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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: Rish for themes and violence.
Pairing: Will/Elizabeth/James
Feedback: Good lines, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Sequel to Salvage. Slight AU where Elizabeth kept her promise to Norrington, and Will went over the side with Jack.
Summary: A disillusioned Will is a dangerous thing.
***
Gibbs twisted his hands together, knuckles a ridge of knots. "Beggin' your pardon, Captain, but you're sure that you aren't bein' too hard on the boy?"
Leaning on the rail, Jack spent another moment staring at the fast-disappearing docks before answering. "He's not a boy. And first mate or no, he'll not be setting foot upon my deck again until he straightens out his head."
"Sensible." Anamaria for one wasn't about to argue with this decision. Almost alone among the crew-for Will was well-liked, and had garnered quite a bit of respect in the past few months-she went about her own business as if nothing had changed. "I take it you'll not be replacing him?"
Her answer was a vigorous shake of the head, and an equally forceful push back from the rail. Jack waltzed his sweet way over to the wheel, barking at his crew of misbegotten hell-devils to get into the rigging already. "No. He'll be back."
"And dragging along a mess, I reckon." Sniffing, she stalked off to see the anchor weighed. Gibbs remained behind, still looking towards Jack.
Well, Will would do as he would, as was his prerogative. And Jack would let him, and count the days until the pull of sea and tarred rope and wood black as a night-girl's tresses brought his first mate back. The Pearl was a hard one, and the ocean harder yet, for all the becoming faces of good fortune they could wear at times, and it was a fool that did not turn his whole attention to them. Will knew he had to look after his land business before he could truly call himself one of the Pearl's brood. He was no fool.
On the other hand, Jack mused, at the moment Will was something less than solid. Not precisely whole. Fire, one of the greatest dangers to a ship, and that was what the other man held smoldering in the backs of his eyes and beneath his tongue. Damned if Jack knew where that had come from-Bootstrap could have a temper on him, but he was steady rolling repetition through and through-but it had to be doused. Or channeled elsewhere. Into something that wouldn't…well, burn the way wood did, all char and soft powdery gray that fell to nothing. Turner the second had blacksmith, swordsmith training; he knew that. Steel went red to blue to white, paler than the finest lawn dress. Pommel jewels flared cold green.
"A man goes from one thing to another, he'd better figure out what to do with the strings," Jack muttered, draping himself into a quarter turn of the wheel. "Sometimes it's easier to hang yourself than to let the Navy spare you the expense of rope and scaffold and proclamations."
"Captain?" Gibbs still didn't seem to understand. Ah, well. Still a good, true man, never mind his slight lacking in familiarity with grudges. Jack knew enough about that for the entire crew. "Is this about Miss Swann throwing him over?"
Then again, surprises were always the first thing over the horizon. "Half and half." Jack lifted his face into the wind and felt the fall of moisture, then took a deep whiff. "East. How d'you feel about that?"
For a moment, Jack thought a question was in the offing. But like usual, Gibbs apparently decided to chalk it up to his captain's famous madness. Fine enough. Jack wasn't exactly in the mood to explain this twist of Will's. Damned troublesome a Turner was in peace, but in war?
It took a second for Jack to realize he was feeling pity for them.
***
James was not happy. He hadn't been happy for a longer period of time than he cared to dwell on, but at the moment, he could safely have claimed to be content. After that night, Elizabeth had surprised him by remaining in his bed, and if they still didn't act as man and wife, they were at least groping their way back to friendship. Additionally, he'd just accomplished one of the more satisfying deeds of his naval career, and so he no longer had that hanging over his head. No more distant Admiralty demanding the heads of faceless pirates, and no more trying to avoid explaining that unfortunately, the most notable few had developed faces. And no more dreading the day their cold judges prodded him onto the wrong side of the scale.
All of this served to form some kind of reasoning as to why he had left early, and why he was riding through the relatively isolated woods behind his house, concentrating more on how to explain everything to Elizabeth than on his surroundings. One consequence of their virtually not speaking to each other was that she had little idea of what his situation was.
Another was that she had not gotten into the habit of asking when James would be home, and he not in the habit of telling her. So when his horse spooked at something and reared, and when that something materialized into a grim-looking Will Turner, James knew that he was in severe trouble.
