In disguises acquired from John's home, we casually strolled out to the docks. There was much bustle of people coming and going this warm, sunny day, which made it hard to locate any one person in particular whom you may have been looking to find. Thus, it took quite a while to find my plump middle-aged friend, Captain Morrison. When we did find him, his beard shifted as he grinned.
"Aye, Kate! Haven't seen ya 'round these parts fer a while! What brings ya back?" He shook her hand eagerly.
I was glad to see him, but it barely showed. John and I thought we were attempting the impossible, which is an unpleasant thought with a habit of shrinking your smile. "This is John, and we are setting out to find Elizabeth. Can you help us?"
Captain Morrison wrinkled his brow and shot me a questioning look. "You mean Ms. Swann? Why, she disappeared long ago, same time's 'Li'l Will.' I wouldn't want to take you out to be disappointed. Do you have any idea where you're going?" Now the sailor looked hopeful. When I told him, he nearly threw us on board his ship, now hopeful that we could be successful.
It was still early on in the day, and our boat didn't set sail until evening, so John and I found a calm spot on a nearby hill and relaxed. "You know," John said quietly, "when you left, Will and I became friends. He taught me how to use a sword; he left me one the day of his wedding. It was one with which he used to teach Elizabeth… this."
The sun glinted on the smooth metal as John held out the exquisitely crafted weapon. The design and handle of the sword reminded me of another I had seen in a shop once. In fact, the shop was just down the hill from where we sat. On impulse, I decided to take one more look at that old but captivating sword. As I left John in his spot, I knew that this sword was meant for me. I could feel the need to hold it, a feeling as if it longed to travel, to defend justice, to – I was puzzled at the realization – to tell me where to go.
Never before had I felt this way, this bond, to a sword. I could barely feel my limbs by the time I laid eyes on the work of art. It was pretty old, too old to be admired and used properly but too young to be considered an antique. Therefore, the beat-up beauty was worth next to nothing and scoffed at by most. Wasting no time, I bargained the old weapon into my possession.
I regarded the colored man behind the counter with sparked curiosity. "What do you know about this sword?" I asked, noting a small, apparently broken compass built into the handle of the aforementioned sword.
The young man rested his arms on the counter and shook his head. "Not much," came the casual reply. There was something else in his voice – ignorance. I could tell he told the truth; he, too, wanted to know its story. He admitted what he did know. "It was found on the beach by yours truly when I was a little tyke. It was suggested that the previous owner was a pirate. It ain't valuable or nothin'; that compass is broke. But she's sturdy an' clean. Enjoy 'er!"
As I studied the dirt-colored handle, I noticed familiar marks on the bottom. First, the crest caught my eye. It was William's family crest. Below that, barely legible, the initials "BT." Curiously, a third initial had been carved crudely before either of these, the initial being another "B." Immediately, I was able to put two and two together. With a quick "thanks," I turned and headed out. But nothing got by the clerk.
"What is it, Miss?" he inquired intensely.
"This," my tone almost matched his, "belonged to Bootstrap Bill."
"Bootstrap Bill?" he gasped, believing me nonetheless. "I heard he got sent to Davy Jones' locker 'round – about thirteen years ago. If that's some magic compass like Cap'n Sparrow's, I doubt it points to its owner. An' people've tried it on 'emselves, an' it don't work that way either. Ever since around when Mr. Turner an' Miss Swann disappeared, that compass' been goin' nuts. Another direction with each new day. What do you think? You think it points to Bootstrap Bill's body or somethin'?"
I smiled. "No," I said, very intensely now, "his son." With that, I left the man in his speechlessness, storing the sword in the sheath it came with. I wrapped the latter around my waist, overlapping the sheath containing my newer sword. On my way back up the hill, I checked on my father's pistol, his last gift to me. Sure enough, it was still locked and loaded. Just in case I need to force an agreement, I reminded myself. As a female, I enjoyed a little power in the world when I happened upon it.
In the time I was gone, John had drifted off to sleep. I arrived at the top of the hill just as the clock struck noon. John started awake at the sound of the chimes. Per his request, we had lunch at the community soup kitchen. We had eaten there together for his 10th birthday, two days before I left. Memories flooded my mind as I downed my last bowl of soup for a long time to come.
Before we knew it, it was time to head back to the dock. On board the little boat, one used for shipping goods internationally, we were given mats and blankets to sleep on. We shared quarters with the ship's two crew members, Thomas and Ben. Both were fairly clean-shaven and fit, as well as middle-aged and kindly.
As the sun sank down towards the horizon to our left, John and I stood at the stern of the boat. Solemnly but with hope, we watched our hometown fade from sight, wondering if we would ever see it again.
