Pirate Dreams 8

Pairing: J/W
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 2003
Summary: Will joins the Pearl's crew after Jack becomes a privateer, leading to many adventures, including the most dangerous adventure of all: romance.

"We have a little more information," he told them. "Whitcomb has been quite cooperative. He says that Hardcastle's ship most recently berthed at Goave Bay, just down the Hispaniola coast from Tortuga. After we cleared out Tortuga, many of its former inhabitants fled to a small town there."

"Very well." Norrington waited while the last supplies were loaded, then saw Jack and Will off in the longboat. "Take care."

Soon they were aboard the Pearl once more. The supplies were unloaded into the hold. The crew were all in place. The anchor was hoisted, the sails unfurled. Jack stood on the quarter-deck as she sailed out of the bay, then turned the helm over to Anamaria.

He went below to his cabin to chart the course. Will came right behind him, taking up his usual seat on the bench. When Jack finished with the chart, he called Gibbs in and gave him the bearing for Goave Bay. As he turned to leave, Jack held him up. "Which of the hands is ablest at mending sailcloth?"

"Ah. Well, I know a little bit about where we're heading, and I'm having a thought or two."

Mr. Cotton appeared in the doorway, his parrot on his shoulder. Jack waved him over to the table. He turned the chart over and made a quick sketch on the back which Will couldn't see. "Can you take spare blankets and sew two of these by evening?"

Cotton left the cabin, and Jack turned the chart over and rolled it up. He put it away, then crossed over to the bench. He placed his hands on Will's shoulders, and leaned in to kiss him. Will responded eagerly, then pulled away. "Hey. You're trying to distract me."

Will pulled back again. "What is it you're planning that you don't want me to know about yet?"

"Oh, great." Will smiled, knowing he trusted Jack completely. Let him have his little surprise. "Right. Distract me some more, then."

The winds were in their favor, and they reached the southwestern coast of Hispaniola by dusk. Jack took the wheel and guided the Pearl close to a point of land that protected Goave Bay, dropping anchor on the far side of the jutting land, where the ship would be out of sight of the harbor.

Will agreed. The Pearl had never run fully manned, and it was highly probable that Hardcastle's ship did. Subtlety made for a better approach.

"Mr. Gibbs, I want one boat ready to launch. Mr. Turner and I are to go ashore."

Cotton brought two bundles of sewn-together blankets in to the cabin. Jack examined them, gave Cotton his thanks, and sent him on his way. He held up one of the bundles for Will to see.

Jack found an opening in the material and tossed it over Will's head. The blankets draped around him, forming a cloak. He popped his arms through two more openings. "I still give up. Is this supposed to be a disguise?"

Jack pulled the second bundle of material over his own head, and adjusted his arms. He snatched up a piece of rope Cotton had brought in, and tied it round his waist. Then he reached behind his back, fumbled about with the bunched-up material there, and suddenly pulled a hood up, engulfing most of his head.

Will stared, dumbfounded. Then he reached behind his own head to find the hood Cotton had sewn onto his own outfit, all put together from the ship's gray wool blankets.

"You and I will row round the point under cover of darkness," Jack explained. "For a reconnoiter. If Hardcastle's ship is there, we'll go on to the town. We want to know where he is, where my double, this 'Mr. Ellis' is, whether the crew are in town or aboard, and how many they are. It would be best if we weren't recognized."

"Yes, I know, but monks? I know you said you knew something of this place, but why are we monks?"

"Because there's a monastery in the hills behind the town." Jack crossed to the cabinet where he kept his shaving gear and a mirror. "The monks grow grapes there and operate a small winepress. They provide their goods to the town's innkeepers, who offer the monks their protection. They also allow the good brethren to come to their taverns in search of souls to save. That's why." He picked up his shaving blade and deftly trimmed off the two beaded braids from his chin. Then he took off his bandana and set to work chopping out the ones in his hair.

"But I don't know anything about being a monk," Will protested. "I was brought up a Protestant."

"As was I." Jack combed back his braid-and-bead-free hair. "Here, tie this for me." He handed Will a piece of thin black cord.

"Ta." Jack surveyed him up and down. "Try slumping your shoulders, you need to look more humble."

"Better. Now try this." Jack held his right hand up, made a little crisscrossing motion in the air, and said, "Bless you, my son."