Then he didn't know anything, because his foot had slipped out of the stirrup just as Will had swung a heavy piece of wood into the side of James' head.
There was a brief impression of flying, and then there was black seeping over his mind.
***
Will had made sure that Norrington landed on a heap of leaves, as it was no part of Will's plan to have the man die on him. Immediately, anyway. To be honest, Will had stopped trying to follow his thoughts to completion, because that way he didn't get trapped in a dark morass of uncertainties and nightmare-spawned theories and too many damned hang-over spats with Jack, who had first assumed that all Will needed to do was to loosen his tongue and talk about things.
Not as if that was likely, seeing as Will had nothing to talk about. As he didn't know anything. It'd been everyone else to make the decisions involving his life, and he'd been so caught up in reacting that he hadn't ever managed to get free, onto his own feet. Until now.
He calmed the horse and settled it in a nearby clearing, then came back for Norrington, who was already beginning to wake. Will shoved some loose hairs behind his ear, then yanked off Norrington's swordbelt and slammed the other man into a tree. He immediately stepped back, letting Norrington fall to hands and knees, and busied himself with detaching sword from belt.
His hair fell back in front of his face, so when dazed, pained eyes turned up to him, it was like looking through a worn net of dead dreams. Snarling, Will tossed his head to clear his vision and flipped Norrington over before the other man could do anything. He wrestled the unresisting arms back and lashed the wrists together with the belt, then hauled Norrington to his feet. "Up. Your kitchen servants will be along in a few minutes."
The eyes blinked at him, rationality flickering back into view. "You've…you've been watching? Did you even leave town?"
"Of course I did." Will snapped off his words like the twigs breaking beneath their feet. Too much noise, but no time to muffle that. They'd simply have to get away before anyone heard. To that end, he hastily dragged Norrington off the path and through the brush, kicking at the dirt in an attempt to cover their tracks. It wouldn't fool anyone even reasonably knowledgeable about tracking, but Will was betting on the fact that nowadays, Norrington didn't seem to associate with anyone. It should be a while before someone came looking. "Why would I want to stay? Given my lack of welcome."
Norrington seemed to stumble, his face turning away. Will yanked him back up and consequently got another shot of translucent green, which did things to his nerves that didn't help a damn bit. "They're not looking for you," the other man said. "Not very hard. You're more well-liked than you think."
"Shut up. And stop looking at me." The patch of open area Will had marked out was just ahead, and he hurried their steps. "I'd appreciate if you didn't do anything stupid."
"Because then you'll have to hurt me?" God damn him, but Norrington was recovering far faster than Will had expected.
"Yes, I would." Will pulled the other man forward while taking a step back, so Norrington fell onto one hip in the middle of the clearing. The white parts of his uniform were splotched with brown, and his coat was half-torn off his shoulder. More dirty smudges slashed across one cheekbone, and a huge bruise was darkening his temple. Blood was dripping down the side of his face.
His pupils weren't the same size, which only strengthened his air of complete bewilderment. It made Will's nails curl into his palms, and tried to stick his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The man had no right to look like he didn't understand. Not when he was half of all the causes and reasons.
Norrington slowly pushed himself onto his knees, facing Will. And that damnable gaze wouldn't stop slicing into Will. "I could have called for help."
"And I could have cut your throat with your own sword. The one I made," Will retorted. He leaned against a tree with an aplomb that was entirely assumed. Weeks of watching Jack, trying to dissect the man's strange serenity, had taught Will that much. "I never charged what it was worth, you know. As a favor to Governor Swann."
"To Elizabeth, you mean." It seemed as if Norrington's side had been injured, to judge from the way the man was listing. "It's the best sword I've ever seen."
Probably the best Will had ever made. And it also bade to be the last, given that forges and sailing ships didn't really mix. He turned it over in his hands, watching how the light slipped from end to end, side to side, and felt himself collect a little. Metalwork had always had that effect on him. "I wasn't making the sword for her."
Norrington had the audacity to look startled. Bastard. No one was that oblivious. "Well, no, but…"
"But what?" Will kicked his foot back against the trunk, dug his heel into the bark until he could feel sap sticking the sole of his shoe. His throat was filling with familiar sourness; he swallowed, but that only spread the taste about his mouth. When he spoke again, his voice sounded harsh, but not in the salt-roughened way of Gibbs'. "But you taught me how to use these, and you kept things safe back when I thought pirates were nothing but evil. Does it seem that odd that I'd want to thank you in some way?"
