Pirate Dreams

Chapter 2

by

Alexfandra

The doctor and his assistant removed the bullet from Jack's chest and dressed the wound. "There's little more to do," he told Will and the Governor, "but wait and hope."

"He's strong," Will said. "He always finds a way to survive."

"I'm afraid this may be a different matter entirely," Swann told him with great sympathy.

"Indeed," the physician added. "Fever may set in, as it often does in these cases. There is no guarding against it, and all we can do is pray he overcomes it. The fever is often more dangerous than the wound itself."

"I'll watch over him," Will said. "Night and day, however long is needed. I'll be here."

"Good man," said the Governor.

The physician and his assistant departed to a room just down the hallway. Will looked down at Jack's pale face. His breathing seemed too fast, too labored. He brushed Jack's forehead, already feeling too much warmth there. Will swallowed hard. "He'll survive," he repeated brokenly.

Governor Swann still stood in the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Dr. Huntington is the best physician in Port Royal."

"Thank you."

"It's the least I could do. We all owe you both a great debt." He gazed thoughtfully at Jack. "Why did he risk so much to help us?"

"Because he's a good man. I tried to tell you that before."

"Yes, I do remember. And I also remember the rather lengthy list of crimes he's been convicted of."

Will sighed. "I know that. I know he's a pirate. But I happen to believe that if you pardoned him, he wouldn't return to that life. There's more to his story, and I want to find out what it is." He found he was gripping the bedsheet, and tried to relax. "If he lives."

Swann rubbed at his jaw, where a bruise had formed from the hit by Sevaldo. "He did save my life."

"And your daughter's life. Twice."

"Yes, indeed. You may be right—his more recent actions are at odds with his reputation. I cannot say honestly that I took any great interest in his history when Norrington brought me the execution papers. We were bound by the law, to our duty, and there was no question that he was guilty of capital crimes." He paused. "However, given the circumstances, I promise to fully review all of the information we have on him most carefully. Perhaps there is more to his story than we know."

"I appreciate it." Will knew this was hard for Swann.

"If there's anything else you need—"

"I'd like to know how the rest of the crew fared."

"I'm told there's a fellow outside named Gibbs, and a woman, asking after you both. I think it would be better not to have visitors in the sick room, but I can certainly give them a report. And all the crew will have good beds tonight, and for as long as they stay in Port Royal."

"Thank you. One other thing—I'd like to have a bowl of cold water, and some clean rags would be useful."

"Of course. I'll have them brought straightaway." Swann walked out of the room.

A servant brought the water and clean cloths, and then Will was left in peace. Evening drew on, and he stayed by Jack's side, periodically wiping his brow with the damp cloths. He knew the fever was coming on. He would stay awake to see Jack through it, no matter how long it took.

But the day had been too exhausting, and Will nodded off around midnight. He awoke with a start in the wee hours of the morning, to the sound of moaning. The candle had long burned down, and he fumbled to light a new one on the bedside table.

Jack tossed his head and groaned. By the candlelight, Will could see beads of sweat running down his face. "Damn." He dipped a cloth in the now tepid water, and dampened Jack's burning forehead.

"No..." Jack murmured, eyes still closed, unconscious to reality. "No... it's no good. No good."

"It's all right," Will said. "I'm here to watch over you."

Jack's eyelids flickered open. "Bill? Is that you?"

"What? No, it's Will—" Then he realized Jack meant his own father, as Jack's eyes closed again. "Jack? Can you hear me?"

"It's no good," Jack went on, now tossing and turning on the bed, shoving the covers down. "We've got to escape. He'll hang us, Bill. There's no way out this time...."

Puzzled, Will decided to play along, pretending to be his own father. "Who's going to hang us, Jack?"

"You know who... Captain Pritchard... first thing, first light... strung from the yardarm for all to see...."

"We'll get away, then," Will improvised. "You always find a way to survive."

"Not this time...." Jack moaned again, clutching at the bandages on his chest.

Will gently took his hands and held them away from the wound. "Calm down, Jack. Everything will be all right. You'll see."

Jack's eyes opened again, and he looked right at Will. "Always believed in me, didn't you, mate? Not so good now, though...." He frowned, groaned, and closed his eyes. He stopped tossing and lay quietly, breathing in hard, short gasps.

Will touched his hand to Jack's forehead. Hot. So hot. He dampened the cloth again, and wiped Jack's forehead, his neck, his chest. "Stay with me, Jack," he whispered. "Stay."

He continued his ministrations all through the early hours of the morning. Jack repeated his fits of delirium three more times before dawn, then fell into a calmer sleep, his breathing finally slower. But the fever held.

At breakfast time, a servant brought a tray of food in for Will, and the physician came in to check on Jack, accompanied by the Governor.

"He had a very fitful night," Will said. "He woke several times, but he was delirious. He thought I was someone else."

