turning back to her daughter, she pursed her lips.
"Stay here. When I return, you should be in your band and knickers only." Madeleine nodded and began to remove layers, while Elizabeth made her way deeper belowdecks to search out Joaquin and ask him for spare clothing. She found him testing the last hammock, as it were, but he quickly turned to the task at hand upon seeing Elizabeth. Between the two of them, they procured coarse cotton breeches Joaquin had outgrown, a longish, patched shirt that at some point in the past had been dyed black, a swatch of cloth to use as a belt, sturdy boots – those had been the hardest to find, as only two of the men on board had spares – and a kerchief to bind Madeleine's irrepressible hair. Elizabeth smiled at her haul and returned to where her daughter was waiting.
"Here," she said, laying all the clothing on the ground. "I can only teach you how to do this once. Then, it's sleep for a few hours and work for too many more." Madeleine understood.
"All's well, then… breeches first. Over your knickers, that's right. Now the shirt – it'll be a bit long, but we can't be choosy at present." As she helped her daughter into the alien clothing, Elizabeth had a sense that destiny was unabashedly kicking her in the rear. For all the warnings, she mused, I still find myself on a ship, chasing after my daughter. She couldn't be properly surprised, however – the feeling just didn't fit when she'd known that something of the sort would eventually happen.
Once Madeleine was dressed, Elizabeth tied the kerchief around her head and sent her stumbling toward the hammock. The wind was getting worse – Elizabeth could hear it howling above her head, whipping those on deck. She shivered violently, trying to forget the last time she'd been in a storm of this size.
On this very ship, she mused. But I was the Pirate King then, and the storm was caused by a goddess scorned. The absurdity of that statement almost made her laugh, but she instead dedicated herself to collecting Madeleine's land things – something she won't make use of for a good while, she thought – and heading for a hammock herself.
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The whistle for second shift sounded. Jack, soaked to the bone, held onto the ship's wheel with all his strength, trying to steer a straight course through the storm. The rain made it almost impossible to see, and the change in men went practically unnoticed.
"Fahzeri! Waring! Your rope's too slack, haul back!" The rope was yanked back as though possessed, although Jack now noticed that Fahzeri and Waring were not the men pulling it. The devil wind whipped the first figure's hair back, and its outline was definitely feminine. Jack looked behind her to see the second figure, a slight, young male, straining at the rope as she was. Curse it all, didn't I say to keep out of the way?
"Man o'erboard!" Shrieked a voice from the crow's nest. "Port side! Man o'erboard!" Jack looked desperately around the ship to see who could be ordered to rescue whatever soul had been tossed, and saw that Elizabeth was already running across the deck with a measure of heavy rope in her hands. She tied the rope into a noose and swung it into the water; Jack's stomach rolled slightly when she had to reel it back in and throw it out, farther this time.
"Blast it all, Gibbs, hold on!" Jack could hear her scream faintly, and the rope snapped tightly as the man in the water managed a grasp. Elizabeth pulled, but Jack knew she'd be no match for the roiling waves.
"Joaquin!" He roared, seeing the boy struggling to get his rope down. "Tie down your rope. Assist Elizabeth!" The boy nodded, but it was Madeleine who responded to the order faster. Putting all her weight against the soggy rope, Madeleine forced it down to a metal ring. Her hands were chapped and bleeding, but she ignored them in an effort to tie the rope tightly.
"You tie it down, I don't know knots," she yelled to Joaquin after a moment. "I'll go help mum." With that, she abandoned him to the task and ran to pick up the trailing end of her mother's lasso.
"Haul back!" screamed Elizabeth. "Haul back!" The women, hands bleeding, fought against blinding rain to pull the old man back on deck. A roar of thunder crashed around their ears, and perilous waves sluiced over the sides of the ship. Their boots slid, inch by inch, threatening to dump them overboard as well.
"Almost, Maddie! Once more! Haul!" With a final, desperate pull, Elizabeth and Madeleine managed to yank a gasping, spluttering Joshamee Gibbs back onto the main deck. Ready to cry, Elizabeth leaned down to hug the soaked old man. Turning a tear-streaked face to her daughter, Elizabeth attempted to make the man sit up.