"I thought you loved Elizabeth." Accusing now, which was simply too ironic. A few months ago, Norrington probably would've been thrilled to know that Will was no longer tempting Elizabeth into unbecoming indiscretions.
Will tossed the sword up, let it spin, and caught it a moment before the tip would have fallen onto Norrington's shoulder. He moved it up, touched skin and watched the unflappable flap. Flinch. Go pale.
It was almost frightening, the deep satisfaction that came from knowing that for once, Will was holding all the cards. That he could make people react.
Deep down, he knew the rope was paying out, ripping the skin off his fingers. He was sinking, fast. And he still wasn't sure if he cared.
"I do love Elizabeth," he said, following the pulse in Norrington's neck with sharp silver. The blade was quivering, and the hilt was heating up in Will's hand, almost scorching it. Like the steel was just another part of his arm, an especially long finger stroking and daring and scratching ever-so-slightly. "Did you?"
Red flushed up in Norrington's cheeks. His jaw tightened, so that was where the sword-tip went next. The shade of his eyes changed, going almost maddened. "It's obvious that this has little to do with her, so please leave her out of this."
"You still do," Will murmured, obscurely pleased. Somehow, it felt better to know that Elizabeth had not gone into a loveless marriage, even if all the currents in it were askew. "Did you know that she doesn't love you?"
The crimson spots disappeared. "Yes," was the hoarse answer.
That pricked at Will. He leaned forward, prodding the blade into the underside of Norrington's chin so the other man had to look up to the sky. "Before or after you married her?"
Norrington stayed silent.
"Damn you, answer me!" Will shoved off the trunk, shifting the sword so it dug into a half-healed cut on Norrington's neck. "Tell me or I'll cut off your goddamned head. Right here. And I'll haul you down and string what's left of you up for the birds to peck and claw and shit on."
That gaze-
--"You bewigged coldhearted bastard," Will hissed, tossing aside the sword so he could rip that white aristocratic froth off Norrington's head. Then the man's laces and cravat, which Will tore up until he had a strip he could use as a blindfold. He shoved the remaining scraps into his pocket and slammed the other man up against the tree, then pressed down on Norrington's shoulder until the other man was kneeling again. But without him being able to look at Will as if…as if he saw something that wasn't even there. "Before, was it? And you still wanted her. You goddamned son of a bitch. You-you-what part of that is loving? What part?"
"If I knew anything about it, then I would've handled things differently." Norrington's breathing was uneven, and he was wincing whenever his ribs moved. Good. "I wasn't-I didn't know what I was doing, all right? I'm not an ideal, damn it! I'm sorry if that disappointed you, but I'm human. I have flaws, like everyone else, and…and…is that why you went with Jack? Because he can carry it off, and I can't?"
"What? Why are you bringing Jack into this?" Will carefully stepped back until he reached the sword, which he picked up.
Norrington's chin went up. "Why did you bring Elizabeth into this?"
"Well, she's slightly more involved, seeing as that's really how I got into this." The laugh sounded hollow, even to Will's own ears. "Of course, even if Jack hadn't shown up, we still would've come here sooner or later. Not all treasure's gold and silver, they keep telling me. Shame. It'd be easier in some ways if that wasn't true."
Blindfolded, Norrington seemed to have problems determining where Will was; he weaved his head as he listened, as if trying to pinpoint Will's position. That was the rational reason, anyway. Will couldn't quite rid himself of the thought that Norrington was doing it because it made him look weak and helpless and no matter how much Will had changed, he still wasn't that ruthless. When not angry, at least. Rage threw him off, led him places stamped all over with 'Here Be Dragons.'
"Is this between you and me, or her and you?" Norrington asked. "Or is there a difference?"
"Damned if I know," Will was forced to confess. "It was always tangled. And you two never helped with that. She wanted me to be one thing, you wanted-no, you required that I be another, and it turns out that another proverb's true: you cannot make everyone happy all of the time."
