Chapter 13: A very familiar hat
The first thing Will did after having left the small ship that had taken him to Tortuga, was to step aside. A drunken man tripped down and collapsed on the dock just where the blacksmith had been standing. Obviously used to such antics, the sailors from the ship Will had taken walked around the drunkard with their merchandise without so much as one word.
Remembering quite well the city, William wasn't much surprised either. He arched an eyebrow at the drunk man, a bit mocking, and smirked before leaving the docks.
The blacksmith had boarded the Lenora in Port Royal knowing full well that though Tortuga wasn't exactly on the ship's official journey, she would go there nonetheless. The captain had recently found out that as long as he didn't stay docked for more than one night, the benefits far surpassed the risks. And Will needed to get to Tortuga, if possible without the Navy knowing about it. It wouldn't do if James learned he had taken a ship which first destination was the pirate haven.
His remaining money safely hidden in his right pant leg, a wooden box under his left arm, and his hand near the handle of his sword, the blacksmith entered the drunken chaos of the main city of Tortuga. He wasn't as innocent as the first time around, sure, and he had gotten used to worse than Tortuga since, true, but it did not mean he liked the place more than before. Only, now, instead of jumping out of the way when some wench fell to the ground in alcoholic laughter, or when two ruffians started a fight, William moved swiftly out of the way as if he had lived in such chaos all his life. He simply wasn't surprised anymore.
The day was waning when Will reached the Twelve Daggers. He wasn't sure why exactly he thought going there would be a good idea, but he had searched for a ship that would take him to Tia Dalma all day... And unsurprisingly, none had been available for a journey ending up river. Cuba was alright, but all the way to the witch's den? No one. And that when they didn't even know who the witch really was...
Of course, Will could have gone to Tia Dalma from any point of Cuba, so if he couldn't find someone brave enough to take him there, he'd take another ship and would just sail for Cuba, no particular destination. But if he could avoid walking all the way in the jungle, it would be for the best. And alright, it wasn't as if the locals, man-eating or not, could do him any definitive harm. But he'd still rather not risk even temporary harm. Being eaten alive, particularly when you couldn't die, wasn't exactly something he was eager to experiment.
So for the first few days, he had decided to see if anyone here had guts. Considering they were truthworthy enough not to try and con him in some way, maybe knocking him out once the ship had sailed, then robbing him, then throwing him to the sea for the sharks to eat. Unfortunately, the people in Tortuga who had guts were mostly perfect representants of the unstrustworthy.
As his search of the day had been fruitless, Will had decided to get something to drink, and going to a tavern was definitely the best way to do that. After that, he thought he could go somewhere outside of town, where he was less likely to be assaulted or robbed or both for the only reason that he was present. The nights were warm enough, and he could definitely sleep on a branch, out of reach, that is, if it came to that.
He hated having his throat cut during the night by some criminal, be it pirate or thief or psycho. If he didn't wake up on the spot, his shirt was always ruined the next morning, and generally he didn't have any money left. Of course, he had the rare chance to still be alive afterwards. It didn't change the fact that the two times it had happened in the past, he had had to find the culprits to get his sword back, too. Said culprits had been quite surprised to see him alive and punching.
But as Will got his drink and looked around the tavern, half wondering what had gotten James here of all places the first time around, his eyes fell on a very familiar hat.
The tavern was smelly, noisy and ill-frequented, but Will did not take any notice of it. When he brought his drink to his lips, he had already forgotten what it was that he had asked for, and he barely registered the taste of alcohol on his tongue. A whore looked at him appreciatively, but he ignored her.
He was too busy, for now.
For now, the blacksmith stared blankly at the back of the man who wore the very familiar hat, pushing away without even noticing what was going on the teenage scamp who had just tried to get his hands on the wooden box he had kept with him all the time.
Then the wannabe thief thought he could attempt stealing the box once more, as the young man had seemingly not really noticed him, and just pushed him back per chance. Will's eyes snapped back on the teen, and before the youngster could try anything, a sword was at his throat.
"Get away, boy, and don't try again, or you will not like the results."
The teenager's gaze went up from the box to the face of its owner, and gulped. He could feel the blade against his skin, held just so that it wasn't drawing blood, but would if he moved not even one inch close. His eyes met the man's, and the youth inexplicably felt that this wasn't just any man.
"Sorry sir."
And he backed away.
Will watched the teen leave for another tavern, where he would maybe be luckier, and where the patrons would hopefully not notice his thieving fingers.
Then he turned his attention back to the very familiar hat. His eyes travelled back and forth between the wooden box and the man with the hat, as if Will couldn't really believe his luck.
Really, he had thought he'd have to go through half of the Caribbean, most of the China Sea, then somewhere around Spain, before coming back to Tortuga and hear, there, that he had barely missed Jack Sparrow who would have just left once again for Singapore... or France, depending on the rumors.