"The fever is bad." The doctor listened to Jack's heart and checked his pulse and breathing, then his assistant arrived to redress the wound. "I expect it to reach its height by midday. It will either break, or... or it will take him." He gave Will's arm a sympathetic squeeze. "I'm sorry I cannot do more."

"It's all right. I'm grateful." Will moved away from the bed to a small desk nearby to pick at his breakfast.

"Did nothing he said make sense?" Swann asked.

"Not to me. He seemed to think I was my father—they knew each other many years ago." Will hesitated, not keen to say his father had been a pirate. "My father came out here as a merchant sailor when I was merely a babe. We got only a handful of letters, and then they stopped. I never knew what happened to him."

Swann nodded. "It seems that most men don't begin their journey into manhood with the intent to become lawbreakers. I've only just started my research into Jack Sparrow's background, but it seems he learned the art of sailing on merchant vessels as well."

"Did he?" Will was glad of this news. "Then perhaps that's how he met my father." Just as he'd always been told—his father had been a decent man with lawful employment.

"Perhaps. The records are far from complete, and there are a lot of papers to sort through. Court documents, mainly. I've also asked your man Gibbs to have a search through the ship, on the chance Sparrow kept anything personal there. Letters, journals, at the very least the ship's log."

"I would have thought Barbossa would have destroyed such things after the mutiny."

"Gibbs told me that when Sparrow returned to Tortuga, he went with him to a hiding place and helped him dig up a lockbox which they brought to the ship. Sparrow kept it in his cabin. Gibbs had no idea what was inside."

Will smiled. "Could just be his favorite bottle of rum."

To his surprise, Swann smiled back. "Yes, indeed."

Then Will remembered one of the things Jack had mumbled about in his feverish state, a name he repeated several times later on. Curious, he asked, "Governor, have you ever heard of a Captain Pritchard?"

Swann's eyes went wide. "Pritchard? Henry Pritchard?"

"I don't know."

"Good Lord." Swann grabbed hold of a chair and sat down hard. "There could be only one Captain Pritchard. Is that who he raved about?"

"He said the name several times, and it sounded as if he and my father had been imprisoned by the man, that they were going to be hanged. On the ship, I think, as they had little hope of escape." Obviously Swann knew the name well. "Who is he?"

"Who was he," Swann corrected. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "He was the most vicious, black-hearted beast ever to command a ship of the royal merchant fleet. A monster."

Will had a feeling Swann had a personal connection to the man. "I've not heard of him."

"No, lad, it was long ago. Pritchard commanded a merchant ship called the Intrepid which sailed between England and the Caribbean. There were stories told of his cruelty to his men, but it was not until after the Intrepid broke up and sank in a storm here in the islands that the extent of his villainy came to light. While on the ship, his crew were afraid to say anything against him, but many of them survived the wreck, and began talking to the local villagers who rescued them. Pritchard survived as well, and was brought back to England to stand trial. I served as prosecutor at that trial. Many crewmembers testified, telling about horrors that had gone on for years aboard the Intrepid. Brutality, whippings, hangings, starvation, beatings, all at the Captain's whim. The men did nothing to deserve these punishments—often it took only a bit of dirt on a man's shirt, or a knot too slowly tied, and Pritchard would order the lash. His first mate was his companion in these crimes, and took great joy in inflicting pain on the sailors. The testimony shocked the court, and the judgment came swift and sure. Pritchard was hanged." Swann rubbed a hand across his forehead, as if trying to erase the memory of the trial.

"And my father sailed under this man?" Will hated to think of how much he must have suffered.

"I pity him if he did. It's been too long now for me to recall all the names of the crewmen we heard about at the trial. But it was the most important case I ever presided over, and as such I kept a copy of the entire proceedings for my personal records. They're here in my library. I'll take a look through them for any mention of your father and Sparrow."

"Thank you," Will said. "I hope Jack will tell me the whole story if—I mean, when—he recovers. But he tends to keep things close to the vest."

"If he did serve on the Intrepid," Swann replied, "then one can hardly blame him. The men who testified at the trial suffered greatly in the retelling of the terrors they endured."

Swann rose. "Ring the bell pull if you need anything at all. I'll return with anything new that I learn."

He left, and Will slowly finished his meal. He felt downhearted at the thought that his father had run afoul of such a man as Pritchard. And he felt sorry for Jack as well.

When he returned to the bedside, he found Jack fidgeting and shivering. Will rang for the servant, and had another blanket brought in. He drew it up around Jack's shoulders.

As the morning wore on, Jack's symptoms worsened. The physician came in several times to administer a tincture of willowbark, which seemed to help.

Around eleven, Jack had another bout of delirium, sweating profusely, and Will pulled down all the covers and bathed his forehead with cool water again. Jack spoke to him, though once more not making much sense.

"Sorry," he muttered repeatedly. "I'm so sorry...."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Will told him, not sure if Jack was seeing him or his father. "It's not your fault."