Will tried to get into the spirit of the thing. He adopted a quite serious expression, mimicked Jack's sign-of-the-cross motion, and repeated, "Bless you, my son."

Dropping his voice as deep as he could manage, Will repeated the phrase. "Bless you, my son."

"Well, I'm just no good at this!" Will frustratedly tugged at the cloak's sleeves. "And this thing itches. And it's hot."

"Take it off, then." Jack threw his own cloak over his head and draped it across a chair. "We won't need them until we reach shore."

Will took the horrid cloak off. "This is never going to work. It's all right for you. You're good at this sort of thing. I remember that day they were going to hang you, when they read off your crimes. Impersonating a naval officer was one of them, and impersonating a clergyman. But I've never done anything like that. I'm afraid I'll say something stupid and give us away."

We're never going to get away with this, Will thought as they rowed around the point towards the bay. He stared glumly at the robes piled in the bottom of the boat. "What if these monks don't wear gray? What if their robes are brown, or black?"

"Doesn't matter." Jack pulled at the oars. "We're novices, just arrived. We won't be going near the monastery, and the innkeepers won't know any different."

Will let out a long sigh. "I'm just not certain I can convince anyone that I'm a religious man."

"Why not? You're a forthright, upstanding, morally respectable young fellow." Jack paused. "Well, more or less."

"You see, that's the trouble. I'm not all that upstanding. I once stole a shilling from a collection plate."

"Ah. I knew you had pirate blood in you, right from the start. How old were you?"

"Seven. My mum had no food in the house, and I wanted to buy bread and cheese for her."

Will supposed it didn't. He listened to the gentle sweep of the oars in the calm waters of the bay. The night sky had been kind enough to provide them with concealing clouds. He doubted anyone would see them heading towards the harbor.

He could see lights far off where the town must lie. Then, as they came fully round the point and into the bay proper, Will spied the hulking dark outline of a large ship anchored offshore. "Ship ahoy," he called softly.

Jack stilled the oars. As they drifted quietly along, he took up the spyglass he'd brought and peered at the ship. "Can't see any lanterns, nor any crew. She's three-masted, though." He handed the glass to Will. "You see anyone?"

"Guess we'll go on to town, then." Jack took up the oars again and pulled towards the harbor docks.

Will looked through the glass at the dockyard. He saw half a dozen small ships moored along two large piers, and further down he saw a shorter pier with a few small boats alongside. He couldn't see any sign of activity at the short pier, so he directed Jack's rowing towards it.

They reached the pier safely and tied up the boat. After they set foot on dock, they pulled their monks' robes on over their clothes. Will left his rope belt as loose as possible to cover his cutlass, hoping no one would notice it poking against the wool cloth. He couldn't see much with the hood on, so he stayed close behind Jack as he moved quickly towards the waterfront buildings.

Will watched three men stagger out of a ramshackle building, he heard the noise and laughter from within and the sound of clinking glasses. The odor of rum permeated the air.

"Here we go," Jack said. "In search of souls in need of saving." He confidently strode to the tavern, with a much less confident Will in tow.

The tavern was not so rowdy as the ones he'd seen on Tortuga. Crowded, yes, and noisy, but no one was fighting at the moment. Better, no one paid the slightest attention to their entrance. Jack must have got it right. Monks were a common sight here.

Jack walked right up to the bar to address an older, stocky man who looked to be the owner. "A blessed evening to you, my son."

The barkeep paused in his polishing of a glass. "Ah. Welcome to you, Brother—?"

"Jonathan," Jack filled in easily. "And this is Brother William. We're newly arrived here in your fair town. The good abbot suggested we might find a few unfortunate sinners here in need of succor."

Will gaped at him. In need of succor? How did Jack come up with these phrases so glibly?

"The abbot never gives up hope, does he? Well, you're not likely to find anyone worth your time among these gobs." The barkeep nodded at his customers. "They've all come here regular for years. Long past all saving, I'd warrant."

"I see." Jack remained unperturbed. "Is that not a grand ship I perchanced to espy lying in the bay, my good sir? Mayhap its men are but newly arrived such as we are, and are not yet beyond redemption."

