Pirate Dreams 13

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.

Will sat on a marble bench beneath a vine-covered arbor. One of these days I'm going to learn. Trust. Loyalty. Honesty. He had grown up priding himself on these traits. Yet this wasn't the first time he'd had trouble keeping to his own moral standards where Jack was concerned. It had been just a few short months ago that Jack had temporarily lost his memories. Will had helped recover those memories by deliberately steering their conversation to the Nighthawk and the loss of Nate Flynn. Yes, he had done it as a way of jarring loose Jack's buried past. He had certainly believed at the time it was the best way to accomplish his ends. Yet he had also known that Jack had kept those specific memories from him, Jack's pain at the way he had lost Flynn was something he had not wished Will to know about. Will suspected as much, but pursued the matter anyway, needing to know for his own reasons if Jack could truly love someone. He had let his emotions rule him.

This time, he had known he was making a mistake even as he made it, yet he still couldn't stop himself. He'd been too afraid of losing Jack, and the demands of his heart had forced his high ideals to the wayside.

During his childhood, growing up in London, Will had known what was right. He knew the poverty they dwelled in was wrong, that the way his mother suffered was wrong, and that the right thing to do was to work hard to help her. And to never do anything that would make her ashamed of her only child. His duty had always been clear. As he continued growing up here in Port Royal, he had looked to the naval officers as guides for his behavior. He had admired their loyalty, their dedication, and their sense of purpose. He strove to emulate them, tried to instill a sense of self-discipline within himself. He worked hard to learn his trade, and when he discovered the joys of fencing, he trained hard to master the skill. His world was simple, with a clear vision of how things were, and not only that, how he believed things ought to be.

Not until Elizabeth had been kidnapped, not until he had run into Jack Sparrow, had Will ever questioned his beliefs. Then he had found himself breaking laws, freeing Jack from jail, commandeering a Royal Navy ship, becoming a pirate. Becoming exactly the type of man he despised most, all for love. It had been the right thing to do, and he firmly believed that had he not acted as he had, Elizabeth very likely would have died.

This current situation was different, for no one's life was at stake. He had done it merely to satisfy his own curiosity, not from love but from jealousy. And even though that jealousy stemmed from love, one could hardly call it a noble sentiment. No, his clear cut world of right and wrong, of black and white, had developed hazy edges, had fallen into gray shadow. Will wanted to find his way back to the light.

Though not at the expense of love. That would be too high a price to pay for a simpler world. No, his life would never be simple so long as he was in love, and he needed it, he needed Jack. He had never been the kind of man who gave up easily. He would try again, keep making mistakes until he figured out the rules for this new, more complicated world. Until he figured out how to keep Jack in his life once and for all.

Will heard a rustling sound, and looked up to see Elizabeth Swann walk into the rose garden, wearing a splendid sky-blue dress. He instantly rose to greet her. "Elizabeth. It's so good to see you."

She took his hands in hers and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "I saw you from the house. Your head was bowed, I was worried about you."

They sat down together beneath the arbor, the afternoon sunlight filtering through high hazy clouds. Will was glad she had come down to see him. They had always been able to talk easily when they were children, something they lost when they became adults, when they thought they were in love. Things had got very awkward between them then, until they finally sorted out their true feelings, coming to the realization that their affections were more like those of siblings than those of romance. After she returned from England, he'd spoken with her on several occasions, and found that their former camaraderie had fully returned. He had missed it, and felt glad to have someone to confide in.

"You looked sad," she said. "Even from up there." She nodded towards the mansion's second-floor windows. "Is something wrong?"

"Will," she said sympathetically, "you are young. So am I. It isn't a crime. But foolish? You were never that."

"That wasn't foolishness," she replied. "You couldn't say anything because you were worried I would tell you to go find a nice servant girl to fall in love with."

He saw the truth in her words. Elizabeth had been out of his class. Even though they had known each other well, he did always harbor the thought that while a governor's daughter might be friends with a blacksmith, she would certainly never love one. "You may be right."

Will hesitated, unsure how to phrase his particular problem without saying too much about his feelings for Jack. After some consideration, he said, "Well, you know how Jack likes to play things close to the vest? Keep things to himself, so you never know what he's thinking?"

"I'm quite sure that's because he doesn't know himself what he's thinking half the time," she replied.

"Yes, well, we've got to be... well, good friends now, and of course I'm naturally curious to know more about his past. And um... an old friend of his turned up here in Port Royal, and I wanted to hear their conversation. But Jack wouldn't let me stay, so I snuck into the room next door and listened in through the key hole."

"Oh, I saw that friend of his when he came into the house. Another captain, wasn't he?"

That hadn't been his concern. But she didn't need to know his real concern, that Flynn's attractions were being admired at this very moment by Jack Sparrow. "I spied on them, and Jack caught me doing it."

"He'll forgive you. I can't imagine him staying angry with you long. I know how to get Jack Sparrow to do what you want. Get him some rum, he'll forget all about it."

"I see. You do want to make amends, though, yes? It's terribly important to you to stay friends with him?"

How did he phrase this so as not give anything away? "I've found a life aboard the Pearl that I've come to care about deeply," Will said carefully. "I've found a home there."

"Jack's home." She looked at him closely, as if trying to see inside his mind. "It matters that he's there with you."

"It matters." He suddenly felt nervous, wondering if she had worked out his true feelings for Jack. He found he was twining his fingers together, and consciously stopped. "Tell me, what would you do if you injured a friendship?"

She took his hand in hers. "I would apologize, of course. If my friend truly cared deeply for me, I would be forgiven."

"And that's what you would do yourself, were you the injured party? You'd forgive your friend?"

"If I loved him, yes." She clasped his hand warmly, then stood. "It's really quite simple. You make it difficult in your head, but your heart can make it simple again if you only listen to it."

He let go her hand. "Thank you." Then he watched her walk back through the garden towards the mansion.

It wasn't until she had disappeared from view that Will realized she had said him. If I loved him. Elizabeth's imaginary injured friend should have been female. She knew. And she had not let it bother her.

