Eddy: a small volume of air that behaves differently from the predominant flow of the layer in which it exists, seemingly having a life of its own
Dear Will,
I write the evening before we set sail for home. To think I shall have the possibility to see you in just one week. We've overstayed our welcome, somewhat, with the Harpers, but we've managed to stay on good terms with them. Father has decided not to push it, and they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder...
Elizabeth would be back soon. A smile broke out across Will's sweaty, smudged face. Long hours by the fire and the heated metal with the blazing sun relentlessly poking through the cracks in the walls made the day drag. He'd talked once more with Mr. Brown about that necklace, using the same arguments again and again. Of course it was to no avail. The bloated knave gave out a gut-wrenching laugh and croaked that he would spite the old woman further still.
At least he keeps his promises, Will thought, recalling how the chain always dangled out of Brown's pocket, always with purpose. The darker regions of Will's mind wished he would go on and hawk it already and just go get drunk again; that way there would be no temptation to lift it from him.
Finishing a set of keys, he placed his tongs back on their spot on the wall and crossed over to where his water cup set on the table. Quenching his thirst felt more sensual in this heat, the cold freshness washing the salt from his upper lip, wetting his tongue for him.
"Will? Will?" she hissed as he was about to go off with the other boys. He stopped, pale at her horrified face. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea these were the kinds of games...we can go."
Once again, she'd talked him into going to the grand, spacious house of someone she called a friend of the family rather than a friend, once again trying to include him in her high-society life. The girl, a roly-poly creature with tight curls, giggled the moment the parents disappeared into the parlor. She pulled all the boys until they were an arm's length from the girls and explained the rules of the "game" in such a shrill, breathless voice his ears stung.
"Turner boy!" she sang. "Best get going. There are six young men and six closets, so we don't want to know which one you'll be in, isn't that right?"
Making sure the other girls were talking amongst themselves, he pointed to the broom closet down the corridor. Elizabeth's embarrassed face nodded back.
Running into the closet, he wedged himself in and sat on the small empty ledge with his arms folded. The secrets of the rich, he scoffed. If the apprentices and shop girls on his street knew he was in a closet, waiting for some repressed rich girl to find him and proceed to kiss him with reckless abandon, he'd never hear the end of it. Of course Elizabeth had had no idea what the day's entertainment was going to be. She was always so creative and could think of something better than such a silly way to have everyone in Port Royal between the ages of fourteen and twenty to unleash some affection.
"Are you ready to leave?" Elizabeth asked, opening the door only an inch, perhaps just in case she had the wrong closet, he supposed. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," he whispered, tensing at the sound of a squeal coming from just above them. "You didn't know."
"It's shameful that this is how they all spend their time, isn't it?" she asked her shoe.
"You don't spend your time this way. Do their parents know..."
"No," she sighed. "That's the proverbial icing on the cake. The parents all sit in their safe little corner and assume we're all playing sardines." She frowned as she looked up at him. "Stupid me assumed that, too."
It was a rare sight, Elizabeth ashamed, and of herself, he thought in wonder. Always too hard on herself. Something about it charmed him, made her eyes extra round, her lips all the more enticing.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "I would hate to make you feel left out." He leaned down just a little and cocked his head towards her cheek. "May I, Miss Swann?"
A speechless nod answered him and he pecked her cheek, lingering just long enough to take in the taste of her.
I'm out of my head, he thought that evening, waving a sword around with one eye fixed on Mr. Brown. He was doing figures at the desk in that sloppy script that made customers wonder if he used a quill or a poker. A bottle was never far from his reach. Bide your time, Will thought, making more elaborate movements with the sword. Bide your time pickpocketing, he scolded himself. How low an old lady's words had made him sink. But to gain all he sought...the heat had to be responsible for all this. He couldn't think clearly, and besides, Brown had cheated her. If there was one thing William Turner could not stand, it was a bully.
At last he heard the choked snores that had been unwanted background music for the last eight years of his life. The chain wobbled ever so slightly from Brown's pocket, almost beckoning to be taken. Tiptoeing across the smithy, weaving around boards and tools, Will reached for the chain and gathered the necklace in his arms as if it were a newborn. With the key to the smithy strung around his neck, he crept out the door under the cover of dusk.
"Miss Shepherd? Miss Shepherd?" Flickering candlelight made its way to the front windows.
"What in blue blazes...Mr. Turner! What are you doing here?"
Will held up the necklace.