"When did I want you to be anything?" Norrington was getting accusing again, and Will's hackles, never down completely, were bristling so hard he thought he could spear things on them. "You chose blacksmithing, and you-"
A spark had landed on Will's tongue once. The memory of that pain was nothing to the searing hurt in his mouth now. "I was a perfect citizen! I was faithful to my contracts, even when people reneged on payment to an orphan nobody, and when a drunken master soaked up any profits I had. I obeyed your damn laws, and then, the one time I asked you to do something, you refused! What, does everyone have to offer you a marriage before you'll give a favor?"
Visibly stung by that, Norrington reared back. He banged his head into the trunk, but he didn't seem to notice that. "I had my responsibilities, and I couldn't go off after Elizabeth then-"
"-and you could come after me for her? Oh, very impartial of you. Maybe I should've tarted myself up before I asked," Will hissed. He clutched the hilt in his hand, and tried not to lose hold of himself before he could-could-and now he couldn't even remember what he had been trying to do. He just wanted to hurt something, badly. So it wasn't only his blood on the floor. His blood, his blood, and the fathers never ask the sons whether they want that.
Piracy. He'd had things taken from him, and now he was taking them back. And damn the cost, because there wasn't anything left in him and it was a moot point.
"Don't call her that-"
"You couldn't give me any leeway? All those lessons, and you would've just turned around and hanged me?"
"-if you would stop interrupting and let me finish-"
"-because I never get the last word! Everyone's already chosen, and I have to take what's given!" Will's vision blurred. He had an impression of silver and white, and then red shocked him back to consciousness.
***
It hurt more when James couldn't see it than when he could. His words died in his mouth, and he stilled himself as best he could.
The sword cutting into the side of his throat twitched a little, dangerously close to the artery. He stifled a gasp and tried to surreptitiously ease away from the sharp edge. "Will…"
"I think that right now, I could kill you." The other man's voice was very cold, and very hard, and almost unrecognizable. James strained his hearing trying to find any trace of the easygoing, generous youth he'd known. "I could."
"It…would be understandable." Not by any normal standards, but James held those in very little regard nowadays. They didn't come near to covering the inexplicable mystery that was the human being. "I don't think I could do the same."
Will's breath drew sharp and low. "You said-"
"I know what I said," James snapped, irritation momentarily overcoming his fear. "And I know what I did." He hesitated. "And…I know that you won't, even though you can."
"Really." The sword fell away, leaving the blood to run hot into James' collar. "That's an interesting opinion, given the circumstances."
"I know you won't kill me." James' mouth was dry as bone. He took a moment to run his tongue over lips, though both were parched of any moisture. Belief, he was beginning to think, should be wet. Alive. Like the sea. "You won't. Because-because despite what's been done, you're still a good man. You know that this won't help. You did choose, Will."
It wasn't the best thing to say, but it was the necessary one, and James was tired of trying to dance around situations. He was going to cut straight through the barriers this time, even if it was going to…but that hardly mattered.
Will sucked in a breath, stopped making the twigs crunch. Beneath the blindfold, James closed his eyes.
"Between seeing someone close to you die, and being able to save them, there is no choice."
The swing of the sword made the air sing, high and sweet as a children's choir.
***
Elizabeth was becoming quite concerned, though not to the point of doing anything rash. Even if she'd had the heart for something like that.
James was late. Of course, this had not been uncommon in the past few weeks, but his tardiness today stirred uneasiness in Elizabeth's stomach. She'd give him another half-hour, she finally decided, and then send out a manservant. And in the meantime, she would move some of her things to James' bedroom.
She was well into that when a shadow passed over the far wall, then held. Elizabeth suppressed her gasp, then slowly turned around to face the balcony.
Nothing. Nothing but curtains blowing gently across the half-open door, and-
--"Oh, my God!" She leaped back, pressing a hand to her pounding heart as if that way she could slow its racing.
Will tilted his head and smiled, without much friendliness. He was perched on the railing, one leg dangling insouciantly down in a pose that Elizabeth remembered she had assumed many times during their childhood, when rambling around the outskirts of Port Royal. Whereas Will had always preferred to sit properly. Obviously, that had changed.
He looked much more the pirate now: his clothes were still browns and tans, but his shirt was open to the navel to expose deeply tanned skin, and he wore knee-high, well-worn boots whose tops flopped limply over. Gold and ruby and pearl pierced the curves of his ears, and spiraling blue tattoos peeked from his cuffs and collar. "Elizabeth. Your servants still don't keep a very good watch."