Will rose, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He needed to find Jack, needed to talk to him.

He walked through the grounds, heading back into town, hoping his apology wouldn't come too late.

Will had gone halfway down the hill on which the mansion stood when he came to a halt at sight of the harbor. The Destiny had sailed. No.

He ran the rest of the way, down to the Port Royal Inn, searching for Jack. He wasn't in their room. Will tore off to the Broken Arms, where he nearly collided with Gibbs coming out of the tavern. "Hold up there, boy." Gibbs steadied himself.

Will waited, but Gibbs clearly had been drinking off and on since their arrival, his eyes half shut, his stance barely upright. He blinked at Will as if seeing him for the first time.

"Hm? Oh, aye, Jack. Stopped in some time ago it was now, with that other one. The bloke with the fancy hat."

"That one? Jack was on about showing this bloke where to clean. Gone up the coast, they have."

Will frowned, puzzled, until he recalled Flynn's question to the Governor about needing a spot to clean the ship, and something else... he concentrated on remembering the unfamiliar word. Then it came to him. Careening. "What does that mean?" He'd not been on the Pearl that long, he didn't remember Jack ever doing such a thing, but he imagined it had to do with the ship's hull. "How do they clean the ship?"

Gibbs straightened a bit, seemed to come momentarily out of his drunken fog. "Well, son, they need a nice stretch of sandy shore so they can take her up at high tide, then beach her when the tide goes out. Then heel her over onto one side 'til the hull's in view, to clean off the barnacles and seaweed growing there. Those'll slow a ship down if not cleaned off regular. Then you run her out at another high tide, and back in again to heel her onto the other side."

If they had to wait for both tides, and beach the ship twice, that would take at least one day, more likely two since it would be difficult to clean at night. "How long will they be at it?"

"Likely two, three days, depending on how badly she's faring, how many crew are working."

"Nothing worse, if you've got someone after you," Gibbs agreed. "But this mate of Jack's, he's not in the way of causing trouble, is he?"

"He's been chasing a pirate," Will replied. "Have you heard of a Captain William Rosser? Master of the Ranger?"

Gibbs shook his head, and his eyes grew heavy-lidded again. "Don't believe I have." He shoved himself off the door frame, stumbling into the street.

"Wait." Will tried to hold him back. "What part of the coast did they head for?"

"Don't know." Gibbs shook him off. "Don't fret, boy. They'll be back soon enough." Then he staggered off down towards the wharf.

No help there. Will sighed, looking out to the Pearl. He wouldn't have much luck trying to get her crew to sail after the Destiny, not without knowing where she went. He glanced inside the tavern. And not with most of the crew being three sheets to the wind. He could find a smaller boat, go after them. The locals must know the best spot for careening, he could find them. Will started towards the quay, but he didn't get far before stopping. He was being stupid and foolish again. Jack didn't want him there, intruding on him and Nate for a second time. He needed to do what Jack had asked him to do. Trust. Had he learned nothing today?

Will sighed, turned round, and went into the Broken Arms. He avoided the crew members, taking a seat in a dark corner.

After one tankard, however, Will gave up. The drink did not cheer him, instead it made him feel lonely. He enjoyed drinking with Jack, not by himself. Nor did he wish to join the crew, who looked well on their way to another evening of heavy carousing.

So he returned to the inn for a light supper. Then he decided to take an after-dinner constitutional, and he strolled off along the harbor road.

As he walked along, Will couldn't help but wonder what Jack and Nate were doing right now. Were they sitting together on a beach, in front of a fire, talking over old times? Would Jack's reservations about the truth of Flynn's explanations gradually wear away? Flynn may not drink, but would he encourage Jack to do so, not that Jack ever needed much encouragement. Will tried not to think about what that might lead to. He didn't want to think about how far they might renew their acquaintance.

He had followed the road past the end of town, where it wound around the headland. The sun began its descent, throwing orange-red reflections across the sea. Will halted, gazing back towards the harbor, where he could make out the Pearl, and not far from it, the Dauntless. He looked to the town, where lamps were coming to life in the houses and along the waterfront. The town and the ships appeared so small from here, not quite real. Yet life went on there, people ate, drank, fought, loved. Their lives went on as the sun set in the sky, while the earth and moon continued their celestial motions. The seas continued their gentle ebb and flow, ships sailed on, and nothing and no one paid any heed to one young man standing apart.

A cool breeze whispered through Will's hair, and he shook himself. He didn't care to spend the evening steeped in melancholia. He just wanted to be with Jack, and couldn't. That was all.

Two or three days.... Flynn's crew would clean one side of the hull, then right the ship on the next high tide, and then what would Flynn and Jack be doing while they were waiting for the low tide to come? Alone in Flynn's cabin? With nothing to occupy their time?

Will realized he was biting his lower lip, and stopped. He turned around, walking towards the lights of the town. Fires being lit in the hearths, wives ready to welcome home husbands, mothers waiting for sons. Lamplight and candlelight, warm and welcoming.

He leapt from the bed, threw on his clothes and boots. He snatched up his cutlass and dashed down the stairs. What if Flynn had told both Swann and Jack a pack of lies? What if he were really a pirate, always had been, and had an aim to sack the city? His story was a ruse to allow him to check Port Royal's defenses, and to snatch away the captain of one of the only two ships in the harbor that could mount a counterattack. He knew he shouldn't have let Jack go off with the bastard.

When he reached the street and got a view of the harbor, Will saw a frigate, a haze of smoke around her cannon ports. Not the Destiny. He tried to spy her colors. Were they flying a black flag? Just then the ship's cannons fired again, and Will belatedly realized what they were firing at. The Pearl.

He heard answering cannon fire from the fort, but saw the shots fall short. Will raced down to the tavern in search of the crew. The Pearl was virtually unmanned, a helpless target. But when he flung open the door of the Broken Arms, he found a room full of unconscious, sleeping men. Anamaria, too, lay sprawled across a table, a tipped-over flagon by her head. Damn them. Jack's discipline of his crew had often been too lax, the crew members little more than the dregs of Tortuga's outcasts. Now their over-indulgence might cost Jack his ship.