"Should never have signed on."

Will decided Jack was still dwelling on the Intrepid. "We didn't know," he said, playing along. "No one warned us about Captain Pritchard."

"Wish they had," Jack murmured. "Save a lot of trouble."

"We survived, though, Jack. We're alive—he didn't hang us."

"No... storm took care of that, didn't it? Never thought I'd want to see a ship break up on the rocks... best thing to ever happen, wasn't it?"

The bits and pieces were starting to fall together. The wreck of the Intrepid that Swann had mentioned must have happened before Pritchard could carry out his intent to hang Jack and his father. "It was a good thing, yes. Lucky."

"Lucky," Jack repeated, eyes half-open, not really seeing anything, his forehead beaded with sweat. "Wonder if the boy survived... do you know, Bill? Did you see him?"

The boy? Who could that be? "I'm not sure," Will said. He took a reasonable guess. "You mean the cabin boy?"

"'course I mean Jim, who else would I mean?"

"Sorry, Jack. The wreck must have addled my brains."

In his half-dream, half-nightmare world, Jack smiled. "Been around me too long, mate. Picking up bad habits."

Will caressed Jack's fevered brow. "I don't mind."

Jack stirred restlessly, then suddenly he grasped Will's wrist and tried to pull himself upright. "Where are we?" he cried, struggling against Will's hold. "Is he here? He'll find us!"

"No, it's all right, we're safe." Will tried to push him down. "Please, lie back. You're not well."

Jack gasped and grabbed at his bandaged chest. "God, it hurts...." Then he collapsed on the pillows, breathing hard.

Will held on tightly to Jack's right hand. "Stay calm," he said soothingly. "Everything will be fine. We're safe, no one can find us here. I promise."

"I'm sorry," Jack answered raggedly. "I'm sorry...."

"I know," Will replied this time. "I know you are. And I know you've done nothing wrong."

"Wasn't supposed to be like this, mate." "No?"

"Good life, good times... not like this."

"It'll get better," Will said. "Things will be good again. You'll see."

"Hope you're right." Jack closed his eyes and dropped into an agitated sleep.

"So do I." Will sighed. He truly hoped the worst was over. He kept Jack's hand clasped in his, and he kept watch over him, all through the long day and into the evening.

#

The fever broke in the late evening. The physician seemed surprised, though pleased.

"He's doing better than I had thought. The next time he wakes, try to get some broth into him. He'll need to regain his strength."

"Of course." Will would tend to his friend as long as needed.

Left alone once more, Will took a much-needed rest on the cot, relieved that the crisis had passed. He did not wake until the next dawning.

Will rose to find Jack awake. He lay quietly, all signs of fever abated, breathing normally, though still quite pale. "Good morning," Will said.

"Hungry," Jack replied.

"Ah. I can take care of that." Will rang for the servant, and soon broth was brought in for both of them, and some warm bread.

Will propped up an extra pillow for Jack, who managed to get down nearly all the broth, and a little of the bread. Then he lay back down again. "Swann's house?" he asked.

"Mm. His own bedroom, in fact."

"Ah. Nice." Jack smiled. "Not planning to hang me, then?"

"I'm fairly certain he won't do that." Will smiled as well, glad to have Jack back in his more-or-less right mind.

"How's the crew?"

"They're fine. Bit banged up here and there, but none so bad as you."

"Lucky me."

"Lucky to have got through the fever," Will said. "You had me worried there."

Jack frowned. "How bad was I? Was I raving?"

"A bit."

"Don't like the sound of that." Jack gave him a narrow-eyed look. "What did I say?"

Will wished he hadn't mentioned it at all now. "Um, nothing, really. I mean, it didn't make sense to me, so I don't really remember."

"Try again," Jack said coolly.

Damn. He couldn't fool Jack for a second. "Well, as best I could tell, you thought I was my father. You called me 'Bill', anyway."

"Did I? Well, you do look like him. What else?"

"You thought you were on board a ship... and you were worried about what was going to happen to you and Bill... it had to do with a Captain Pritchard."

"Oh, God." Jack's eyes widened. "Oh, no. I'm not going back there!"

"What? You don't have to—"

Jack lifted himself up, jabbing a finger at Will. "Don't say you don't want to know all about it, 'cause I know you do. You want to know what happened to Bill. Well, I'm not telling that story!"

"I already have an idea." Will pushed him down gently against the pillows. "No need to get excited."

Jack looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Governor Swann has papers on Pritchard and the crew of the Intrepid, right here in his library. He prosecuted Pritchard in England."

"Ah." Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I suppose it's all in there, then."

"I imagine it is," Will said. "Whatever 'it' is."

Jack shook his head. "Nope. I'm still not talking about that." He closed his eyes. "I need my rest." Then he opened them again. "No, I need the head..."