It had just seemed to be the natural order of things: when you search for Jack Sparrow, Jack Sparrow is on the other side of the world... and coming towards where you are right now, to arrive only days after you left.
But no, Jack was here, at the Twelve Daggers, just the day Will had arrived on Tortuga.
It felt a bit surreal, to say the truth.
Apparently he wouldn't have to search for the pirate after his journey to Tia Dalma's...
Will eyed his drink, finding it wonderfully half-full, which meant he didn't have to get another one to have an excuse and stay around for a bit more. As now was as good as any other time to talk with Jack, he made his way to join the lone pirate at his table.
It actually helped that the captain-without-a-ship-but-whatever was alone, and more than likely already a bit drunk. Maybe even utterly wasted.
Because the facts were, William Turner had a gift for the pirate. A thank-you for saving his life and all that. In other words, a cutlass made by himself, and not the half-rusted... thing Jack used these days. The blacksmith wrinkled his nose as he saw the... thing. It was even worse than the very normal, very plain blade the pirate had had / would have when they first met / would first meet.
But the facts were also that Jack didn't know, at this point in time, who William Turner was.
Not this William Turner, at least, since Jack Sparrow had known Bootstrap for some time already. And even if he knew who Will was, after all, it was possible that his father had mentioned him once or twice back in the days, this version of Will wasn't the right age. And Jack wouldn't know why Will Turner Jr. wanted to give him an expensive sword. It wasn't as if he had already saved his life.
Will still felt it was the right thing to do, to give this sword to Jack. The pirate might not have been the most honest man on Earth, but he was definitely not the worst person either. He might even be a better person than some "decent" people. "Decent" people like Beckett, for example. Beckett might oficially be on the side of the law, but he wasn't a good man for all that. Far from it, even.
It just felt right, to thank Jack for what he had done for Will, even if this Jack hadn't done it yet.
So it was definitely better that way, with Jack alone and slightly drunk. Because even if the pirate wanted to know why some stranger would give him something expensive without apparent reason, and let's be honest, Jack Sparrow wasn't exactly someone to refuse a gift even if he saw no reason for him to deserve it, and because even if the pirate somehow managed to recognize Will's likeness to his father, Jack would surely put it on account of the drinks he had had, or even forget it altogether. And if he started asking questions... Well, it would be easier to deal with lying to a drunken Jack Sparrow than to a sober Jack Sparrow.
Considering that Jack could actually be sober, William mused. He still wasn't sure he had ever witnessed Jack being totally clear of alcoholic influence, if only because the man drank so much he'd still smell of rum after two baths and three weeks without beverage.
Will did not sit on the other side of the table, choosing rather to stand behind the chair.
It was only when he put his wooden box on the table that Jack looked up from his tank.
The pirate's gaze took a time to focus on him, and Will rolled his eyes in the meantime. Trust Jack to be drunk at this hour. Then again, it was Tortuga. The first half of the population was on its way to drunkenness at six in the afternoon, and the other half either was providing the alcohol or already drunk.
Jack squinted at the two strangers who stood behind his table, trying to see them a bit less blurry. For a time he thought they were twins... before he understood there was in fact only one man. One man, who seemed to want something from him, if the box he had pushed towards the pirate and the look on his face were anything to go by. His face, which looked somewhat... Somehow... Quite a bit... Possibly... familiar.
When the pirate spoke, he was slurring. Not that he noticed, of course.
"You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?"
This almost made Will snort. So much for originality, he thought wryly, even if it could actually be the first time Jack Sparrow said those words, in this timeline... But Will doubted it for some reason.
"Not yet, if you must know. Because you're drunk, Jack."
Understatement of the century. When was Jack Sparrow not drunk? Futile question, truly, and unsurprising answer, as stated beforehand.
Though the fact that Jack was drunk had no influence whatsoever on the resemblance between William Turner the first and William Turner the second, of course. If it affected anything at all, it was the pirate's ability to recognize that resemblance for what it was, or else he wouldn't have wondered to whom exactly Will looked similar to, he'd have known.
Because really, the resemblance was striking. Of course, Will wasn't a perfect copy of his father. His mother had giving him softer features, amongst other thing, as if her influence had been to soothe over Bill Turner's razor sharp looks. Nonetheless, there was no asking of whom he was the son.
Luckily for William, Jack was drunk. Not that it was much luck, as Jack was always drunk. But lucky it still was, for Jack to be this drunk, maybe.
The pirate's eyes rolled, almost as if on their own, and the man touched his forehead with two fingers, making himself jerk back in surprise. After that, Jack stared a moment at his own fingers. Then he looked back at Will, cross-eyed.
Yes, very drunk.
