Chapter 3, everybody! Who's ready for Wilson versus Maxwell?

'Asinus' is the scientific name for a donkey, so it seems the sort of thing that Wilson would call one. As for the bit about taking Maxwell's head to Willow, that's a reference to a short story I read a long time ago, I think by O. Henry. Insult sword-fighting, meantime, is in reference to the Monkey Island series, as is Willow comparing Maxwell to a used-boat salesman. And the last line is what I always think during this scene—I wonder if that was his office. X'D

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Pirates of the Caribbean © 2003 Disney

Wilson had heard the news, had not liked the mental image of Willow falling from such a height nor having such a close encounter with a pirate, if he had more steel he would go straight to the newly-minted Commodore and give him a piece of his mind.

He did not, however, have that much steel, hence why he was ducking his head and going back to work at Wagstaff's smithery after this latest delivery—at least Willow was all right, that was the important thing—

Had to stop when he stepped in and saw the gears going, Asinus trotting along like he had been whipped—run over, stop the donkey, calm him down…turn his attention to the other living thing he had left behind this morning. Wagstaff was still sleeping in his chair.

"Right where I left you," Wilson said, nodding. Turned—

Paused at the sight of one of his tools out of place. "Not where I left you." Scan the room, looking for anything else out of place—it could be that he simply forgot he had left his hammer on the anvil, but—

No, no it wasn't just him, there was a hat hooked on one of the other anvils. Reach over—

Jerk away quickly when the flat of a sword slapped down on his hand, back up when the sword point flashed to his face—glare when he saw the person holding it.

"You," he growled, still backing up. "You're the one everybody's looking for—the pirate."

Said pirate tipped his head, sizing him up. "You seem somewhat familiar, have I threatened you before?"

"I don't do dealings with pirates," Wilson spat.

"Ah—won't want to put a black stain on your record then, do we?" the pirate asked, voice reminiscent of a harmonium somehow. Turned to leave, already sheathing his sword—

Wilson grabbed a sword himself, swung it around, blocking the pirate's exit.

Said pirate was reevaluating him as he paced around, drawing his sword again. "You think this is such a good idea, pal? Crossing swords with a pirate?"

"You threatened Miss Burnshigh," Wilson said, focusing on that—evaluate the man, at least a head taller with a much longer reach, figured he must have done something to his eyes to get them to look like that, probably a psychological tactic—forced himself not to flinch when the guy ran his sword along Wilson's, grinning.

"Only a little."

Wilson leaped back as he exploded into action, quick flurries and jabs with the intent of ending the altercation—blocked, short slash, pulling back quickly to defend from another slice—this guy didn't seem too concerned about blocking Wilson's attacks—

"Well you know how to swing a sword, I'll give you that," the pirate conceded. "But how's your footwork? If I step here—" Wilson kept pace. "Very good. And then—" Slash clang clash. Consider—one more slice that Wilson blocked.

"Eh, I've fought worse," the pirate said, sheathing his sword and heading for the door. "Ta."

Okay no he couldn't let this pirate escape—

Said pirate stopped dead at the sword suddenly protruding from the door—tried to wrench it free before finally spinning to face Wilson, still heaving from the throw.

"That is a wonderful trick," the pirate hissed, stepping back down. "Except once again, you are between me and my way out, and now—" Draw his sword. "You have no weapon."

Wilson glanced around—

Yanked the sword out of the forge, the one he had intended to finish fixing when he got back—had to savor the startled look on the pirate's face when he swung the red-hot tip to face him. Wasn't sure why it made Asinus panic and get moving, though.

And then he had bigger problems, the pirate closing in and forcing him on the defensive again—managed a few wild swings that gave him some breathing room and allowed himself to go on the offensive, pirate apparently not wanting a hit from a sword still orange with heat—Willow would approve, he was sure. Lunge—

The platform they were on shifted, dropping off the ledge it was propped against and propelling Wilson up into the rafters—scrambled up, saw the pirate grinning up at him—

Had the pleasure of wiping that smile off his face when he cut free some sacks and dropped it on the other end of the platform, launching the pirate up into the rafters with him. Parry, lunge, having to watch his footing—

Something was wrong with the way the pirate was fighting. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the fact that the man didn't have to be as careful with his footing set off warning bells that made his own footing less sure—at least once he could have sworn the man very firmly put his weight out on thin air, the shadow beneath him darkening enough to make it look like he was standing on solid ground, but before he could think too much on it the pirate was swinging down from the rafters and Wilson had to be in hot pursuit. Had his sword batted away—grabbed another and swung at him as he tried to duck through the gears.

