Author's Note - Pirates of the Caribbean does not belong to me. Thanks a lot to JediPati for the editing, and to Erin and Alanna for being so supportive and positive ^.^ Read and review, if you please. Some CC would be much appreciated.

Chapter Five

Will Turner shaded his eyes with a calloused hand as he stepped into the glaring sun. He loved his craft, but his shop was so dark and shadowed - it often made him long for the ocean, for the merciless elements of the sea.

'No . . . he's a pirate.'

And he was, at heart. Strange, how his ideals had changed in so short a time. From a deep loathing and misunderstanding of piracy. . .

'And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?'

'Never!'

. . .to this unexpected longing for the sea, for the wind in his face, for the freedom.

Will shook his head. Strange indeed.

"Watch yourself, Master Turner," Coram, the butcher, called good-naturedly to Will as the blacksmith nearly walked into his friend. "Something on your mind, son?"

Will smiled apologetically and half-lied, "Elizabeth."

"Ah, the lovely Miss Swann. You've been lucky in love, Will, that's certain. Will you join us for an ale tonight, lad?"

"Thank you. I shall see you then."

The butcher nodded amiably and ambled on down the busy street, leaving Will to his dreams.

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"Bloody Navy," whined Ragetti.

Pintel groaned and hit him. He'd been stuck in this dank cell for days now, with no better company than his one-eyed mate. He'd no idea what was happening in the world outside, nor did he care, really. He could breathe again. Really breathe, and need to. He could feel the cold, smell the rot and sweat and urine, and he could hear the rats skittering across the floor. He could see his comrades' faces, illuminated by the moonlight coming through the small, barred windows. He could taste the remnants of the poor meal he'd just consumed - the scraps of meat from the nearly bare bones, the stale bread. All of his senses were open and more-or-less alert. And the novelty of this was quickly wearing thin.

On Pintel's other side, Twigg rolled over, mumbling to himself in his sleep. "Kill 'im! . . .Sparrah . . . revenge . . .revenge!"

Pintel smiled nastily. Yes, Jack Sparrow would pay. If ever the pirates escaped their cells, he would be sorry.

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Meanwhile, Naval officers Murtogg and Mullroy were standing guard outside the jail. 'Standing guard', in the loosest sense of the phrase. They were sitting in a shady corner, keeping a lazy eye on the jail and sharing tales of bravery from their latest - and first - adventure. They, of course, realized that they had been instrumental in the capture of the pirates, and spent long hours 'improving' their epic stories.

All around them, the streets were busy with people of all classes - such was the charm of the colony. The rich, the naval forces, the working classes, and the poor were all living together in this small space, equally unfamiliar to all of them.

Murtogg spotted one man in particular and nudged his companion with a thin shoulder. "Look - it's Turner."

Mullroy looked up and nodded agreeably. "So 'tis. He's in a hurry." "Wonder why?"

The officers shrugged at each other and went back to their activities.

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Will Turner was, in fact, heading briskly towards the Governor's house. Swann himself had summoned him there, as opposed to Will's usually reason for visiting - his fiancée, Elizabeth. The Governor's messenger had appeared in Will's smithy that morning, and had said only that he was to meet with the Governor after the mid-day meal.

Turning in at the elegant drive, Will tried to banish his nervousness. He and Elizabeth would not be married for quite some time - not until William had sufficient funds and property to support her - but he wanted very much to make a good impression on his future father-in-law. He rather suspected, however, that it was too late for that.