Will ran into the street, heading towards the wharf. He couldn't do much by himself, but perhaps he could find help. When he reached the dock, he saw Commodore Norrington climbing into a longboat filled with marines. Heading for the Dauntless, no doubt. Will looked at the Pearl. Her hull stood riddled with holes from the frigate's broadsides. But she'd stopped firing in that direction. The crew already aboard the Dauntless were preparing to open fire, and the frigate now turned her attention to the larger ship.

No point in going to the Pearl, Will thought. Those broadsides had thoroughly raked the gun ports. He jaunted down to the end of the dock and hailed Norrington. "Let me aboard!"

Norrington cast him a frustrated look, clearly not wanting to deal with a civilian, albeit one in his employ as a spy.

"You know I can fight!" Will cried. "Will you stand on ceremony, or will you let me help save your ship?"

"Very well." Norrington waved him aboard. As Will climbed in among the marines, he added, "Keep out of my men's way, and obey my orders."

Will did so, pulling hard, and the boat glided swiftly across the bay towards the Dauntless. As they drew near, he could see the frigate's colors clearly. A jolly roger, bearing a full skeleton holding a sword. The Ranger? Was this William Rosser's ship? It was unlikely to be any other. Perhaps he'd grown tired of being hunted, and had decided to turn the tables on his pursuer. Perhaps he'd come here looking for Flynn.

They reached the Dauntless safely, and climbed aboard. Norrington strode to the helm to take command, issuing orders as he went. Will kept out of the way, knowing he would be of most use if the frigate closed for boarding. The top deck was crowded with men working the nine-pounders the Dauntless carried. Will stayed well clear of the guns, making his way to the head, first because he was unlikely to be in anyone's way there, and second, having been in such a rush since waking, he rather needed to use it.

When he finished, Will stayed there, leaning on the rail by the bowsprit, watching the cannon battle between the two ships. They seemed fairly well matched in arms, but the frigate had got in the first volleys, taking both the Pearl and the Dauntless by surprise. Will could hear Norrington shouting above the blasts, trying to get the gun crews to load and fire more rapidly. He saw the crews work frantically but methodically as they loaded their shot, ran out their guns, and fired. The booming nearly deafened him.

Smoke soon made it difficult to see, and now to the cannon fire was added musket and flintlock. Through the haze Will saw several men fall from the enemy's rigging, saw the numerous holes in her sails. Then he looked up at the Dauntless' foremast, which he stood closest to, and with dismay he saw its canvas hanging in pieces.

As he stared at it, he heard something whizzing overhead, and with a sense of disbelief he watched a chain shot tear the foremast in two. He instinctively ducked as the huge mast collapsed onto the deck, missing him by several feet but sending huge splinters flying. One of them ripped into his back, a shooting flare of pain in his shoulder. Will struggled to reach behind to pull it out, involuntarily letting loose a sharp cry when he succeeded.

The wood he'd yanked from his shoulder was six inches long. His hand was smeared with blood. He sank onto the deck, shoving his back against the frame that enclosed the head, needing something to stanch the bleeding and unable to reach the wound. Dammit, this wasn't fair. He'd be useless like this in a close fight, before he'd even had a chance. He couldn't let this hold him back. Will pulled his shirt free from his breeches, tore off a wide strip along the bottom. He wadded it up, reaching behind to stuff it inside the top of his shirt against the wound as best he could. Then he pulled his jerkin tight, buttoning it all the way.

He brushed his bloody palms against the rough cloth of the jerkin, then slowly pushed himself up. The deck was a chaos of shouts, gunfire, and smoke. But he realized he'd heard no cannon fire since that last shot which had brought the foremast down. Then the smoke cleared a bit, and he saw why. The frigate had closed with the Dauntless, and her men were boarding. They were ragged, wild, more beasts than men, heavily armed with multiple pistols, swords, cutlasses, cudgels. Will couldn't see or hear Norrington, had no idea what the orders were, so he simply stepped forward into the fray.

The splintered wood had ripped into the back of his right shoulder, so Will fought left-handed. In his relentless sword training, he'd taught himself to fight well with either hand, and he had no trouble hacking his way through this crowd of brutish attackers. The cutlass was not a weapon designed for finesse, and he used it as it was meant to be, stabbing point first into any soft spot he could manage, then using the hilt as a bludgeoning tool. He fought hard, fast, and close, jabbing one man in the thigh, striking the next over the head with the thick hilt, parrying the next man's sword, spinning round to thrust the cutlass into his back. Blood flowed over the deck as the marines closed with the pirates, men fell all around him, he had to struggle to keep his balance.

He was nearly amidships, fighting a knot of five pirates with help from two marines, when Will suddenly felt the ship lurch violently. He fell backwards onto the deck. He instinctively brought his left arm up, cutlass in hand, to ward off any coming blows, but the attackers had fallen as well. And then he heard Norrington yelling from close by, with an answering bellow from the frigate. He couldn't believe what he'd heard. The Commodore had asked for quarter.

Will had imagined a man capable of torture and wholesale slaughter would appear less human. Yet Captain William Rosser of the pirate sloop Ranger looked unexpectedly bland and ordinary. He was a moderate sized, middle-aged man with thinning wisps of blond hair sticking out from beneath his well-worn hat, a bleary-eyed, red-nosed countenance, and a decided paunch to his belly. He could have been any lower-class tradesman who was too fond of his beer.

This unassuming fellow had cut a swath of death and terror upon the seas. Will knew he would be wise not to underestimate him.

He had learned that Norrington's ignominious surrender was occasioned by a broadside from the Ranger which so crippled the Dauntless that she had started to sink. That, and the fact the marines were outnumbered by Rosser's pirate crew, and Norrington had lost too many men in the fight. Rosser's crew had rapidly ransacked the Dauntless as she listed in the water, taking food, rum, arms, and even managing to offload six of her cannon. Then Rosser randomly grabbed a dozen of the sailors, obviously with a mind to impress them to service, and Will wound up among them, shunted onto the pirate sloop. Rosser left the other men, including all the marines, but he took Norrington as a potential hostage. Then he sailed the Ranger out of the bay, turning south, then westward, running along the coast.

