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ON THE
HORIZON
BY: Fajrdrako*** On weekdays, Will Turner went walking at dawn.
It was good exercise, to go
***up to the citadel and back again, before the traffic and the heat of the day made the enterprise unfeasible. Children would wave to him from the windows, knowing when he went by. He waved back, smiling, unless he was lost in thought. They were used to that, too. The dogs on his route didn't bark, except in greeting. Mrs. Appleby, opening up the bakery, usually gave him a big smile. "Good morning to you, Will Blacksmith," she'd say, and, laughing, he'd say, "Your pies smell delicious this morning, Mrs. Baker." It was a ritual between them, and she would remark to her daughter Annabella that the boy had a fine smile and such good prospects, it was pity he preferred that grand young woman Miss Swann to Annabella or her sister. "Yes, Ma," Annabella would say, looking wistful. Unaware of this oft-repeated conversation, Will went daily up to the walls that protected Port Royal from pirates, the French, and other predators. He looked over the sea, day after day, and after pausing a moment or two - sometimes longer, with a thoughtful look in his eye - he walked back down the causeway to the town and back to the blacksmith's shop. Under his control now, it was less and less a regular smithy, more and more an emporium where the finest swords in the Caribbean were created. There he practised his swordsmanship, day after day, just in case he might meet up with a pirate he wanted to kill. The thought always made him smile, because, of course, he had consorted with pirates and hadn't killed any He wasn't likely to. He practised with the sword because he believed that a man who aspired to create beautiful swords that were the best the art could produce, must also know exactly how to use them. He practised because next time he met Captain Jack Sparrow, he wanted to be in top form. He walked to the citadel walls overlooking the ocean because it was good exercise and he liked the fresh air in the morning. He stood looking out at the water, because he hoped he would see, one day, the sails of the Black Pearl coming over the horizon, and Jack Sparrow coming back to Port Royal. Will was proud of his business, and his lovely fiancee, and his skill with a sword, and the good name he had made for himself: but he would have sold his soul and anything else to see Jack Sparrow again. Jack Sparrow, the only man who could best him at sword-play, or make him laugh at a quip, or anger him beyond bearing. Jack Sparrow, whose glittering eyes and flashing smile made his heart speed. Jack Sparrow, the only man he cared about more than his own good name. Jack Sparrow, who cared nothing for respectability, or the law, or the safety of the town, or the careful management of a business. Jack knew about other things: the price of happiness, and the meaning of freedom, and the promise of a fresh horizon. So every day, Will Turner looked at the sea and hoped. He knew Jack Sparrow would come back. The only question in his mind was: when? - end - |