"We-that was deliberate, actually." Recovering a little, she dusted off her hands and came out onto the balcony. She felt oddly shy, as if she were meeting someone completely new. Except she'd never been inhibited when it came to that, because in the rather insular environment of Port Royal, it had always been such a thrill to come across something new. This meeting, however, showed just how great a difference there was between adventure and danger. "It'd make things easier for you if there weren't guard dogs running all over."
"And why would you try to make things easier?" Will propped his chin on the knee that was up, presenting an inquisitive front. But his eyes seemed to be full of hostile mockery that both cut into Elizabeth and hardened her.
"Because we wanted you to come back. I told you," she replied, confidence swelling back into her voice.
Will's eyelids dropped halfway, and his voice grew harsher. "And so I would do as you told me? Like always? Is that what you thought?"
"No, you'd come because you wanted to. And yes, that was what I wanted as well, but…" Elizabeth floundered, startled at how fast the direction of the conversation had wrenched itself from her. She caught at the railing and tried not to sound as unsteady as she felt. Then she realized she'd left the door unlocked.
Oh, no. If James came back now, it would all end up a disaster like the time before. "Will, please. You're thinking things that I didn't mean, and…I'm not trying to hurt you. I never tried to hurt you. I-I love you."
"It would've been nice to hear that before I became a wanted man. I never really knew just what I was giving up my life for. Only for who." Almost musing, Will turned his face to the lawn below and stared at the horizon. He rubbed the fingers of his right hand together, flashing bloody nails. "And it was you. Maybe it was Jack, too, in the end, but the beginning was only for you."
Elizabeth's chest hurt, and her breath seemed to be too short, as if she were trapped in that corset all over again. He'd told her, and she hadn't ever responded. Not truly. And now she had told him, and he'd…given a backhanded avowal of love and faithfulness that twisted like a corkscrew in her gut.
She tentatively reached out for his hand and pulled it toward her, running her fingertips over the calluses she didn't know and the fresh blisters that oozed over her too-white, too-soft hands that knew nothing. "You sound like…isn't any of it worth it, just by itself? You get to sail with Jack, on the Pearl…"
He tugged away his hand, lip curling. "That's where you never understood, Elizabeth. Pirate's blood or not, I liked being a blacksmith. I enjoyed my life here, on land. And it doesn't mean a damn that it turns out I'm actually a sailor. Pirate. What have you. I still liked being who I was before."
"But isn't being a pirate more free? God, Will, you have no idea how suffocating it is here, trying to come back to--" Elizabeth cut herself off and scrambled back, suddenly terrified at the look in Will's eyes. She reflexively glanced around for something with which she could protect herself, and then she realized what she was doing and almost threw up.
This was Will. Will, and she was thinking of…God. Things had gone so very, very wrong, and it had all happened in such a rush that now, in the aftermath, Elizabeth didn't know how or where or when.
"I am not you," Will gritted out. His hand shot out and grabbed the rail, tightening until it seemed his knuckles would pop off from the force of his hold. "I am not a bloody legend. I am not Will Turner, son of a pirate. Damn it, Elizabeth! It's not like changing your dress to the next fashion! It's abandoning everything without knowing if there's something else waiting for you, and it's doing it because you have to!"
"I…" She helplessly moved her hands in the air, trying to pluck out the right words.
"I love you for what you are. Not the Governor's daughter, with the biggest dowry in the Caribbean and connections to all the nobility. Not the most beautiful woman in town. Not the girl with her head stuck in fairytales. I love Elizabeth." Will spat out his sentences, skewering them through Elizabeth's heart.
And then he abruptly subsided, covering his face with his hand. "So who was it, Elizabeth? Will the pirate? Will the blacksmith? Will the bloody puppy that worshipped you and thought you could do no wrong?"
For a long time, she couldn't answer, and they remained there in silence, poised in tension. She searched the sky, the floor, and her own hands for something worth giving Will, and finally, she searched inside. It wasn't much, but it was what she could do. "Before, I think it was Will the mysterious orphan with pirate gold."
He violently flinched, and Elizabeth darted forward to seize his arm.
"But," she continued, trying to keep her trembling out of her voice. "But whoever you are now, I love you. I've fallen in love again, with you. Right here, on this balcony."