"Ah, that would be Captain Smith's ship, what he sometimes calls the Pearl and other times he calls The Revenge. I'm afraid you won't find a single soul from that crew hereabouts. They jumped ship soon as she arrived. See, there was another ship here then, ready to sail and looking for crew, and every man Jack of 'em leapt at the chance to bid Captain Smith a fast farewell. All's that's left is the Captain himself and his first mate."

The barkeep shook his head. "I heard tell he was meaner than the devil himself."

"Well, the good Lord does his work in mysterious ways," Jack replied. "It seems to me that if ever a man's soul stood in need of salvation, it would be this Captain Smith's. Pray, kind sir, do you know where we might find this fellow?"

"Try a few doors down at the Greensward Inn. But you'll be wasting your time, Brother." He turned away to serve a patron.

Will felt a tug on his sleeve. Oh no. He turned to find a young lad, no more than nine or ten, standing there. The boy jerked his head towards a second lad of the same age who hovered behind a nearby post. "Thaddeus wants to know what you wear under your robe."

Will, of course, had his normal clothes and cutlass on, but he had no idea what genuine monks wore. He quickly yanked on Jack's sleeve.

"Boots," Jack replied. He leaned down close to the boy. "The better to kick you with, my son." He stepped back to point his boot out at the lad, who hastily scampered off.

Jack put his finger to his lips. "Remember your vow of silence, Brother William."

Will rolled his eyes, and followed him out through the crowd into the street. Damn, he felt hot under these blankets. The night air helped cool him a little, but not near enough. "I can't take much more of this."

"Won't take much longer, I think." Jack started down the street, with Will loping after.

They found the Greensward Inn and stopped outside to look it over. The place seemed to be a small rooming house. Curtains in the front room were drawn to, with light behind, so they crept up to the window frame and found a crack to peer through. Inside they could make out a few tables set for the evening meal, with the backs of three customers in view.

They moved off to the shadows of the alley beside the building. "Trickier," Jack said.

"You'll come up with one of your thoughts," Will replied. "You always do. And where did you learn to talk like that?"

Will knew there was a story there which he'd find out about sooner or later. This wasn't the right time, though. He wanted to be done with their masquerade and find Hardcastle. He was tired of skulking about in this ridiculous robe. Ned Hardcastle should have been brought to justice long ago, and he was determined to see he finally paid for his crimes.

He waited impatiently for Jack to have an idea. He looked out at the harbor, at the ships bobbing at the docks. The clouds had thickened since their arrival, while a fresh breeze brought a brisk, damp scent Will knew well. "It smells like rain."

"Not really. I'll talk to the innkeeper. You place yourself in the doorway to that dining room while I keep the owner occupied, and see if any of those men look like our enemy."

He and Jack walked into the inn. An older woman met them in the foyer, and Jack immediately took her aside. "Good lady, we are only recently arrived, and are seeking direction to the monastery. Can you help us?"

As she explained the route to the monastery, Will sidled over to the dining room entrance. From the doorway, he looked over the three diners. The closest was a cadaverous old man of at least eighty. At the middle table sat a young, extremely fat fellow of twenty-five or so. And then he saw the man sitting farthest away in the corner. Even half-hidden in shadows, Will knew this was Jack's double, the first mate Ellis. Same general size and age, with similar clothing, and long dark hair which had a few beads woven in.

Will rejoined Jack, who was busy offering the woman effusive thanks. "Brother Jonathan, the abbot will be expecting us."

"Of course, Brother William." Jack thanked the woman a last time, gave a little bow, and turned to leave.

Once outside again, Will said, "I didn't see Hardcastle, but Ellis is in there eating his supper."

"Good. If he's like most sailors, he'll head to one of the taverns after his meal. We can wait."

They returned to the alley, keeping out of sight of passersby. Twenty minutes passed, and then they heard the inn door open. A quick peek round the corner confirmed it was Ellis, walking in the direction of the same tavern they'd visited earlier.

He and Will rushed to catch Ellis up, hemming him in close on either side. Will had his hand on the hilt of his cutlass.

"I think not." Suddenly Jack had his flintlock in hand, muzzle poking into Ellis' side. "Come along." He pushed him towards a darkened side street.

He put up no resistance as they shoved him against a wall and divested his of his weapons. "I take it you aren't really monks?" he said calmly. "Or is the monastery hard up for alms?"