"Madeleine, this is Mr. Gibbs. Mr. Gibbs… this is my daughter, Madeleine Pearl." The old man smiled, his tiny eyes stretching at the corners. "I've known Mr. Gibbs since I was younger than you," Elizabeth explained. Although in reality, thought Madeleine, that explains nothing.
"Nice t' meet you, lass." The man turned to Elizabeth before Madeleine could reply in kind.
"Well, Miss Swann… I imagine you're still Mrs. Turner, rather… truth be told, she looks nothin' like her father." Elizabeth's smile faltered, but her eyebrows rose skeptically.
"She looks exactly like her father, Mr. Gibbs," said Elizabeth quietly. He looked confused for a moment, as if too many years of rotgut whiskey and cheap rum had addled his brains beyond basic thought; Madeleine, who had not heard her mother's statement, decided to make herself heard.
"I look nothing like my father, sir," she exclaimed in an effort to prove her mother wrong. But the man was suddenly looking pointedly at the captain of the Pearl, who struggled with the ship's wheel on the upper deck. He turned to face her slowly, craning his neck to take her in better. For the first time, he noticed her dark eyebrows, strong and expressive; her chestnut waves, plastered to her back by the rain; her slightly hooked nose and those eyes, mysterious and deep, curious, never satisfied with the ordinary.
"No, lass… you are his spitting image." Madeleine threw her head back and barked a laugh.
"Water damage," she told her mother loudly. "Let's get him belowdecks." Elizabeth gave her a curious look just then, a mix between frustration, pain, and a longing to say something; even so, she helped Madeleine stand the older man up.
"Don't fuss over me, ladies," said Gibbs. "I'm fit as a fiddle. What say we help old Jack weather this thunderstorm, aye?" The women nodded and looked at the man on the upper deck.
"Jack!" yelled Elizabeth. "Orders!" If he heard nothing else, he heard the request for orders; steeling himself against the sheeting rain, he used a hand to tip his hat a bit farther down his forehead.
"Store the canvas!" he bellowed. "Roll the cannons center! We need a solid balance point for this snuffbox!" As they ran to fulfill their duties, they heard a last order drift down from the ship's wheel: "And for godsakes, Elizabeth, bandage your hands and drink some rum!" Madeleine could barely get used to her mother being called by any name other than Mrs. Turner. Running to get to the sails, Madeleine felt Joaquin catch up to them. He uncorked a leather skin and offered her a sip. Madeleine eyed it cautiously, a lifetime of warnings against impropriety and alcohol battering her already abused wits.
"Take it," she heard her mother shout. "You'll need it." Madeleine took a sip and felt warmth spread through her veins; feeling brave, she took another sip and then corked the skin. Turning to Joaquin, she licked her lips, running her tongue along the edge of her white teeth. Her eyes slanted as she turned them his way, smoldering full force.
"Thank you," she said in a low voice. His eyebrows flew up, and his lips curved into a delicious smile. Is this minx trying to get me in trouble?
"You're welcome, señorita," he said, and shoved the flask into his waistband.
"Madeleine Pearl!" she heard her mother shriek from halfway up a mast. "Get up here and help with the sails!" Shooting another smile at Joaquin, Madeleine climbed up the ladder her mother was on and scrambled onto some side ropes to lash the sail to the mast.
"We're going to have to roll up the ladder and swing down," shouted Elizabeth after a few moments of furious straining and tying. "It's to be pulled in as well!" Madeleine felt a sudden, irrational fear as her mother made the pronouncement. I could die here, she realized, the full weight of the storm catching up with her. The storm hasn't even really begun, and someone's already been thrown overboard! Something told her that she was worrying for naught, but fourteen years of nothing to do but worry had left her with the annoying habit.
Mum won't let anything happen to me, she tried to convince herself. Seeing the ease with which her mother handled the ropes, Madeleine continued her thought: She's done this before.
The implications of that concept had not come to her until the moment she was hanging onto a rope, her mother on one side, Joaquin on the other, swinging down from a forty-foot mast with nothing but a piece of overwrought string in her bloody hands.
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