Now he stood before the group of captured men, who were gathered in a tight knot on the main deck, surrounded by Rosser's crew. Norrington and Will were at the front. Will's shoulder ached fiercely and he felt slightly weak, though he thought he'd succeeded in stanching the bleeding.

"You're a sorry looking lot of buggers." Rosser spat on the deck. "Hardly worth pressing." He turned to snap at one of his crew. "Marston! Bring the articles!"

"You'll have no luck recruiting my men," Norrington told him. "Not voluntarily."

"Doesn't matter to me," Rosser said. "They'll sign the articles, or they'll hang." He circled the group of frightened sailors. "Do you hear me, you pack of bilge rats? You'll all put your mark to the articles of my command, or we'll keelhaul every man Jack of you." He sneered. "And that'll be just the beginning."

Marston reappeared bearing several sheets of parchment. He held one up and began to read. "Every man shall obey civil Command. The Captain shall have one full share and a half in all prizes, the Master, Carpenter, Boatswain, and Gunner shall have one share and a quarter. If any man shall offer to run away, or steal from the Company, or game or dice for money, he shall be marooned with one bottle of powder, and bottle of water, one small arm and shot. If any man show cowardice during an engagement, or fail to keep his arms clean and fit, he shall be marooned or shot."

He took a moment's pause, and Norrington broke in. "Damn your pirate code, and damn your hides! We'll have none of it!"

Marston looked to Rosser, who shooed him away. Rosser stepped close to Norrington, eye to eye. "That's not very friendly, Commodore. And who knows but what your men would like to speak on their own account?"

Will scanned the sailors' faces around him. Despite their fear, they all stood proudly defiant.

"Speak up," Rosser cried. "Any man who joins my company gets a fair share of any prize, and fair treatment so long as he does his duty. We all stand to make our fortunes, gentlemen. Why, we've made ours a dozen times over!" He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "And we spent 'em a dozen times over! Live like kings, we do, and we'll do so again. Why slave for this tarted-up pissant?" He cocked his head at Norrington. "For naught but hardtack and weevils, when you can sail with us and have your fill of silver and gold?"

Will looked round at them again, seeing no hint of temptation on any of their faces. He turned to Rosser. "Other people's gold," he said sharply. "Stained with their blood."

"Oh, so we have a bold lad here, have we?" Rosser came up close to Will, his rum-tinged breath tickling Will's cheek. Rosser nodded at Norrington. "You're two of a kind, are you? Noble, self-sacrificing fools. I've no use for fools."

Rosser stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Excellent!" He clapped his hands. "Do you hear that, Marston? He wants us to toss 'em all over the side!"

"Much as I like your idea," Rosser went on, "I believe I've a better one. I shall kindly allow the lot of you to spend some time in the hold, 'til you come to your senses. Perhaps a month or three down there, on quarter rations, no hammocks, no head, no light, and naught but the rats for company. How do those accommodations suit you?"

Rosser narrowed his eyes, then grimly smiled. "Very good. But first, I need to know where a certain ship might be, what was seen heading to your island. I've a mind to rid myself of her once and for all. She's a sloop called the Destiny."

Will stood straighter, ignoring the brief, stinging pain. "I've never heard of the ship."

Rosser glanced round at the sailors. "Any of you lot heard of the Destiny? It's a gold piece to the first man who can tell me where she's heading!"

"So it's like that, is it? You load of scurrilous dogs can rot for all I care. Marston!"

The man must be Rosser's first mate, Will thought. Marston was a tall, skinny, pock-faced man with stringy black hair. He stepped forward. "Aye sir."

"We'll be sailing round this entire lump of rock, search all her ports, until we track that bastard Flynn to his lair. Take the prisoners below and secure them in the hold. No rations." He stomped off towards the helm.

"He'll find them," Will said to Norrington. Sooner or later, if Rosser sailed all the way round Jamaica, he'd run across the Destiny. And there was a good chance he'd find her careened. "She'll be helpless."

The sailors huddled together in the center of the darkened, damp hold, surrounded by barrels, crates and sacks of supplies. Norrington and Will stood a little apart, assessing their situation. Will could feel from the ship's motion that the Ranger was making good headway, she had a good wind. If there was any chance of making an escape, they had to take it before they ran out of time.

"There's but one way out of here," Norrington replied. He pointed at the thick wood of the locked-down hatch cover. A wooden ladder reached up to it. "Even if we all somehow got up there at once, we couldn't breach it."

Will sat down on a crate to think. Norrington took a seat nearby. "The tide is out now," he said.

"Damn." The Destiny would be beached. "Do you know where she went? Where would they have gone to clean?"

"Most likely to Oyster Cove, not far down the coast, to the west. Which is, unfortunately, the direction Rosser chose to go."

Will tried to concentrate. If they could get out of here, if they could surprise the crew... but how to get out?

Not many minutes later, the answer came to him. When the Pearl's crew were trapped in the hold by Crane, desperation drove them to set the hatch cover on fire. If ever there was an equally desperate time, this was it.

"Matches?" Norrington sounded horrified. "You're not thinking of setting a fire?"

"I am. To the hatch cover. The Pearl's crew did it when they were trapped during our mission, and it worked."

"No, that's too rash. It's too great a risk. The fire might consume us all before it weakens the cover enough to break through."

"I'm willing to take that chance," Will said. "I'll stay closest to the fire, I'll be the one to try staving in the wood."

"I won't fail," Will said. Not when Jack's life was at stake. "Besides, what other choice do we have? Or do you prefer to be keelhauled, and worse?"

Norrington sighed. "Suppose your plan does succeed, what then? We're none of us armed."

Will tapped the crate he sat on. "Break up some of these crates, and the barrels. Use the boards to bludgeon, the splintered pieces to stab."