Ellis waved his arms in a gesture Will found eerily reminiscent of Jack's. "Ask away."

"Oh, is that all? You might have just asked me polite like. I'd've told you fair enough."

"Bastard owes me two month's wages. What's he to do with you? My claim has first rights over yours."

"Look, I didn't mean you any harm. He said it was a joke at first, and he promised to pay well. It wasn't 'til he got to drinking later and got to talking more that I found out he had it in for you big. I'm getting the hell out as soon as I get my wages."

"'Cause too many people were after his blood up north, I reckon. He's got more enemies than the ocean's got fish. I don't know the whole story, but what he said when his tongue got too loose was that you ruined his life. Said everything was perfect when he was on this one ship years and years ago, best ship that ever sailed, he said, under the greatest captain who ever lived."

"That's interesting. I wonder how I did that, when he was the one trying to get me hanged?"

"You was being hauled off to the brig," Ellis added. "The way he tells it, you shouted out a curse on the ship and its master as you were taken away."

Will shook his head. "A coincidence. Surely Hardcastle can't believe it was anything more than chance?"

Ellis shrugged. "As far as I can tell, he thinks his life went to hell from that point onward, nothing good ever happened to him since. He's been mostly far up north, from what I could learn, fur trading, seal hunting. Then he moved further down through the colonies. Somehow he got word about your being pardoned, and that set him off on this mad scheme. Said you deserved to pay for wrecking his life."

"Pirates ply those waters, too," Jack replied. "Well, everywhere up and down the whole coast. News like that could get round fast through them."

"Don't know where he heard it," Ellis said. "I met him down here, in Tortuga. He said he wanted to see you hang."

"Down at the wharf. He's got all his plunder from the past few months stored in a warehouse, the biggest one at the far north end. I'm supposed to help him load it onto the ship tonight. He never gave but a few token bits to the crew, it's why they scarpered. Now look, I've told you all I know, so let me go, and I'll help you kill the bastard, if that's what you want."

"Fine. I'll take you to him. Three of us ought to be able to overpower the brute."

"Agreed." Jack motioned at Will's waist. "Time to leave the fold, Brother William. Let's have that rope."

They left Ellis bound and gagged in the side street, covered over with their discarded robes.

Will felt glad of the freedom of movement, happy to be rid of the hot, itching cloth. But he hadn't taken a dozen steps before the promised rain began to fall, and fall so heavily that he soon wished for his hooded cloak again.

He slipped on the slick cobblestone street, and grabbed at Jack's shoulder to keep from falling. Jack pulled him beneath the awning of a nearby shop. "It won't last long," he said. "We can wait."

"No." Will didn't want to chance letting Hardcastle get away. A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed closely by the rolling boom of thunder. "I don't want to lose him."

They headed off, turning down towards the dockyards, where the wooden boardwalk proved even more slippery than the street, and carefully worked their way north. No one was about, everyone had taken shelter from the storm. They stumbled along in the dark, getting thoroughly drenched. Then, as they neared the end of the walkway, they spied the large, rambling wood building that must be the warehouse. It fronted on a dock where a longboat was moored, and as they drew closer, Will made out the letters on its stern. The Revenge.

They moved cautiously to the side of the building. The massive front doors were pulled open, and a faint light shone from within. They crept closer, assured that the thunderstorm would hide any sound of their approach. As they drew up to the opening, Jack slowly peered round the edge. Then he pulled back, and motioned Will to move around to the side of the building.

"Probably. Let me go in ahead of you, though. The light's coming from just one lantern near his feet. He might mistake me for Ellis until we get close." Jack loosened the cord round his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders.

Another lightning bolt filled the sky, even closer than the last. The thunder coming after was deafening. Jack waited until it died away. "Are you ready?"

Will touched the hilt of his sheathed cutlass. He hoped Hardcastle put up a fight. He wanted retribution.

Jack fingered the pistol tucked in his waistband, then nodded. "Keep a few paces behind me."

They walked right round to the opening, Will hanging back a ways as instructed. They entered the warehouse, and he took a good look round, adjusting to the dim, flickering light of the lone lantern. The place was cavernous, rafters at least thirty feet up, and all the walls stacked with crates and barrels and chests. A ten-foot-wide path was kept clear down the center, the wood floorboards slick from the rain washing in from the open doorway. Will saw the cart at the far end, and as they slowly drew closer, he got his first look at Ned Hardcastle.