"Who makes all these?" the pirate asked, dumbfounded by the sheer number of swords Wilson was able to draw on.

"I do!" Wilson said, swinging—pirate blocked. "And I practice with them—" Swing, block. "Three hours a day!"

The pirate leaned around the main post, leering at him. "You need to find yourself a girl, pal!" Duck behind when Wilson jabbed at him—quickly spun to parry when the pirate swung around the other side. "Or, maybe the reason you practice three hours a day—" Switch, block. "Is because you've found a girl and you can't figure out how to woo said strumpet. There's not something you're keeping to yourself, is there?"

Wilson snarled. "I practice three hours a day so that when I find a pirate, I can kill it!" Kick out, forcing the pirate away from him—lunge forward, grabbing a second sword—

"Ooh, dual-wielding now, are we?" the pirate asked, effortlessly blocking his attacks, assuming a fencing pose as he backed up. "Aren't we fancy? So what's the plan then, you take my head to the object of your affection and then the two of you go sailing off into the sunset? Don't think that works, pal, girls aren't turned on by blood guts and gore."

"You would know," Wilson spat.

"Ouch, that hurt—you'd never make it in insult sword-fighting," the pirate said—suddenly lashed out a hand—

What he was aiming for became clear right about the same time everything else didn't—when the sand and dirt that Wilson used to smother the fire blew out at him instead—fall back, scrambling, trying to rub his eyes clear and get out of the pirate's range—

Registered a gun pointed at his head when he was finally able to see.

"You cheated," Wilson gasped, attention shifting to the other man.

"Pirate," his opponent clarified.

Both of them were startled out of the moment by banging at the door—Wilson took the opportunity to grab the nearest weapon, causing the pirate to arch an eyebrow when he looked back at him. "Are you threatening me with a hammer?"

"Yes," Wilson said flatly. At least until he could dive for a better weapon.

"Ah." Tried to sidestep—Wilson blocked. "Move it, pal." Try again—"Please move?"

"No," Wilson barked. "I can't in good conscience let you go free."

The pirate grumbled, rubbing his face—finally looked at him and cocked his gun, irritated. "This shot wasn't meant for you."

Wilson blinked at that statement—what—

Blinked again at a crash, at the pirate suddenly going weak-kneed and collapsing—

Again at the sight of Wagstaff standing there with a broken bottle.

Didn't have time to comment before the door broke open and the navy guards stormed in, surrounding the unconscious pirate and pointing their bayonets at him—Norrington strode in, stood next to Wagstaff as he looked at the pirate. "Good job, Mr. Wagstaff, you've helped apprehend a dangerous criminal."

"Just doing my civic duty, sir," Wagstaff said, tone still a little addled with sleep.

"Well," Norrington said, apparently oblivious to Wilson gaping angrily at him. "I'm sure you all will remember this as the day that Maxwell Carter almost escaped."


The storm that had been threatening since Willow fell in the water hadn't broken yet, instead making the night gloomy, foggy and humid—three things Willow did not appreciate.

"Well at least it was an exciting day," Wilba said, closing the shutters against the chill fog.

"Yeah," Willow said, filling up the bed heater. "Now I get to hear about how wonderful Norrington is and about rings and dresses and such, don't I?"

"Mmm? Actually I was talking about the pirate," Wilba said, sitting down next to her. "Although I won't deny Norrington proposing wasn't exciting."

"So there I went ruining your big day, huh."

"Yes that was a little rude," Wilba agreed. "But that pirate—well he wasn't entirely what I expected."

He hadn't been for Willow, either—she had been figuring big burly bearded types that rarely bathed, not some skinny dapper guy who probably would have been happier selling used sailboats to unsuspecting suckers. Saying that…that didn't erase the memory of the chains around her neck. Rub there as she thought back on that—the guy had gone from some weirdo who saved her life to scum in record time in her books.

Blinked, noticed Wilba watching her. "Er—think Norrington's going to hang that guy tomorrow or next week? Pretty sure he's gotta build a taller gallows for that guy." Good gravy he had been tall.