Will sighed. "Someday you'll tell me." He helped Jack sit up, a slow and painful process. "You sure you can walk?"

"No."

"I can bring you something—"

"Oh, no, you don't. How far is it?"

With a great deal of effort, Will managed to get Jack to the Governor's bathroom just off the bedroom. By the time he got Jack back into bed, it was clear the short walk had completely exhausted him. "Chest hurts," he said.

"I'll get the doctor."

Jack grabbed his arm. "Will—"

"What is it?"

"I—" Jack spoke haltingly, breathing raggedly. "I'm glad... I'm glad you're here."

Then he sank down, releasing Will's arm, eyes closed.

Will brushed his hand across Jack's forehead, then left to fetch the physician.

#

The doctor got a draught down Jack that helped him sleep.

Will, reassured by him that Jack would be fine, took the opportunity to take a break from the sick room. He went outside for a walk around the old, familiar grounds, ending in the gardens, where he sat on a stone bench among the rose bushes. The day was warm and sunny, and the world seemed at peace again.

A short while later, Governor Swann came into the gardens, and joined Will on the bench. Will had a feeling he'd come hunting for him, that he had some news at last.

"I hear Sparrow is fully on the road to recovery," the Governor said.

"The doctor says he's past the worst point," Will replied. "But it may take a month or more for the wound to completely heal, and he won't have much strength during that time."

"He'll stay here until he's well again. You, too."

"Thank you."

Swann gazed out at the roses. "They're very beautiful, aren't they? Almost as if one were back in England." He paused. "It took me back to those days, reading about the trial after all these years. They were good days."

Will nodded. "You found something."

"Yes." Swann looked down at his hands. "I found your father, and Jack Sparrow, in the trial transcripts. Two of the other crewmembers testified to an incident involving them. A cabin boy, a lad of fourteen, displeased the Captain by bringing him a tepid cup of tea. Pritchard ordered a hundred lashes."

"Good lord." Will found such barbarity hard to believe. "Surely that would kill him!"

"Indeed. The First Mate began to carry out the flogging, and had got ten lashes into the punishment when Bill Turner and Jack Sparrow intervened. Apparently they not only took the whip from him, but gave him a lashing or two as well. It was not the first time Pritchard had punished the lad, though certainly the worst. Sparrow and your father were thrown in the brig, and Pritchard planned to hang them for mutiny at dawn. The storm that wrecked the Intrepid hit that very night."

"He mentioned the cabin boy during one of his deliriums." Will tried to recall the name. "I think he called him Jim. Did he survive?"

"He did indeed." Swann smiled. "The lad went on to join the Royal Navy, where he did rather well for himself. You might know him better as Commodore James Norrington."

Will's jaw dropped in utter astonishment. "You're not serious?"

"I'm entirely serious. I've just got done speaking with him. The incident was traumatic for him, and he blacked out most of the details of it as well as his sojourn on the Intrepid. But he still has the scars from the lashing, and he remembered that two sailors put a stop to it, though he didn't know their names. He's nearly as shocked as you."

"I can't believe it." The irony was hardly lost on Will. "Poor Norrington! Owing his life to a pirate."

"Well, they weren't pirates back then," Swann pointed out. "I think I can guess how that happened, though. According to the records, the Intrepid sank off the coast of Tortuga. Sailors washed up on its shores, and the locals took them in. Most of them returned to England as soon as possible, but with a death sentence hanging over their heads, I imagine your father and Sparrow found the outlaw nature of the island more inviting."

"I see." It made a great deal of sense. With no way to make an honest living, what else could they do?

"I've gone over Sparrow's records quite meticulously," Swann went on. "There's no denying he's guilty of piracy, theft, smuggling, and a plethora of other unlawful acts. Yet on closer inspection, it turns out that the acts of piracy are rather a rare occasion, and he spent most of his time engaged in smuggling, and in masterminding various confidence tricks both here and in the East Indies. I could find no case where he'd been accused of an act of violence against another person, beyond a few minor pub brawls. And as you and Elizabeth described it, his shooting of Barbossa directly saved my daughter's life, so one can hardly fault him for that. I also discovered that he has at least served some time for his activities—he was imprisoned in the East Indies for three years. That occurred after he lost the Pearl to Barbossa."

Will had wondered what Jack had been up to during the ten years Barbossa had the Pearl. That took care of at least part of the mystery. "Are you going to pardon him, then?"

"My secretary is drawing up the papers even as we speak, my boy."

"That's wonderful news, sir!" He couldn't wait to tell Jack. No more running, no more fear of the hangman's noose. It would be the start to a whole new life.

"I hope so." Swann looked a bit doubtful. "I hope that lawbreaking isn't so ingrained in him now that he cannot change." "He can change." Will knew then, with a sudden gladness of heart, that he would stay at Jack's side from here on, no matter what the future brought. Then he recalled what Jack had told him in Tortuga about the boredom of inactivity making a man feel old. He'd need to do something exciting, adventurous. "I'm not sure how yet, though. He's hardly going to give up the Pearl—a life at sea means everything to him."