He'd heard him described as big, yet he was still shocked by the sheer massiveness of the man as he lifted a crate and placed it on the cart. Hardcastle was a towering, broad-shouldered giant of near seven feet. The large lantern threw its light upwards, spreading an eerie, demonish yellow-orange glow over Hardcastle's face and torso, over his wild thatch of gray-red hair, the ragged beard, the heavily tattooed chest. The man was a monster, and even though he must be at least sixty, Will knew he had the strength to kill them both barehanded.

Hardcastle heard them when they were still twenty feet away. "Who's there?" His voice boomed out above the storm.

"Well, get to work then, you lazy dogs. Barrow's ready to haul to the boat." He bent over to pick up the lantern.

Jack suddenly sprinted forward as Hardcastle bent down. He pulled out his pistol, stopping a mere five feet from the man. As Hardcastle stood up, Jack cocked the pistol, aiming it at his chest. Will came up close beside him, cutlass drawn.

"Ah." Hardcastle held the lantern up. "If it isn't Jack Sparrow himself. I expected you'd find me sooner or later. Who's your young friend?"

Will took one step closer. He could see now that Hardcastle was armed, a large dagger hanging in a waistband scabbard. "My name is Will Turner," he said boldly. "My father was Bill Turner."

Hardcastle laughed, a coarse, ugly sound. "What would a pirate know about justice?"

"Quiet," Jack snapped. "I'm not here to talk. Now set that lantern down slowly, and then you can put that dagger beside it."

"Whatever you say." But then Hardcastle looked straight at Will and grinned. "So, laddie, would you be Jack's favorite boy, eh?" He leered. "Good for buggerin', are ye?"

Rage flared up instantly, and Will lunged forward with his cutlass. Jack turned to shout something at him, and in that moment of distraction, Hardcastle flung the lantern hard, letting it fly, and the bottom caught Jack on the forehead, sending him stumbling backward. When the lantern hit the floor, the wick blew out, plunging the warehouse into darkness. Will's thrust met empty air as Hardcastle nimbly stepped aside. Will flailed, then spun round, only to be met by a staggering blow from Hardcastle's fist.

He crumpled to the ground, stunned. He heard the sudden report of Jack's pistol, looked for the smoke, and caught a glimpse of Jack still standing, pistol aimed at the spot Hardcastle had just been. Then the smoke dissipated and Will couldn't make out anything at all.

He scrambled away from where he'd last seen Hardcastle, ran into something hard, realized it was the cart. He rolled underneath it, his head reeling from the blow. He waited for the whirling motion to stop, listening intently. He couldn't hear any footsteps. Damn it. They'd completely lost the upper hand, because he couldn't control his rash reaction to Hardcastle's taunting words. Always too rash. No wonder Jack worried about his survival. And Jack, where was he? Was he safe? How could they deal with Hardcastle now?

He still had his sword. Will grasped it, fingers clenched hard. His head felt clearer now. Was that a footstep close by? He slowly inched out from under the cart, as quietly as possible. He thought about his father, about what Hardcastle had done to him. I'll fix this. Whatever it took, he felt ready. I'll fix the bastard good. If rashness had got him into this spot, perhaps greater rashness would get him out.

He carefully stood up. Too quiet. Where was Hardcastle? Then he heard a cry, followed by a loud thump, not far off, but he couldn't quite tell which direction. Fear gripped him. Was it Jack? Had Hardcastle found him?

And then the storm sent salvation. Lightning hit the bay again, brilliantly illuminating the entire warehouse, and in that sudden light Will saw, not ten feet away, Hardcastle standing over Jack, dagger in hand. Jack lay flat on his back on the floor. Will saw Jack turn his head, saw the streak of red staining his white shirt, and he heard Jack moan. And in the next instant, darkness returned.