"Actually I was thinking about Wilson," Wilba said. "Seeing as how I'm about to be married, and you two—"

"And you don't want to get married by yourself, is that it?" Willow asked. "No. Don't do this to me. Wilson and I…well, if we were ever going to get together like that something would have happened by now."

"You don't know that."

"I do," she said firmly. "Wilson and I are acquaintances, and that's all we're ever going to be."

"Oh come on, you're telling me you haven't eyeballed him at least a little?"

Okay fine so she had, but it wasn't like Wilson was the classically handsome type. He was taller than her, yeah, that was pretty nonnegotiable when it came down to it, but his hair was always torn between experiment blew up again and tried to tame it for society's sake. Yeah he wore dapper vests but he always had his sleeves rolled up and his gloves and pants were black out of necessity; the one time she had seen him dressed up for a party he looked so uncomfortable his suit might as well have been made out of nettles. Had never got out of the stringy-rangy build even with working at a blacksmith's, and compared to Norrington's classically handsome features Wilson was just a tad too pointy, with a long face, sharp cheekbones, pointed chin and hooked nose. And that wasn't getting into the hooded eyes and dour expressions—the only time he seemed to lighten up was in his unguarded moments right after spotting her. Not exactly worthy of an elevator look.

Granted, the fact that she could actually list all these details was probably problematic, but really the only interactions they had outside of errands (some of which she suspected to be manufactured by Wilba) was when they had fished him out of the water that time. Barring some dramatic event, she really didn't see them getting together. What had Wilson rambled about Newton's laws that time? Too much inertia between the two of them, and she didn't think she was motivated to hook up with someone on a permanent basis just because her friend said so, even if said friend was the governor's daughter.

In sum, she and he just weren't meant to be.


Stupid stupid stupid he was so stupid—

"Don't bang that so hard you break it, boy," Wagstaff said as he headed for the back room.

"Right. Sure. Whatever," Wilson muttered under his breath, all but throwing the sword into the cooling oil. Idiot if he hadn't hesitated then—

Then maybe he'd be the town hero instead of Norrington. Then maybe he'd be worth something.

Then maybe Willow would have a good reason, if he asked.

Or, maybe you have found a girl, and are incapable of wooing said strumpet.

Scowl at the memory of that pirate—speaking of stupid things—if he had been just a bit faster he would have gotten to the pirate and taken care of him before Wagstaff got involved—if that stupid pirate hadn't fought dirty and whipped out that pistol—

This shot wasn't meant for you.

…What did that even mean, anyway?

Deep sigh, open the window and leaned out it to cool off and calm down—a storm had been threatening for most of the day, clouds scudding overhead and occasionally showing the full moon, but the rain had yet to break. Something about the air felt charged, like maybe lightning would be accompanying this storm.

As he blearily watched a cat run down the foggy street, he reflected that that would be about as much excitement as he could expect from the rest of his life. He had his chance and blew it totally, and there was no getting a second one.


In Governor Warbucks' estimation, today had been a very good day.

"I don't suppose your daughter has given any more thought to my proposal?" Norrington asked him as they walked along the top of the fort.

"Not that I'm aware of, she's been busy fussing over her lady-in-waiting," Warbucks told him. "Understandable, that incident with the pirate had them both shaken up."

Norrington nodded. "Yes, usually I try to deal with scoundrels like that before they get around respectable people," he said, eyeing the gallows in the main plaza. "I'm sure they'll be sleeping more soundly once he's had his neck stretched, if you'll forgive the colloquial term."

Warbucks waved that off, looked around at the foggy port. "Ghastly weather we're having."

"Bleak," Norrington agreed, pausing. "Very bleak."

Warbucks nodded, continued on before realizing that Norrington hadn't followed, turned to see the man with his head cocked. "What? What is it—"

Wasn't prepared for Norrington to tackle him to the ground, yelling "Cannon fire!"

Was even less prepared for cannonballs to slam into the side of the fort, screams alerting him to the fact that they were striking the town as well. Scramble to his feet when Norrington yelled to return fire—

"Governor!" he barked at Warbucks. "Barricade yourself in my office, now!"

Warbucks spluttered. "Why I ought to—"

"That's an order, sir."

Well here was hoping that spot of the fort that just exploded wasn't Norrington's office.