"That shouldn't be difficult so long as we're fighting the Spanish. He can officially be a privateer, and harry our enemy's ships."

"He'll be good at that," Will said.

"Indeed." There was a twinkle in the Governor's eye. "If he can't blast them with his cannons, he can talk them to death."

Will laughed. He was glad Swann had a sense of humor about the whole affair. "I'll tell him you said that."

"Please do." Swann laughed as well, then stood to go. "I'm pleased to see you out and about, Will. You're a very dedicated young man, but do remember to take some time for yourself now and then."

"I will, sir." He watched Swann stride off, and returned to admiring the garden. His mind soon wandered off to imaginary places, envisioning the shipwreck of the Intrepid, seeing Jack and his father make their way to shore. They probably hid out there for some time, lying low, afraid for their lives. They would have found comradeship among the smugglers and pirates living there, and he could see how a little sympathy from those lawbreakers might make Jack and his father sympathetic to them in return. And they would need a way to make a living, so it was only natural for them to take up with the Tortuga life. Perhaps they might have heard, eventually, about Pritchard's trial and execution in England, though the news would travel slowly. No doubt by the time they got it, it was too late for them to come forward to ask for clemency, having committed who knew how many crimes in the meanwhile.

At least, that's how Will imagined things. He had a thousand questions for Jack Sparrow, who must have known his father for near on ten years. His father had left England when Will was only a babe in arms, just one year old. He'd gone to seek his fortune, and never returned, leaving his mother to raise him alone. She died when Will was twelve, and then he'd set sail as well, to see if he could find any trace of his father. Sadly unknown to him at that point, his father had already been dead for two years, murdered by Barbossa after the mutiny on board the Pearl.

A thousand questions, about both his father, and about where Jack had gone after getting off the island Barbossa marooned him on. Jack had at least a month of recuperating to do here. Surely he couldn't spend so much time stubbornly keeping silent about his past. Could he?

Not if I have anything to say about it. Will stretched and rose. Time for some food, and then back to the sick room to give Jack the good news.

#

"I've been pardoned?" Jack sat up against a bank of pillows, eyes wide in disbelief. "It actually worked?"

Will looked affronted. "Just because it was my idea, my plan, doesn't mean it didn't have a chance of coming through, does it?"

"No, no, 'course it doesn't." Jack grinned. "I just can't believe it, that's all."

"Believe it, then. Swann is having the papers drawn up right now. Full pardon. You'll be a free man—well and truly free."

"Free," Jack repeated softly. He looked thoughtful. "Funny ole world, isn't it?"

"You earned it, Jack."

"Perhaps."

"No, honestly. You earned a chance to start over again."

Jack sighed. "That's a large order, mate."

"Governor Swann suggested a little privateer work, if you're interested."

"Really?" Jack brightened. "Chase after the bloody Spaniards? All free and legal?"

"Perfectly legal and above board. You think you can handle that?"

"For a while," Jack allowed. "Well, not for a while, at the moment."

"I know. The doctor said a month, at the very least. It won't be so bad—Swann says you can stay here as long as it takes."

"Oh, good. No worries, then." Then a slight frown creased Jack's forehead. "Hold on—what's his liquor supply like?"

"You've seen the wine cellar."

"No, no, I mean the hard stuff. What about the rum?"

"The doctor said no spirits for at least a fortnight."

"What?" Jack paled as he clutched the bedsheet. "Is he mad?"

"No, he's sensible. You need to recover, Jack. That means a lot of rest, good fare, a very slow return to getting up and about, and no spirits."

"Wrong. I'll take the rest, and the food, and I'll be on my own two feet soon as I can manage, but I will not be going a fortnight without rum. Find me some."

"He thought of that. He's had Swann lock it up."

"He never."

"Did."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Mate, do us a favor. Go to the bloody ship and get me my rum. You do not want to see what happens when I'm angry."

Will thought about it. "Maybe I do. Don't think I've ever seen you angry."

"Doesn't happen often. But it will if I don't get a drink soon. So go."

"Aye, aye, sir." Will saluted him. "I'm on my way."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's it? No more arguments?"

"Not a one. If Captain Sparrow wants some rum, then Captain Sparrow will get it."

"Stop that!"

Will grinned. "Stop what?"

"Acting like an obsequious toady!"

"Ah." Will pounced on this new morsel of information. "'Obsequious'?" He recalled other words he'd heard Jack toss about with ease during their past adventure. "'Proliferous'? 'Ecumenical'? Where do you pick up words like that, at some fine hostelry in Tortuga?"

"Eh?" Jack cast him a suspicious look. "What are you on about now?"

"Your vocabulary. It gives you away, Jack. You weren't raised in the gutters, that's for certain."