Will charged. He didn't need the light. Rage drove him, a crazed, white-hot hatred tore through him as he crashed headlong into Hardcastle, knocking him away from where Jack lay. They fell to the ground together, rolling over as they smashed against the wood floor. Will's right arm hit the floor so hard he lost his grip on the cutlass. He scrabbled for it, but Hardcastle got to his feet first and kicked it aside. Will grabbed Hardcastle by the leg, yanked hard, and the big man slipped on the wet wood, falling onto all fours. As Will levered himself up, his hand touched metal. The lantern. He picked it up as he stood, and swung it hard at his enemy's head.

Metal hit bone, and Hardcastle grunted, dropping down further. Will raised the heavy lantern over his head and brought it down with all his might, and heard the satisfying crunch of metal on bone again, and the groan as Hardcastle collapsed face down on the floor.

I'll kill him. The bastard needs to die. Will brought the lantern down again, the white-hot fire consuming him, filling him, taking control of him. "I'll kill you!" he shouted. He dropped the lantern next to Hardcastle's unmoving form, and got on his hands and knees to scour the floor for his cutlass. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness. He heard movement, looked towards the sound, and spied Jack's shirt, pale gray in this world of shadows. "Will... it's over. He's not moving."

"no." He crawled about, sweeping his hands across the floorboards. "He needs to die." Where was that damned sword?

He kept searching, anger and burning hatred overwhelming him. "He hurt my father." He'd finish what his father had wanted to do. His hand touched something cold and hard. His cutlass. He grasped at it, cutting his fingers on the blade's point. Ignoring the pain, he found the edge, traced it up to the hilt, and took the sword in hand.

He stood, trying to see in what dim light shone from outside. The storm had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and a few stars twinkled through the clouds. Will rubbed his eyes, then walked towards the dark form lying on the floor not far off.

His mind flooded with images from Jack's tales of the Intrepid, images of his father and Hardcastle, of the pain and torment, of a time and place long past, memories over which he had no control. But he had control over this man's life. Here and now he could banish the pain forever. He reached Hardcastle, and kicked at him. Hardcastle didn't move. Will raised his sword.

Will glanced behind him, the faint light outlining Jack's form close by. He lay propped up on one elbow, his other arm held tight against his side, against the blood-stained shirt. Hardcastle had hurt his father, now he'd hurt Jack... Will gripped the cutlass in both hands, held it over Hardcastle's prone body, aimed at the center of his back. "I've killed men before."

Will's hands trembled. Pain lanced through them from the cuts, blood made his hold slip. He gazed down at Hardcastle, hating him, wanting him dead, half-crazed with the desire to kill him.

He couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood in his head... Will gripped the cutlass tighter, raised it to get more force into the blow—

—and then he heard Jack say clearly, "The man I came to love is not like this."

And he stopped his thrust in mid-air. He staggered backward, letting the sword fall harmlessly to the floor. The white-hot rage fell away, the images from the past crumbled into dust. Will stood there, gasping for breath, as if he'd nearly drowned and only just been rescued.

Will grabbed him, pulling him upward, holding him tight against his chest. "Thank you." He let go a bit, prodding at Jack's side. "Where are you hurt? How bad is it?"

"I'll live." He guided Will's probing fingers to a gash running along his ribcage, which felt long but not deep. "What about you?"

Will pulled him close again, resting his forehead against Jack's. "Small cuts. I'll survive." The tension was flooding away from his body, replaced by quiet ease. Jack loved him. He hadn't thought those words were needed, and they really weren't, for he knew Jack loved him. He'd known it for a long time. Jack didn't have to tell him. He'd already told him before, in other ways. Tonight, Jack said it to bring him back from the edge of a cliff. He said it to save my life.

Will smiled. He kissed Jack's forehead. "Brother Jonathan," he replied softly, "I think you saved someone's soul after all."

The Governor's balcony with its grand view of Port Royal's harbor had always been one of Will's favorite spots. A warm afternoon breeze caressed his face as he stood at the stone balcony, gazing out to sea. The Pearl lay at anchor in the bay, with the Revenge nearby. They'd brought her here as a prize after dropping Hardcastle off at Tortuga with Norrington's contingent of soldiers there. Hardcastle's head injuries were serious, but a navy doctor there assured Will he'd soon recover enough to be hanged. That suited Will just fine.

