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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Preslash Will/Horatio, mention of Horatio/Archie, Bush/Edrington, Bootstrap/Norrington.
Feedback: Typos, character discussions, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Crossover with Horatio Hornblower. Pretend the first four HH movies happened, only adapted to the time of PotC.
Summary: A disturbing midnight conversation.
***
It was a moonless night and, unusually for the Caribbean, the wind riffling Horatio’s uniform was quite chilly. But he had charge of the watch, and it was too late to nip down for his cloak. He supposed he could ask one of the men to retrieve it for him, but that seemed a petty usage of the skeleton crew with which he’d been left to watch the ship.
They stood well away from Tortuga, which even with the presence of two Naval ships in her harbor had lost none of her raucous chaos. The town was a glowing orange spot on the shore, its shacks flickering out of the dark like so many crooked teeth that chomped up the bawds who occasionally screamed into the uncaring night.
Horatio shook himself hard. Perhaps it was an atmospheric place, but that was no reason to let Turner’s ridiculous stories rattle his nerves. So far, Tortuga didn’t appear to be any more or any less than a town where the worst of man had dug itself in deep, and no supernatural monsters were needed for explanation.
He did wonder how the meeting ashore had gone. Commodore Norrington had taken off with what Horatio considered an absurdly small party, and that had been before the boat had come back to show that most of those men had only been rowers. The only ones that had disembarked had been Norrington, two marines, and Archie. No doubt the marines, who’d been tall, well-made men, could handle themselves. Norrington was rather renowned for his swordsmanship, and Horatio knew Archie could hold his own. But nevertheless, Horatio would rather had been with them than guarding the ship. Captains Gillette and Groves were still at their posts, so it wasn’t as if two junior lieutenants would have been missed much.
That was, before Groves had taken a party off to the north of Tortuga for some mission of his own, and Gillette had been left in command of both ships. A very dangerous stretching of resources, Horatio thought.
“Sir?” When Horatio turned, a dark shape tentatively became one of the sailors. Earlier he’d been among the most boastful and mischievous of the men skylarking in the rigging, which made his present fearful demeanor rather odd. “Begging your pardon, but Mr. Turner’s come aboard. He’d like to see you.”
Had he? Admittedly, Horatio hadn’t been listening carefully, but the sound of a boat being lifted up to deck, or even the smaller commotion of lowering a rope ladder should have been apparent enough. He looked around, but saw nothing to mark such an event—only a new dark shape standing near the wheel. “Very well. Thank you,” Horatio curtly said.
It was unfair to the man, but he didn’t seem to take any offense. Instead he seemed almost grateful at the dismissal, and quickly disappeared belowdecks.
Horatio crossed to the newcomer, straining to make out Will’s form. He had some difficult, however, since like the crew, Will seemed to have developed a queer shyness for the light and hung well away from the lanternlight. “Turner—oh. Who—who the devil are you?”
“You don’t need to do that,” said the stranger, nodding towards the hand Horatio had laid on his sword hilt. He was only slightly taller than Will, but was much thinner—gaunt, like a scarecrow. When a stripe of light did catch him across the face, the bones leapt out and for a moment, Horatio almost thought he was looking at a skull.
He was not; the man had been quite handsome once and still was, in the same eerie way that an English moor could be. After some wary staring, Horatio also detected an uncanny resemblance to Will, though this man was at least twenty years older and looked to have suffered for it.
“You thought I was my son.” The man made an abrupt motion with his hand. “Will. You thought I was Will.”
“Er…yes, I suppose I did. He didn’t mention his father was…” Well, he hadn’t mentioned his father at all.
“Bootstrap.” After a moment, the man pointed to himself and Horatio realized that that had been an introduction. Bootstrap Turner didn’t seem surprised at the welcome he’d got, or much of any other emotion except possibly sadness. He looked at Horatio with unnervingly clear eyes. “Is Norrington still ashore?”
Horatio’s palm felt clammy against the steel of his hilt. He let go and rubbed his hand against his coat, but the unpleasant damp feeling still lingered, and moreover, he had the curious impression that it was emanating from the other man. “He is…”
“He is,” a third voice said lowly, and Will stepped out of nowhere. He was wringing water from his hair, but the plink of drops he shook onto the deck was actually rather reassuring. They fell and soaked into the wood like water should, and did not cling in a suffocating haze as…no, it was nothing.
Bootstrap became more lively at the sight of Will, his hands moving with less of that eerie grace and his eyes warming, but the two men didn’t rush into any greeting. Actually, Will looked as if he’d rather his father would disappear.
“All right,” Bootstrap said after a long pause. He stared at Will a little longer before turning slowly and heading for the captain’s cabin. His shoulders slumped.
A flash of regret passed over Will’s face, but he hid it quickly from Horatio. “How goes it?”