"Well, fine. So I pick up long words from time to time, no need to get all hypothetical—er, I mean, no need to go imagining things. My upbringing is nobody's business but me own."

"Fine. Is your whole life nobody's business? Because I have a lot a questions I'd like answers to, and you're only having me for company for the next month, so if I were you, I'd start thinking about having a few long conversations now and then."

Jack let out a long-suffering sigh. "Are you always this stubborn, mate?"

"Always. Get used to it." Will stood to put on his coat.

"Where're you going?"

"To the ship, of course."

"Oh. Thought you were having me on about that."

"Well, I don't think you should be drinking," Will admitted. "I don't think it's healthy for you right now. But I don't think it's healthy for me to stand in your way."

"Ta, then."

"You're welcome." Will paused at the doorway. "I'll be back soon," he promised.

Jack touched his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. "I'll be here," he replied.

Will closed the door softly behind him.

#

Commodore Norrington stopped in to the master bedroom that evening, just after Will and Jack finished their supper.

Jack sat propped up on the pillows, sipping at a mug that Will had filled only halfway up with the rum he'd brought back from the ship, insisting at least on rationing the stuff. Jack was taking his time with it, making it last.

Norrington approached slowly, looking somewhat sheepish, head tilted downward, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped close to the bed, and cleared his throat. "I, um... well, that is, I... it turns out I owe you a tremendous debt. It pressed on my mind, all these years, that I was never able to thank the men who saved my life." He looked at Will. "I'm deeply sorry that I cannot thank your father."

"I'm sure he knew how you felt," Will replied.

Norrington nodded, then looked back at Jack. "I've been contemplating life's ironies since Governor Swann told me about what happened to you and to William Turner afterwards. You two stepped in to save me from a flogging that surely would have killed me, and as a result, you were sentenced to death. The storm saved you, and brought you to a place where condemned men were made welcome, and where you could survive by joining them. It seems that the act of saving my life led directly to your own life of piracy and smuggling. Then, all these years later, I am the one who tries to hang you for those very acts. I cannot begin to express how broken a man I would be today had I succeeded, and then discovered the truth too late."

"That was a mouthful," Jack said.

"Sorry. I was trying to say that I'm more grateful than words can express. And that I'm extremely relieved to be able to thank you." He stepped to the very edge of the bed and extended his hand.

Jack blinked. Then he switched his mug to his left hand and shook Norrington's hand with his right. "You're welcome."

Norrington stepped back. "I'm also relieved to hear about the pardon. I would hate to be obliged to chase after you again."

"That makes two of us." Jack held up his mug. "Join us for a drink?"

"No, really, I couldn't possibly—" Norrington broke off. "I mean, I have my duties—" He stopped again, frowning.

"Come on, Jimmy." Jack smiled warmly, waving at a nearby chair. "Pull up and relax for once."

Norrington raised both eyebrows at the familiarity. "Well, I um... that is... hm." He seemed genuinely perplexed by the idea.

Will held up the rum bottle. "There's plenty to go 'round."

Norrington hesitated, then suddenly came to a decision. "I will. Thank you." He pulled up the chair while Will found another glass.

Will poured out a drink and handed it across. Jack held up his own mug. "Top me off, mate?"

"No. You've got enough in there for tonight."

"Rotter."

Norrington smiled at this exchange, then sipped at the rum. "Mm. Very nice." He leaned back in the chair. "I know my manner is standoffish. I can't help it—being responsible for so many men's lives, having such a weight of duty—I'm afraid there isn't much chance to 'stand down', as it were. Of course, this kind of life was my own choice, it's what I wanted." He paused, gazing thoughtfully at his glass of rum. "Once in a while, though, I do envy those who can live in a freer, easier fashion."

Jack cradled his mug against his chest. "You were a right proper little lad on the Intrepid, as I recall."

"Yes, I was." Norrington sighed. "I had quite a strict upbringing, I'm afraid. The navy turned out to be a good match for my temperament, far better than a merchant ship."

"Well, anything's better than a ship captained by a madman."

"Indeed. I may have been used to discipline, but Pritchard went far beyond what was necessary. I wasn't at his trial—I was deemed too young to be of use. I don't think of myself as a heartless man, and it is not my nature to wish any man's death. Yet when I heard the results of the trial, and learned of his execution, I cannot honestly say that I did not exult in that monster's demise."

Will shook his head. Norrington certainly did know how to talk in the most constrained manner. "I gather his first mate was nearly as bad."

"Yes, they were comrades in cruelty, as it were." Norrington drank more of the rum. "Pity he didn't go to trial as well." "No?" Will wondered at that. "Did he drown in the wreck, then?"

"They never found him after the wreck, is what I heard. He may still be living somewhere, for all we know."

"Bastard," Jack muttered. He stared morosely at his diminishing drink. "Better never cross my path, if he is."