So now he had reached the point of wondering, what next? He turned to look at the wicker chaise set out on the balcony, where Jack stretched out, enjoying a cup of tea. Will smiled. Jack's wound had bled quite a bit, but had not been deep, had not threatened anything vital. But he'd played up his injury as soon as they arrived here, pretending to be weaker than he was in order to take full advantage of Governor Swann's hospitality, his comfortable beds, his fine food and even finer wine cellar. Two weeks they'd stayed at the house, until this morning Swann's physician declared Jack to be shamming. Will looked at his own bandaged hand, where the cuts on his fingers were nearly healed. Swann had been courteous but firm in his suggestion that they be on their way by evening.

And where will we go? What will we do? Will turned to look out over the bay again, at the Pearl. Freedom. To do what?

"You having any tea?" Jack asked. "No, thanks." Will looked beyond the ship, beyond the bay, to the far horizon. Free to go anywhere at all, and no idea what he wanted.

He heard Jack get up, cross to the wall. Jack stood close beside him, leaning his arms on the stone wall's wide ledge. Jack's hair flowed freely, no bandana keeping it in check today. He gazed out at the bay. The soft breeze blew inward. "Hope the winds change by evening."

"I'm sure you are." Will started to ask him more about those thoughts of his, when they were interrupted by the arrival of Commodore Norrington.

They turned round to greet him. He had a rather satisfied expression. "I have several pieces of information, gentlemen, that should interest you keenly. First, I've just received word from Tortuga. Hardcastle recovered, was condemned for his recent acts of piracy and murder, and was hung two days ago."

Will felt a huge sense of relief, and a great release from the burden of seeking vengeance. "That's good news." The brute would never harm another soul, and his father was avenged.

"Indeed. I have more good news. The government has offered to purchase The Revenge as a naval vessel. The prize money is substantial."

"Good." Norrington stared down at his boots, as if contemplating his next words. When he looked up at them again, he said, "Now then, the Governor and I have been in consultation lately regarding your future." He coughed a little to clear his throat. "As you're aware, Britain never remains at peace for very long. There will be other wars, other opportunities for privateering. But in between those times, during those lulls of peace, the British government occasionally employs intelligence agents." He raised a sceptical eyebrow at Jack on the word intelligence. "In other words, spies. We send them off on various missions, investigating reports of dubious activities or odd incidents, things which might be of interest to the government, sometimes even looking into special criminal activity that regular militia can't handle." He paused, letting the effect of his words sink in.

Jack crossed his arms, looking unconvinced. "Would this 'criminal activity' mean going after pirates? That wouldn't be to my liking, mate."

Norrington gave him an odd look. "I believe you once told me that the Black Pearl was the last real pirate threat in the Caribbean."

Will watched Jack's face, saw the emotions flickering across it—recollection, disbelief, then comprehension. There's no need for him to worry about betraying his own kind, Will thought, if there truly aren't any pirates left.

"That's your doing." Jack pointed an accusatory finger. "Though there are still plenty of pirates in the far east. Maybe I'll go join them. Far away from you."

"Now, now," Norrington replied. "Don't be recalcitrant. It's a very generous proposal we're making, and you will naturally be well recompensed for your efforts, you and all your crew."

"I find it intriguing," Will said to Jack. He rather liked the idea of being an intelligence agent. It held the promise of adventure and action, but wouldn't be as dangerous as going after warships in all-out battle.

"Do you now?" Jack cast him a warm glance. "Sound like a grand adventure, does it?"

Will hesitated. Last time he'd wanted a grand adventure, things had gotten far more complex than he'd bargained for. "Well, a little bit, yes," he admitted. Yet with Jack by his side, he honestly had no worries. Things might not always go according to plan, they would hit rough spots on the way, but they'd find a way to survive together. They always had. He favored Jack with a quick smile. "I do know what we're in for. And I'm game."

"Well, then, I tell you what." Jack turned to Norrington. "We'll be taking a small trip, be back here one month from now. We'll give you our answer then."

"Fair enough," Norrington said. He started to leave, then stopped. "And do please refrain from any dubious activities whilst you're gone." Then he continued on his way.

Will waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to Jack. "You're going to accept the offer, aren't you?"

They stayed on the balcony a while longer, and then later took advantage of one final supper from the Governor's cook. As they left Swann's mansion afterwards, in the early evening, Will noticed the breeze had picked up, and changed direction. Now it blew out to sea.