His head jerked up and he stared hard into her eyes. Then he leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, while his hand came up to cup Elizabeth's cheek, catching the tears that had started. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"So am I." She stepped closer, until she could put her arms around him. "And I've hurt James into the bargain. My God, did I make a mess of us."
"James?" he asked, pulling back.
Elizabeth inhaled, then firmed up her backbone and nodded. "My…my husband. He's a better man than you think, Will. And he's different now."
"Yes, I noticed that." Will's voice was odd, and he wouldn't meet Elizabeth's eyes. His hands were pinching at something white and lacy that was sticking out of his pocket. "I…listen, Elizabeth. Go about a quarter-mile down the horse-trail, then turn left by the big lightning-struck stump. Right at the black rock, and right again at the patch of red trumpet flowers. Do you have that?"
Her stomach was knotting itself. "Will, what did you do? Is it-"
"Do you have that?" he repeated, gaze going icy again.
"Yes. Left, right, right. But-Will, did you kill him?" Elizabeth rushed forward, trying to grab hold of him, but he jumped back before she could touch him. He hung in the air for a moment, then fell to the ground, landing catlike and quiet. She ran to the rail, mouth opening around words that he didn't hear.
Because then Will was gone.
Heart in her mouth, gut looping endlessly into a mad churn, Elizabeth wasted no time with servants; she whipped herself into riding clothes and saddled up. Once on her horse, she did pause for a moment, looking at the two paths. And then she bit her lip and turned down the trail Will had indicated.
James was white as a ghost, and eerily still, but he was alive. She dropped to her knees in front of him and untied his wrists, then chafed warmth back into his limp hands.
After a while, he looked at her with weary eyes. "Elizabeth."
"Were you hoping it was Will?" She didn't mean it unkindly, because she knew the feeling.
He rolled his shoulders, then twisted about and stared at the tree behind him. There were great gashes in one side of the trunk, with chunks roughly chopped out in what must have been a raging frenzy. James' sword was stuck in one.
"He…did that, and then he fell onto his knees and…I asked him to take off the blindfold. Then I kissed him, and he left." At the end of his fragmented explanation, James clammed up. Wisely, Elizabeth chose not to push, and instead helped him back to the house before sending someone to look for his horse.
***
Tortuga, of course. The place of last recourse, where the fortunate toasted the wheel's turn and the unfortunate drank themselves into oblivion. There would always be one, somewhere, as long as humanity survived.
Will downed the rest of his tankard and laid back on the bench before he spoke. "You're fools."
"Are you going to send us away?" came the reply. The voice was faltering, but the intent was not.
"I can't, can I? If I were smart, I'd get rid of you and then be done with it, but I just can't seem to do that." He closed his eyes, not because the smoky air was stinging them, but because he wasn't sure he could bear to look.
Someone took a step, and then another. "The day you came was the day I accepted an agreement and resigned from my post, so my upcoming court-martial for incompetence wouldn't cause unnecessary embarrassment," said a second voice. "We left a letter for Weatherby-for the Governor-and now we're not in a position to return."
"Nor do we want to." A cool hand touched Will's forehead, and silk rustled past his head. Sighing, he opened his eyes.
***
Jack gave his first mate a hearty welcome back, then stepped away and looked Will over. Then the baggage, which was standing uncertainly on the gangplank.
Busy mending sails in the corner, Anamaria snorted and flicked her eyes about the crew. Grumbling and muttering, they handed over coins and trinkets.
"Interesting marks you have," Jack finally said, ignoring the pay-offs at the side. She owed him a cut, but the counting of that could wait until after the good comm-well, probably the former commodore-stopped giving Jack such hard looks. A man had a right to hug his friend, after all. And there was no harm in a few covert pats. Jack knew where the lines were, and he had no intention of actually, definitively, overstepping them.
"They were interesting places," Will obliquely replied, causing Jack to slightly regret teaching Turner about circumlocutions. Will's tone was still dark with tarnished irony, but his eyes were clear and bright.
Jack nodded, considering everything. Elizabeth looked better with short hair, he concluded. "But you're back?"
Will shrugged. "More or less. I can manage. And I can sail."
"Well, that's about all a man can ask for, I'd think." Slapping the other man on the back, Jack drew him onto the Pearl proper and waved the other two aboard. "Good to see you, Will. You're not one I like losing, and I swear that on this bonny ship's planks."
***