"Am I?"
"You are."
Jack hiccuped, and mumbled under his breath, a stupid smile on his face.
"'Wouldn't be surprising."
Will looked away. Jack's teeth definitely weren't things he wanted to look at right now. For one, they were filthy. Second thing, the pirate hadn't yet his gold tooth, and so there was a black hole in his smile, which was truly disturbing for the blacksmith. Thirdly, Jack flashing his teeth in a smile usually wasn't a good omen, as the former captain of the Flying Dutchman had learned at his own expense more than once.
Either the big smile meant the pirate was going to say something inappropriate or do something stupid and reckless and pull it off God knew how, or it meant that the pirate was too drunk to act rationalish and so was going to say something inappropriate or do something stupid and reckless, and that not always with positive results.
Rationalish, because Jack Sparrow didn't do rational.
Well, this time, Jack couldn't do something too bad, could he?
Will shivered, and forced himself not to think so. Trying to reassure himself wasn't going to make Jack's very presence less of an incentive for chaos. Even the pirate's simple existence tended to cause something, and that was when he stayed still. Will was not going to jinx it by thinking it couldn't get bad in some way.
At least, if something happened, he would be reactive.
Unlike the pirate-captain-without-a-ship who was currently on his way to drown himself in his drink successfully. Will sighed, and snatched Jack's tank. The pirate protested heartfully.
"Hey, swab! Give that back!"
The blacksmith kept the tank well away from the pirate's reach, ignoring the outraged looks the latter was now giving him. Instead, he raised both eyebrows and smirked at Jack.
"Swab, really?"
The pirate grumbled, and gave up his chase for his tank of rum... for now. Jack's eyes wouldn't leave the container even as he talked to the blacksmith. Now Will was certain he wouldn't care enough about his physical likeness to someone he knew and had momentarily forgotten in his drunken stupor.
"Fine, do what you want. What do you want with me anyway? And if by any chance you were a mental representation of my soberness, lad, which might explain why you look familiar, supposing you look like that other representation of my mind, mind you, which might not be the case at all eitherway, you can go back to where my conscience is currently huddled up: a dark corner of my mind! Then you wouldn't be bothering me and my drinking."
Will's eyebrows raised even higher, as he suddenly remembered Jack's tendency with longues sentences. He had not forgotten, however, the man's habit to say things that didn't make sense, as well as his inclination to speak with mental representations of his mind, according to the man's very words.
"Jack Sparrow, while I believe you have a conscience, somewhere in there, I highly doubt you ever possessed such a thing as a soberness. Now, I am a representation of neither, and I am simply here to deliver a gift."
The pirate chortled as his eyes zeroed away from the tank of rum and onto the wooden box on the table, that he had completely forgotten. His face betrayed his desire to see what was in it, but he kept himself from acting right away.
"A gift for the old Jack, how surprising! I certainly hope it isn't something like a severed arm from one of my victims, sent to me as a warning of impending revenge, it would not be pleasant. Speaking of which, who sent you, and for what purpose? No one offers anything to the old Jack anymore. Poor little me, feeling so unwanted!"
Will was obviously not buying his future / former friend's antics, as he looked at the man disbelievingly, and he certainly wasn't bothered by the blade which was now touching his left hand, that rested on the table. The fact that no injury would ever affect him for more than a moment surely had its perks, when it came to keeping a calm front during an attempt at intimidation.
"Cut it with the theatrics, 'Captain' Sparrow. I am my own man, and the gift is from me. You will understand when the time comes, if it must come. Maybe you will never know, but be sure that you won't regret this gift."
With his right hand, the blacksmith lifted the rusted blade of Jack's old cutlass away from his left hand, and went to open the box. The pirate was still eyeing him suspiciously, and the cutlass had not gone out of sight, but William didn't care. Even if he could have been actually wounded, as in, long-time wounded, Jack was too drunk right now to aim properly. Will would surely have the time to get out of harm's reach, if it came to that.
Jack's eyes widened when he took in the subtle work of the cutlass in the box. Later on, when his mind would be less foggy and his gaze less cross-eyed, he would notice the red of the handle actually went with his headscarf, and that there were a signature, "WTC", and two initials, "JS", carved in the pommel. For now, though, he could only see it was a terrific work of art.
The pirate looked up, dumbfounded, but the stranger who had left him with this expensive cutlass, really worthy of him, the great Jack Sparrow, had disappear. Jack blinked, closed the box in an access of paranoia that might not have been uncalled for given the place he was in, and finished his tank of rum, which was miraculously back in his hand.
Then the man fell asleep on the box, and spent the night at the Twelve Daggers, without being, luckily for him, murdered for the money he did not have anyway.
One thing, other than the sword, reminded him of the stranger. A note, in the box: "Take a bath."