They went down to the dock and took a boat out to the Pearl. Jack gave the sailing orders to the crew, left Gibbs at the helm, and as usual went down to his cabin to chart their course. And as usual, Will went with him.

Jack started to pull a chart from a cabinet, then paused. He reached deep inside, and pulled out the silver lockbox, setting it on top of the cabinet.

Will watched him, feeling uneasy, recalling the last time he'd seen that box, and the way Jack reacted when he'd asked what was inside. The specter of Nate Flynn arose, just when he thought the past had been vanquished. He cautiously stepped closer. "Is that still a secret?" he dared to ask.

"It never really was." Jack untied the sash he always wore round his waist. He searched its folds, then slit open several stitches with a fingernail, and pulled a small key from the hiding place. He slid it into the lock, and popped the box lid. "It had naught to do with what you asked me that day."

Will, burning with curiosity, saw him take out a silver chain. When he held it up, Will saw a silver cross dangling from it. He frowned. Nothing to do with Flynn? "Whose is it?"

Jack fingered the tiny cross, smiling. "Wonder how many times I've made him turn in his grave?"

"I don't believe it." Surely Jack was having him on? Of all the occupations he could have imagined for Jack's father, that had to be the last on the list of probabilities. Then he suddenly remembered Jack's vocabulary, and his ability to impersonate men of the cloth with ease. He stared at the cross. "It's true?"

"Fairly well-read, yes. And my mother ran a grammar school. We had a lot of books. Never much money, of course." He carefully tucked the necklace back in the lockbox. "They both died at the same time, of the plague." He turned the key in the lock again, and set the box inside the cabinet.

"But I thought you had something in there of—" Will stopped himself in time from saying Flynn's name.

Will put as much sympathy as he could in his voice. "Then you have nothing of his?"

The silver ring with the black oval center. The ring he never took off. Of course. He reached out to take Jack's hand in his, studying the ring. "It's beautiful."

Jack closed his hand over Will's, drew him close for a long, sweet kiss. Something happened in that moment, something solemn that formed between them, an understanding that the past was truly gone now. They were both ready to face their future together.

Then Jack released him and turned back to the cabinet. He pulled out a chart and spread it out on the table.

"So," Will asked, "where is it we're going on this trip of yours? And why did you tell Norrington it would take a month?"

"Because I want that much time to spend with you." Jack pored over the map, found the spot he wanted, and jotted down the bearings. "Alone, that is. In a very special place."

Will looked at the spot on the chart. Realization dawned. It was their deserted island.

"You may not remember," Jack said, "but the first thing I did when Gibbs rescued us was to mark the bearings. We can have him drop us off there, just you and me." Then he frowned. "Only with better supplies. And better food." He stopped frowning and grinned. "And a good deal more rum."

"Our island." Will was astonished. Their relationship had been at its lowest point when they'd been rescued, they'd had the greatest strain between them then. "I thought, back then, that you didn't want me going with you any longer. If you didn't want me to stay with you then, why did you mark the spot?"

"Because on that island," Jack replied, "I loved you. And I wanted to remember that."

His words took Will's breath away. It took him some moments to recover his senses, to get his brain to work again. All that time he'd spent worrying over Jack's reaction to his romantic declarations, and now he finally knew the truth. Will grinned. "You're a sentimental fool."

"You are. The ring. The cross. The mark on the chart. Why, you've probably had more romantic notions than I have!"

Will crossed his own arms in response. "You," he said firmly, "are not telling the truth. You're a dishonest man. And you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest."

"I am not—" Jack started to wave an admonishing finger at him, stopped, tilted his head, and put the finger to his chin instead. "Oh." He frowned. "Well, you could be right."

"I am right." Will closed the few paces between them. He took Jack's hands in his, guided Jack's arms around his own waist.

Will wrapped his arms around Jack's waist. He brushed Jack's lips with his, and whispered, "Can it not wait?" Jack closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Will's. "Wouldn't want to get lost out here."

"No worries," Will said softly. "Besides, how far can we possibly sail before we get lost?"

"You and I?" Jack replied. He smiled as he held Will tightly. "As far as forever, mate."

And so the Pearl sailed long into the night on chartless seas, gliding smoothly beneath a canopy of stars, free to chase after another far horizon.

Pirate Dreams

Chapter 8