"Who was he?" Will asked.

"Ned Hardcastle," Norrington replied. "He'd be fifty or sixty by now. And hard to miss—he had a wide, jagged scar running from forehead to chin on the left side of his face, an unruly mass of flame-red hair and beard, a massive girth unrivaled on all the oceans, and missing three fingers on his right hand. I shall not forget his visage."

"Fat bastard," Jack said. "And fond of the lash."

"Far too fond," Norrington agreed. "Men died under it."

Will wasn't sure how much he wanted to hear about the ill treatment of sailors aboard the Intrepid. He did want to learn more about his father's life, yet he didn't want to know if he suffered too much. "How long were you with the ship?"

"Just one year," Norrington replied. "Still, far too long. Enough to earn lasting scars, anyway." He seemed to have relaxed a little from the rum. "Most of the sailors didn't stay long, if they could get away. Captain didn't let men go ashore any more than he could help it. Knew they wouldn't come back, not without pressganging 'em. Or having Hardcastle round them up if they tried to go astray. He liked running down bolters."

"He'd get 'em back to the ship," Jack said. "And he'd take a rusty knife, and he'd hack the little finger off each hand. Could still tie knots and climb ropes with only eight fingers." He shivered suddenly, and thrust his mug at Will. "Come on, have a heart."

Will relented, aware that these reminiscences were painful for Jack. He poured more rum out for him.

"Ta, mate."

"What happened to his own hand?" Will asked.

"What's that?" "Hardcastle." Will looked to Norrington. "You said he was missing some fingers."

"Yes, that's right," Norrington said. "The story as I heard it, was that the ship he sailed on before the Intrepid was a merchant vessel that sank off the coast of Japan in shark-infested waters. He and his three closest mates saved themselves in one of the rowboats, and used the oars to beat off other sailors in the water, to keep from overloading their boat. The sharks were picking off those poor men, one by one. One of the men in the water managed to catch hold of Hardcastle's hand while he leaned over with the oar, and held on fiercely, and while they were struggling, a shark came up and tore off the man's whole arm, and part of Hardcastle's hand along with it."

Now Will found himself shivering. "That's horrific."

"That's the sort of man he was," Norrington replied.

He stayed for an hour conversing, until Jack began to nod off, and then Norrington took his leave. Will did some reading while Jack slept, until he, too, felt exhaustion creeping over him. He slipped under the covers of his cot and quickly dropped off into sleep.

He woke in the middle of the night, startled by a nightmare, his mind filled with images of sharks and mutilated men swimming in a blood-soaked sea. Will sat up, shaky. He rose and crossed to the windows to look out at the stars. By the height of the moon, it wasn't long after midnight. He doubted he could fall asleep easily again.

He stood gazing out at the darkness, trying not to think about brutal officers or unjust floggings or what his father had to go through under such men as Pritchard and Hardcastle, and managing to think about nothing else.

He sighed and walked back to his lonely cot. Then he gazed at Jack, lying there in a huge bed, not taking up even half of it. Will wanted the company, needed someone to hold onto should the nightmares come back. Jack would understand.

He got into the large bed as carefully and unobtrusively as possible, under the covers, and slid close to Jack's side. Jack stirred a little and mumbled, but did not wake. Will wrapped an arm around him, nestled close. He shut his eyes, ready to try sleep, now that he had the warmth and comfort of the man beside him to ward off all troubled cares.

#

Two weeks later Jack was strong enough to take a stroll through the gardens, after which he wanted to look out at the harbor. The Governor had two wicker chaises brought out to the balcony where Jack and Will could have a perfect view.

Jack's whole countenance brightened at sight of the Pearl lying at anchor. The day was very fine, neither too hot nor too cool, light clouds high up and a refreshing mild breeze off the water. "Ah," he sighed contentedly. "Home, sweet home."

Will stretched out on the chaise alongside Jack's, and admired the harbor activity, with dozens of smaller ships and boats tacking to and fro. He realized that while his own home had been here in Port Royal for the past eight years, and he did love the place and feel comfortable there, he had also not seen a great deal of the world at all.

How could he know where his true home lay, having explored so little of the world, and having had such small experience of all life had to offer?

Jack Sparrow had opened Will's eyes to another kind of life, different from the daily grind of the blacksmith's shop. A life where few things were certain, where a man was free to invent himself however he could.

"What's it like," he asked, "never knowing what's going to happen next? I know what it feels like for the short term. Part thrill, part fear, a rush of overwhelming excitement during the moments of action, followed by enormous relief when it's over and you're still alive. Really alive, unlike any ordinary feeling."

"You know those days you spent here?" Jack replied. "Those long, dull days between the time I sailed off in the Pearl and the time the Spanish arrived? Well, to be quite honest, we have those long days, too. Weeks of sailing with not so much as a forceful wind to vary the rhythm. Weeks of being stranded in port for repairs. Long days sitting becalmed, or banked in at the harbor by fog, or waiting out the autumn storms. It's not all one grand adventure after another."