After a few moments, Norrington said, "I'm beginning to think your idea may not be as untenable as I thought." He rose and crossed to his men. "You will break up these stores to fashion weapons for yourselves. You there, Carter. I have seen you smoking a pipe, have I not?"

Will stood, and came over to join him. "It would be even better to have something to act as a starter."

"Indeed." Norrington studied the crew members. "Ah, Mr. Howard. Give me your flask."

"This is no time for prevarication, man! I've seen you drinking from it often enough. I will forego a reprimand, just hand it over."

Norrington held the flask to his ear, jiggling it. "Nearly full. That should do." He handed it to Will, then turned to the sailors again. "Anyone with a neckerchief, give it to Mr. Turner. Then get to work on those crates."

The men did as ordered, and soon Will had seven neckerchiefs. He soaked six of them in the flask's brandy. The seventh he pressed flat to the damp floor of the hold, on both sides, soaking up as much water as he could. When he finished, he said, "Are your men ready?"

Norrington checked his sailors, now all holding broken boards and long splintered pieces of wood. "Ready," he said.

Norrington's men searched among the wreckage of the barrels and the crates they'd broken apart. Carter handed Will a sturdy piece of wood, two feet long, some three inches square.

Will tucked it under one arm, stuffed the soaked cloths inside the neck of his shirt, and pocketed the matches. Then he tied the water-soaked neckerchief round his head, covering his nose and mouth.

As he put his foot on the ladder, Norrington touched his arm. "Good luck. You're a brave man."

Will nodded his thanks, and heaved himself up one-handed, the stave under his right arm. This put less pressure on his injured shoulder, though it still gave him shooting pains as he slowly climbed, stopping on each rung before grasping for the next. He had got only halfway when he felt the ship slowing. no. Had they already reached the cove?

He kept on, having to regain his balance at each step because the weight of the stave made it hard to keep stable on the rungs. Will was nearly to the top when the ship veered, nearly throwing him off. He scrabbled for purchase, secured his footing. The ship slowed even more, until he could barely feel it moving at all. Will paused, resting, then carried onward.

When he reached the top, he propped the stave between the top rung and the bulkhead behind it simply to keep it out of the way. He crouched on the next rung down, his bad arm wrapped round the ladder to keep his balance. Then he carefully reached inside his shirt, took out the brandy-soaked neckerchiefs, and began stuffing them as best he could into the narrow gaps between the hatch cover's boards. It was difficult to get them to stay, though he found three boards with knotholes that he was able to cram the cloths into, and the corners provided some necessary pinching. After he got the last neckerchief crammed into place, Will paused to steady himself.

I have to do this for Jack. Whether or not Jack cared more for Nate Flynn right now didn't matter. Will still loved him. Whether Jack chose to stay with Flynn even after this, assuming they won the day, didn't matter. Even if he never saw Jack again, even if this were the last, stupid, foolish act he committed in the name of love, that didn't matter either.

He took the matches out, got one match in his hand. Will said one short, silent prayer, then struck it against the rough wood of the bulkhead, held it to one of the soaked neckerchiefs. The cloth instantly caught fire. He quickly touched off the other cloths, then took hold of the stave and moved down several rungs to wait.

The flames ate into the hatch cover, sending black smoke downward. The dampened cloth over his face helped a little, but not enough. Will coughed, then moved down another rung. He looked up, watching, waiting. The flames grew larger, flaring out into the bulkhead, then one flame licked at the ladder itself. Will's eyes itched from the smoke, tears streamed down his cheeks. Time to move, and move fast, or they'd not have another chance.

He grasped the rungs and moved upward again, fighting the heat, the smoke tearing into his lungs. He got as close as he could, then leaned forward against the rungs to help keep his balance as he grasped one end of the stave in both hands. Ignoring a new, sharper pain from his injured shoulder, Will thrust the stave upward as hard as he could, hitting the hatch cover. He felt the burned wood give, but not break. He rocked on the ladder, nearly losing his grip. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. But neither could he stop. Will steadied himself once more, got a better hold on the stave. Then he gathered all the strength he had left and rammed it into the hatch.

This time he heard the wooden cover crack, and splinters fell around him. Will shoved the stave hard into the hatch cover a third time, and it broke apart, burned wood falling into the hold and onto his head. At the same moment, the entire ship shuddered from stem to stern and the hold echoed with thunderous booms as the cannons above them fired a broadside. He slipped on the rungs, half falling, half sliding downward. Norrington caught him as he fell.

Will's head hurt. He gently touched it here and there, found what felt like a small gash on the top beneath his hair. He pulled off the dampened neckerchief and held it to his head. But he couldn't stay down here. The Ranger had clearly found the cove, and must be firing at the Destiny. He could hear the fighting up top. When they'd been on deck earlier, Will guessed the strength of Rosser's crew after the battle stood at forty to fifty men, and Norrington's dozen men would be hard put to defeat them. He needed to lend a hand.

He got to his feet, feeling unsteady. Will reached round to the shoulder wound on his backside, felt fresh blood seeping through his shirt, all the way through his jerkin. He took a few deep breaths, the smoke having dissipated upward. Then he tried again to stuff part of his shirt between the shoulder wound and his jerkin. He didn't wait to see if this was working. Instead, he searched among the broken crates for a sharp-pointed piece of wood, grabbed one, kept the stave as well, and climbed back up the ladder.

The hatchway cover still burned, the flames spreading onto the deck. Will pushed through the opening, dropping into a roll as he hit topside, away from the fire. He scrambled to his feet, trying to take in the chaos aboard. Norrington's men were engaged in a fierce fight on the main deck. They looked fairly evenly matched, and Will realized that a good number of Rosser's crew must be on the gun deck below, manning the cannons. Then he looked out across the water, and saw the cove's stretch of sandy beach, the Destiny lying hull up, blasted with cannon shot. Her crew had retreated to the woods some twenty feet beyond the shore, and he could see puffs of musket fire from behind the trees.