"Oh, my gracious...you got it! In all my years...how did you ever...oh, thank you! Thank you, my boy!" She motioned for him to lean down so she could kiss his cheek. "Oh, thank you so much. Come in! Come in! You must be so tired after coming all this way just to return my property to me."
"I can't stay. I don't like leaving the smithy unattended for long." Will considered the smithy unattended under two circumstances: when it really was unattended and when Mr. Brown was there alone.
"I shall get to work taking this heat away right now! Mind you, it may take a few days. And it always seems that once the weather changes, some catastrophe hits. I don't mean a hurricane or anything like that. Goodness, that would be dark magic. But some strange thing always seems to happen one way or another..."
"I'm glad I could be of service to you," he said, interrupting what was regressing into babble.
"Once the sky grays and the four winds change, you'll be seeing some changes for yourself." She patted his cheek in such a grandmotherly way, he wanted to rest his head on her and pretend. "But always at a price, of course."
"Of course," he chuckled. "Good night."
The next day, Will bustled about his business as usual, keeping his eyes on the sheet of metal he was hammering when Mr. Brown patted down the pockets of his apron. The man spun around scanning the floor, looked over at Will, and then shrugged. Whistling some sea shanty, he burst through the door and went about his business, whatever that was.
As soon as he was out of sight, Will sprinted next door to the milliner shop.
"Mrs. York, could you mind the smithy for just a few minutes? Let the customers know I'll be right back?"
"Of course, lad! Glad to oblige," was always the reply. The shops of the main street knew who Port Royal's actual blacksmith was.
He ran down to the harbor, the piers surrounded by ships with heavy sails gravely still in the sweltering heat. He passed each of them until he saw one docking. Heart racing, he picked up speed and smiled at Governor Swann taking his time coming down onto the pier. James Norrington was there, back straight and hands behind his back, ever the proper gentleman. Will lingered, holding his breath as Elizabeth descended, her soft blue, almost gray, dress and loose waves of hair dazzling him. She didn't see him, not yet, but grinned and waved at Norrington.
"Governor Swann. Elizabeth. Welcome back."
"Good heavens, man, has it been like this the entire time we were gone?"
"I daresay it has." Elizabeth took out her fan.
"Father, order James to take off his wig before he suffers a stroke." They laughed, and Will found himself laughing, too. Practical, yet lighthearted, yet blunt Elizabeth, as he'd always known her. And she still managed to be the epitome of grace and refinement. Miss Swann, how good to see you, he practiced saying in his mind.
"Perhaps he would prefer to escort you to the carriage, dear," Governor Swann said, almost pushing her towards Norrington. Norrington and Elizabeth raised their eyebrows, his in surprise, hers as some kind of warning, as if telling her father he was in immediate danger of going too far, Will thought. He was sure he'd hear all about it once he approached her and they could have some time to talk. Miss Swann, I hope you had a pleasant voyage. I know how well you love the sea.
"Has anything happened since we left?" he heard her ask Norrington as they started for the carriage, stepping farther and farther away from Will. He took a step.
"Remarkably quiet, not to your liking at all."
"That's a pity. Two sweet little girls I'm fond acquaintances with now would have loved a letter detailing some kind of port town raid."
"I wonder who they sound like?" Norrington asked in a dry but merry way Will only ever heard him use around Elizabeth. Before he could even think of what to do next, they piled into the carriage and rode off towards the mansion.
Miss Swann, a strange affair with an elderly lady believing her necklace has magic powers compels me to kiss you and offer everything I have, which for now is just a heart, to you. About to hang his head, it rose. Tomorrow. He had to deliver the sword tomorrow! Of course the Swanns would not miss Norrington's promotion for anything in the world. He would see her.
A/N: Okay, I am no math whiz, but I'm operating under the logic that a fast ship could go from Jamaica to Philadelphia in a week. Therefore, when the letter reaches Will, it should be only one or two days before the ship. If that's not accurate...complain in a review. Sardines is a variant of hide-and-seek and I've heard more British people call it sardines than hide-and-seek, so I thought I'd use it here. The game in this chapter was an actual Colonial game, sort of the precursor to spin-the-bottle. Teenagers manage to find ways around social graces and etiquette in any historic period, I guess. The little bit about deciphering handwriting and wondering if the writer uses a pen or a poker is from Howl's Moving Castle. Two chapters left. I told you it would be short, although I think the last two are pretty strong. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and by now you should know I do not claim to own the franchise.