"Yet you still love it."

"'course I do. To see the sun set and the moon rise over that next horizon, knowing there's always something new there because the sea is ever-changing—that's the beauty of it, mate. Knowing you can go anywhere, not tied to any town or any land, nor beholden to anyone else's rules, not keeping allegiance to any but your own ideals—that's the freedom of it. And as you travel farther and farther, as you see more countries than you dreamed existed, and encounter more kinds of people than you ever imagined, instead of turning the world small and familiar, you find the world growing wider still, varied in its riches, and eager to let you taste all that it has on offer."

Will lay with his eyes closed, rapt by Jack's words, undoubtedly the longest speech he'd ever given in Will's hearing. The sea, he knew, was the one thing Jack would ever be serious about, and his love for it drew Will in, as if the sea itself had cast an enchantment over him. He slowly opened his eyes, taking in the wide harbor, and the limitless horizon beyond. "Can I come with you?"

"How far?"

"As far as forever," Will said.

Jack smiled. "If we could sail forever, mate, we'd have no need for heaven."

"I believe that." Will knew in the very deepest part of his soul that he wanted this, knew in his heart that his future lay aboard the Black Pearl. "Tell me something. Did my father feel like that?"

"He did." Jack paused, dropping his gaze. "It's all right when you've got no family, but he had a good deal of grief, leaving a wife and a son who was only a babe. At first he didn't mean to stay away long. I saw the sea snare him, though, saw it pull him in. Men get a certain gleam in their eyes and then they're trapped for life, never to be let go."

"Yet you call it freedom."

"I do call it that," Jack said. "You're as untethered as the wind. Men like Bill, though, gain freedom at a price. I went to sea when I was ten, I barely knew any other way of life. But some men, they come out here seeking God knows what, thinking they'll find it and then go home again, when the sea sends out a siren call, and the fools are lost to it. And then, always too late, they find out there's one thing they can never do."

"What's that?"

"They can't go back."

Will contemplated this in silence for a while. He thought he understood. "My father only sent a few letters home. My mother kept them. They grew shorter and shorter, and more apologetic, and then they simply stopped."

"That's because he fell in love, lad. You need to know that before you go, if you think you really want to. There's no going back."

"I understand." It was a strange kind of freedom, Will thought. Free to live any kind of life you chose, except the one you left behind.

"I hope you do."

"You were good mates, weren't you?" Will chose to steer the talk to the past, to find out all he could of Jack and his father's history together. "You sailed on the same merchant ships."

"We sailed on the Rosinante, from Portugal to Macao, and back again. We were nearly the same age, almost exactly a year apart, he being the younger. We got on well, we had the same taste in spirits, same taste in games and sports. He read a lot and liked to tell fabulous stories. He had a good voice and knew dozens of rousing songs. He was easy-going, could take a joke, cared about the welfare of the lads on board, was generous, loyal, never full of his own worth. He was a good man." Jack trailed off at the end, sounding wistful. After a while, he said with the faintest break in his voice, "I miss him."

Will could feel his eyes misting up. He wished he had some comfort to give, but could think of none. "I'm sorry, Jack." Then he smiled at a sudden thought. "You know, I'll bet he misses you, too." He glanced up at the heavens.

Jack laughed softly. "Hadn't thought of that. Thanks."

They sat quietly for a few moments, then Will said, "I'm sorry I had to pry. I can't help it. I never knew him, nor anything about him but what little my mother told me. It's good to hear more. And it's good to know he had you for a friend."

"He could have done better."

"No," Will said earnestly. "I don't think so."

"Ah. Well, then, I guess you'll be following in his footsteps. Sail with me as long as you like, as far as you care to go."

"It's what I want," Will said. Then he smiled. "Honestly."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You may not have known him, but you've got a lot of his ways about you."

"Have I?"

"Teasing me was one of his favorite things to do."

Will enjoyed knowing that. "Was I teasing you?"

"You were."

"Good." Will sank down lower on the chaise and closed his eyes. "Think I'll have a short nap. You ought to do the same."

"And that's another thing."

"What?"

"Trying to tell me what to do for my own good," Jack said. "You're starting to worry me now."

"Sorry." Will meant it. He didn't want Jack to be reminded too often of the friend he had lost. "I've got a lousy singing voice, if that helps."

"Good."

Jack stayed quiet for a while, and Will thought perhaps he'd taken his advice to get some rest, when out of the blue he heard him say, "And how are you at drafts?"

Will kept his eyes closed, enjoying the warm breeze on his skin. "I'm damned good."

"Ah." There came another pause. And then Jack added, "We'll see about that."

Will contentedly drifted off, dreaming pleasantly about ships and the sea, and in each fleeting image, Jack Sparrow was there, smiling, always at his side.

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