With no time to think, Will dashed into the melee on the main deck. He came upon a pirate crewman using a cutlass against one of Norrington's men, who battled back with nothing more than a board. Will swung his stave at the pirate's head, knocking him senseless to the ground. He knelt, grabbed the man's cutlass, and tossed it to the sailor. Then he found the man had two flintlocks tucked in his belt, and took them both. He stood, found himself facing another pirate, and instantly fired. The shot hit the man in the arm, but didn't stop him. Will fired the second pistol, hitting him in the chest. He collapsed at Will's feet.

Will bent down to search him, found a cutlass and another flintlock. As he stood up, the ship lurched from another broadside, and this time the cannon shot flew into the woods, smashing into the trees. He heard cries from the shore. Men had been hurt. Was Jack there? Will desperately wanted to go ashore, but he couldn't leave the fight here. Norrington's men were fighting bravely all around him, he couldn't just abandon them. All Rosser had to do was order his gun crew to go topside and join in the fray, and they'd soon be routed.

Then Will remembered he still had the matches. He searched for Norrington, the deck hazy with smoke coming from the fire they'd set. He spied a glimpse of white and red, and ran towards it. He found Norrington standing over a fallen pirate, holding a hand over a bloody arm wound. "Sir!" Will pulled him away from the main fight. "Give me five minutes, then get your men off the ship. Tell them to all jump overboard. It's low tide, they should be able to make it to shore. But they need to do it together, all at the same time."

"I'm going to find the powder magazine." Will held up the matches. Norrington nodded. "Five minutes. Give yourself time as well, man."

Will glanced back. Norrington let go his injured arm to snap a brief salute with the other. "Take care."

"Yes, sir." Will grinned, then made his way to the middle of the ship, and found the companionway leading down to the crew's quarters. From there he worked his way through the ship, avoiding the stern where the hold fire still raged. He searched for another companionway that might lead further down, and found it behind the officer's mess. And then, on the next lower deck, he found the powder room.

Will realized then that he hadn't heard the ship's cannon fire for some time. And that there was no one down here taking up powder for the gun deck. Rosser must have finally realized his mistake in keeping half his crew occupied with such a fruitless endeavor. He must have sent them topside to fight Norrington's men. Will needed to move more quickly.

He went inside the room, crowded with powder kegs. He broke through the nearest one with his stave, powder spilling out onto the floor. He knelt to scoop up handfuls of the stuff, trailing the black powder in a wide line from the barrels to the door, then along the decking for a good twenty feet. He thought he heard surprised shouts overhead, and a lot of splashing. He dearly hoped that was Norrington and his men jumping overboard.

Will lit a match, touched it to the end of his carefully laid out trail of powder. The powder flared to life, and the flame raced along, back towards the magazine. Will ran to the companionway, tore up it, heedless of his wounds. He dashed back along the crew's quarters, up the next companionway onto the main deck. Most of the pirates were by the hatch leading down to the hold, trying to put out the fire there. The rest stood lined along the rail, firing muskets and flintlocks at Norrington's sailors as they swam towards shore.

Not one of them noticed him at all. Will got up onto the rail, momentarily balanced there, then dove headfirst into the water. He swam hard, pulling away from the ship. He'd done this before once, in his escape from the Interceptor, and knew he needed to stay underwater, the safest place. Ten seconds, fifteen... he counted... it had to come soon... when he reached twenty, the powder room blew, the huge explosion reverberating through the water. Will felt a rolling motion, but he was now far enough away for it not to affect him strongly. He pulled upward for the surface, breaking through in time to see the Ranger sinking, a good number of her crew in the water, some dead, but many alive, striking for the shore.

Will did the same, stroking rapidly, fueled by his desire to find Jack. He reached the sand, staggered up onto the beach. He gasped, catching his breath, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was, how much his body ached. He fell onto his hands and knees, weariness finally taking control.

I need to get off the shore. He was too exposed out here, for he'd seen that many of Rosser's crew had survived. Will tried to rise, stumbled, fell back. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, struggling to fight his exhaustion. And then Will felt an arm under his, lifting him, supporting him. He opened his eyes.

They reached the cover of the woods, and Jack led him some ways in, until they came to a small clearing. There Will saw Norrington talking to Nate Flynn, with several of Norrington's sailors, as well as some of Flynn's crew, standing nearby. Jack guided him close to where Norrington and Flynn stood, then leaned Will against a large tree trunk. "Rest there. You don't look too good."

Norrington saw them, turned away from Flynn. "Turner! Thank God you made it out in time."

"We lost four." Norrington bowed his head. "But thanks to you, the rest are saved."

Jack crossed the few short feet to where Flynn stood, and clasped his shoulder. Flynn smiled and hugged him back, the silent exchange sending another shiver of jealousy through Will. He leaned against the tree, catching his breath, watching them, seeing how easy they were with each other.

Norrington turned to Flynn. "I have eight men, not counting Mr. Turner here. What is the strength of your crew?"

"We were taken by surprise," Flynn replied. "Half my men lost before we had a chance to reply. We're spread out now through the woods, we've spent our shot and are down to swords and daggers. I'd guess at best we have twenty men."

"I saw Rosser's men swimming to shore farther north from here," Will said. "There may have been as many as twenty or twenty-five survivors. It was difficult to tell. But I suspect that most of those men were the ones on top, lining the rails, the ones firing at Norrington's men in the water. So they may have spent all their shot as well. And if they didn't, the water might dampen it too much to use."

"Then we have a sword battle on our hands," Norrington replied. "And not one we can fight en masse, not in these woods. Nor can we return to more open ground on the shore, for if any of them do still have firearms, we would present far too easy a target. But here we can spread out in a line, and move as a line between the trees, making a sweep for Rosser's men."

"I'm not sure I can find all my men," Flynn said. "Not with the way we ran pell mell in here."

"Then we'll start with my men," Norrington replied, "and as we come across them, your crew can join us."

"That's a point," Flynn admitted. "Still, strange country, thick woods, difficult to see clearly for more than a few feet, and poorly armed. Not the most auspicious conditions for a successful engagement, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, my longboat is on the shore, undamaged. Help me round up my crew, I'm certain we could all fit with a bit of crowding."

Will started to feel his strength returning. He pushed off from the tree trunk, taking a few tentative steps towards them. "I thought you wanted to take Rosser no matter what the cost. You've chased him halfway round the world."

Flynn gave him a baleful stare. "I will catch him, there's no question of that. But I prefer to fight on familiar ground, with better odds, whenever I can."

"This is no time for debate," Norrington said. "We will follow my plan, and you will all follow my orders, and anyone who doesn't will be brought up on charges."

Jack grinned warmly at him. "Jimmy's always been like this. Best just to do what he says."

Jack nodded at Norrington, who gave out an exasperated sigh. "Really, Captain Sparrow, we have no time for diversion." He moved off to motion at his men. "Form a line, maximum of five feet between men, north to south. No, no, not that way. Right, that's better. Swords and cutlasses to the ready. Walk forward through the trees at my command, slow march." Having sorted out his men, he returned his attention to Flynn. "You will gather what men you have here and form them into a line ten feet behind ours. Is that clear?" "Couldn't be more so." Flynn favored him with a salute. "We'll fight as ordered, sir."

Will detected a slight note of disdain in his tone, but Norrington paid no heed. He ordered his men out, and they started off through the woods, heading towards the area where Rosser's crew had come ashore.

Flynn directed his crew to fall in behind, and as they headed off, he positioned himself between Jack and Will. Jack had barely paid any attention to Will after bringing him up from the beach. He'd immediately returned to Flynn's side. He didn't have time to figure out what this meant, nor did he have time to try talking to Jack, not in the middle of a fight. But he wished he could be fighting at Jack's side.

Will didn't like these woods, either. Closed in by these tall trees, poor light, difficult footing with all the roots and brush. As they worked their way through the woods, they came upon more of Flynn's crew, who fell in behind them. Will still had the pistol and cutlass he'd taken during the fight on the Ranger, though he had no additional shot, and his swim might have rendered the one shot he did have completely useless. He wouldn't know until he tried firing.

They continued moving through the woods in their spread-out lines, cutting a long, wide sweep through the trees. They had covered perhaps a hundred feet of ground when Will heard shouts ahead from Norrington's men, followed by the sound of clashing arms. They'd found Rosser's crew.

Will picked up his pace, pistol in his right hand, cutlass in the left. He couldn't see much of what was happening, just flurries of movement and color ahead, and he heard random yells. He heard a pistol shot, and saw a puff of smoke some fifteen feet to his right. He hated this kind of battle, with no way to tell where the enemy was, or to even see his companions clearly. He could still see Flynn about ten feet to his left, but he'd lost sight of Jack.

He plunged forward through the brush, between two towering trees, nearly tripping over a massive root. As he regained his balance, someone crashed through the brush to his right. He aimed the pistol in that direction. A pirate faced him, armed with a cutlass. Will pulled the trigger, but the flintlock merely sputtered, useless. He tossed it aside as the man closed on him, bringing his cutlass up to parry the blow.

The fight didn't last long. Will had more skill with a blade than most men, and the man he fought was already wounded, blood seeping from his shoulder. Will got in a jabbing cut to his thigh, and as he fell to his knees, Will bashed him on the head with the hilt. The pirate fell flat, unmoving.

When Will looked round, he couldn't see Jack or Flynn. The shouts and sounds of fighting had moved off further north. He headed that way, but as he came round a tree, he was jumped by a man hidden behind the trunk. They fell to the ground, rolling through the brush. The man was unarmed, and he grabbed Will's sword arm, struggling for the cutlass.

As they rolled about, Will kicked at him while holding tightly to his sword. He tried to land a blow with his right arm, but cried out as pain lanced through it from the shoulder wound. His blow landed weakly on the man's jaw, barely noticed. Then the pirate got in a punch to Will's gut, leaving him gasping for breath. But he would not let go the hilt, clutching it with every ounce of his strength.

They twisted and turned until free of the prickly brush. Will was on his back, the pirate above him, pinning him. Will's right arm lay useless, until he realized there was dirt and pine needles beneath his right hand. He grabbed as much as he could, and with a violent, agonized effort, tossed the handful into his enemy's face.

The man coughed, instinctively reaching up to brush the dirt from his eyes. Will twisted out from beneath him, wrenching his cutlass free. He thrust it into the man's back. The pirate let out a scream. Will tore the cutlass out as the man fell face forward onto the ground, writhing and twitching as he lay.

Will stayed on his hands and knees, feeling faint, sweating hard, gasping for breath. These were short, brutal combats, requiring muscle over skill, and they took more out of him than a longer fencing match using his well-honed expertise ever would. Nor did he rejoice in winning this kind of fight, for he never gloried in taking life, even in defense of his own.

The man he'd stabbed moaned, made a horrible gurgling noise, then stopping twitching and went utterly still. Will used a tree trunk to support himself as he rose to his feet, wanting to just get away from the spot. He stumbled off towards the north, where he'd last heard shouting, carrying his blood-soaked cutlass.

But the yells and clash of arms had faded, and he couldn't find either Flynn's or Norrington's men. He came into a clearing and stopped, listening. Brush snapped behind him and he whirled round, blade up. Nate Flynn ran into the clearing, panting, holding a rapier with blood on its tip. He halted a few feet from Will. "We're winning," he gasped. "I think." He bent over, placing a hand on his thigh, catching his breath.

"Where's Jack?" Will scanned the trees at the clearing's edge from the direction Flynn had come.

"Lost sight of him. He got farther north, more in the thick of the fray." Flynn straightened, pointing across the clearing. "That way, maybe, if he has sense enough to circle back."

Will started to take a step in the direction he pointed, but pulled up short at sight of a man lumbering into the clearing from across the way. The fellow held up when he saw them, stopping some twenty feet off. There was no mistaking him. They were facing Captain William Rosser.

And he had both a sword and a flintlock. He held the pistol chest high, aiming at Flynn, then hesitated, swinging his arm the few feet to the right of Flynn, now aiming at Will.

Will glanced at Flynn, saw that he had no pistol. They both stood there, frozen in place, as Rosser changed his mind again, aiming back at Flynn. He doesn't know which one of us to shoot, Will realized. He had one shot, no time to reload. Whichever one he shot, the other would be left to fight one-on-one. Rosser was trying to decide which of them was likely to be the better swordsman, undoubtedly wanting to leave alive the weaker enemy.

Then Will saw someone else coming through the trees, directly behind Rosser. Jack. He saw Jack freeze, taking in the scene. Rosser hadn't heard him, hadn't turned round, completely focused on his aim. He kept swinging the pistol from side to side, from Flynn to Will, back and forth. Jack slowly crept up closer to him, and Will saw, as he came fully into the clearing, that Jack had no weapon at all.

Will hoped to God that Jack wouldn't try to distract the pirate captain with a yell, for that would surely cause him to spin round and shoot Jack where he stood. Don't do anything stupid. But that only left one possible action. Jack could jump Rosser from behind. The only trouble was, the gun would most likely fire as soon as he hit the man, from sheer reflex. So Jack had a choice to make as well. Which of them, Will or Flynn, would Rosser be aiming at when he made his leap?

All these thoughts and suppositions went through Will's mind rapidfire, mere moments in time. He looked at Flynn, who stared straight ahead, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes wide. Rosser would most likely shoot Flynn, when he got around to making his choice, as he was the older of them, and therefore the most likely to be a more experienced swordsman. Rosser couldn't know of Will's skill with the blade.

He waited, staring at Rosser, and at Jack stealthily getting closer behind him. If Jack could save only one of them from Rosser's pistol shot, which one would he choose? Who would Rosser be aiming at when Jack made his move? Who did he want most to live?

I should move, Will thought. If I make a sudden move, Rosser will have to shoot me, and Jack won't need to make that terrible choice. Flynn didn't look injured, he and Jack stood a better chance at defeating Rosser together. Will tensed his body. But in the very instant before he made his move, Rosser shifted his aim at Flynn, and Jack sprang.

The gun went off as Jack toppled Rosser to the ground. Flynn cried out as the shot hit him. He dropped to his knees, clutching his side. Will saw the look of bewilderment in his eyes, then Flynn fell forward.

Will dashed towards where Rosser and Jack struggled on the ground, fighting for control of the sword. But Rosser saw him coming, shoved Jack aside, and leapt to his feet. He tore off into the trees, sword in hand. Will stopped, in no mood to chase after the man.

Jack got to his feet, looked at Will, tried to say something, then mutely shook his head. He shoved past Will, running to where Flynn lay.

As Will came up, Jack had turned Flynn onto his back, had torn the bloody shirt open, examining the wound. Flynn was breathing raggedly, but at least he was still alive. Blood seeped from where the shot had torn through his right side, just below his ribcage. Jack tore the sash he always wore from round his waist. "Help me."

Will knelt to help turn Flynn as Jack wrapped the sash around, binding it tightly over the wound. Flynn moaned. Jack grabbed his hand. "Nate, can you hear me?"

Will did what he could, lifting Flynn's legs, as they made their way south towards the shore. The sounds of fighting had died off, and Will wondered if that meant it had moved further inland or whether it was over. And if the latter, who had prevailed?

They rested often, the ground proving difficult. Will did his best to hang on, to offer some aid, but he grew increasingly weaker. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, and then Jack would be burdened with two men to haul to safety.

Keep moving. Will ordered his body to obey, fighting back the pain as they stumbled over roots and brush. Not much farther. He idly noted as he walked that the trees took on a hazy, shadowy quality, as if fading out of view. Will shook his head, and the woods became sharply clear again. He thought he heard voices nearby, calling, echoing... he shook his head again, but the voices were still there. Were they real?

They stepped through the last stand of trees lining the shore, staggering onto the sand. And there, standing by the longboat, was Norrington with several of his men, flanked by members of Flynn's crew.

Norrington instantly ordered his men to their aid, and they took over, taking Flynn to the boat. As soon as he was relieved of his charge, Jack went to Will, putting an arm round his waist, propping him up. "Come on, let's get you in there, too."

Will vaguely heard Norrington speaking to them as Jack helped him into the longboat. Something about routing the pirates, a successful engagement. Jack made him lie down in the bottom of the boat, right alongside Flynn. Will tried to sit up, thinking he wasn't that badly off, but Jack gently pushed him down again. "Rest, mate. You need it."

Moments later, he felt the boat being shoved into the water, saw men clambering inside, taking up oars. Then Jack knelt beside him. "How do you feel?"

"My shoulder hurts." Will couldn't begin to list all the aches and bruises he'd acquired. Then he touched the top of his head, remembering the cut he'd received there. "And my head."

Will frowned, unsure if he were teasing or not, hoping he was. "What about you?"

"Well, to be honest, I may have a scratch or two. But only from that damned brush."

"Prickly leaves," Will agreed. He looked up at the faces of the men rowing near him. "Where's Norrington?"

"He stayed ashore with a few of his men, to keep searching the woods. They killed or captured some eighteen of Rosser's crew, but he wanted to make sure they'd found them all. We're off to Port Royal for reinforcements."

Will turned his head as Flynn stirred beside him. Jack carefully shifted his position, kneeling close to Flynn, and taking his hand. "Nate?"

As Flynn gazed up at Jack, his brow creased, and he shuddered as he clutched his side. Then he said in a plaintive tone, "Why?"

Jack shut his eyes tightly, grimacing. When he opened his eyes again, he gave Flynn a game smile, nodded at Will, and replied, "He's a better swordsman."

Flynn cast Will a quick look, then turned to Jack, letting out a deep sigh. "That's not the real reason."

"You're sorry." Flynn shook his head. He closed his eyes. "You're sorry..." he repeated, muttering it like a curse.

Pirate Dreams

Chapter 13