“Your father’s also working for the Commodore?” Horatio asked.
Will twitched; such an arrangement didn’t sit well with him. But he answered calmly enough. “After a fashion. Norrington’s almost done. He’ll be back here in a quarter-hour, and then after that Jack Sparrow’s Black Pearl will be accompanying us.” He pointed towards the direction in which Groves had gone. “She’s anchored around the spit.”
“Oh. I’ll inform Captain Gillette. He’s on—”
But Will was waving him quiet. There was no change that Horatio could see, but the other man had gone tense and still, head cocked towards the water.
Curiously enough, the same was true of the other sailors on deck, though after a few moments of observation, Horatio concluded that they were merely following Will’s lead. Turner obviously was well-known to the men, and they seemed to hold him in a strained sort of awe; they joked familiarly with him, but always held their distance. It was something to remember—a mere citizen shouldn’t have such influence over the crew. And it was quite puzzling that Will could have obtained such power in the first place, no matter what sort of hold he had over Norrington. Certainly then it should be limited to Norrington himself—who did not seem the type to stand for such circumstances—yet even Captain Gillette, who was too priggishly rational even for Horatio, steered clear of Will.
“No, I’ll go,” Will abruptly said. He flicked out his sleeve so a curve of water splattered the deck. “I’m wet anyway, and it’d take time to get a boat crew together.”
Horatio looked down at the deck, debating his options, and then stepped up so he could speak to Will without the words carrying. “Turner, the offer’s appreciated, but it’s my duty to keep my superior officer informed. It’s chilly anyway. If you go below, I’m certain we can find you a blanket and a hot drink somewhere—”
The groan boomed over the water. It was low, grinding, and distinctly inhuman. Up in the rigging, someone modified the Lord’s Prayer to include profanity in every other line, and Horatio himself shivered.
Will, however, was not unnerved so much as thrown into action. He rummaged quickly through his pockets and produced a long string of beads, which in the dark Horatio at first took for a rosary. But the larger objects hanging off of it were not crosses, even if Will was thumbing them and the beads through his fingers as a Catholic would. “I don’t think you want me to go below,” he said.
“Why not?” The words came out sharply; Horatio barely kept himself from wrapping his arms around himself. Whatever was going on, it’d do no good for the men to see that even their officers were frightened, and certainly not with the cool example Will was setting up.
It was very black, but Horatio still received the impression that Will was giving him a contemptuous look. Another groan echoed over the water, and Will’s fingers sped up their manipulations till their clicking was defiantly audible over the weird noise. “Am you going to believe me if I tell you it’s something besides a weak beam in your hull?”
At the moment, Horatio wasn’t entirely sure. If he was ashore, or if it was daylight—or even if Captain Gillette had decided to command from this ship instead of leaving Horatio alone, then he would have had no difficulty in denying any…unusual explanations. But it was dark and chilly, and this was the hour at which men’s morale was the weakest. Which was a perfectly rational explanation for why he was suddenly eager to hear Will’s story. “What would you tell me?”
“Tortuga’s always been against the Navy. Think about it—hundreds and hundreds of vagabonds and pirates and mercenaries have passed through this port. Died here, some born here, all of them spending fast and hot part of their life on those sands, and all of them with a deep, deep hatred of the Royal Navy in their blood,” Will muttered. His fingers suddenly snapped, wrapping a loop of the beads around his hands. Horatio startled and Will looked up at him, stare closely examining him. “The simplest way to put it is that we’re not wanted here.”
Something about that statement struck Horatio: Will’s identification with the Navy. Horatio found that surprisingly relieving, for while he found Turner odd and possibly dangerous, he couldn’t fault the man’s personality. And additionally he was also dependent on Turner for room and board.
“Will,” said someone behind them.
They both jumped. Horatio recovered first and hastily steadied his sword, facing Bootstrap. “Mr. Turner! Sir, if you’d please—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Bootstrap said. He ignored Horatio entirely and spoke to Will, who now that he was over the first shock, was regarding his father with an expressionless face. “I’ll do it.”
He waited a moment later, but upon receiving no sign from Will, he walked heavily to the railing, over which he soundlessly climbed. As much as Horatio tried, he could detect no sound of a splash at the proper time. Will watched it all in silence, fingers still on his string of beads.
“So what’s the tale there?” Horatio asked. He cocked a brow at the dissembling look that had begun to creep upon Will’s face.
“Tale? You think these are all stories? Maybe I should ask what’s the nature of your friendship with Lieutenant Kennedy,” Will sharply retorted. He turned away on the tail of his last words so they were nearly lost to Horatio.
They stung deeply nonetheless, though Horatio could partially console himself with the thought that he must have touched on a nerve. However, he was not of a mind to leave matters in such strained relation. “Will? I…apologize, but you have to understand, I find it very difficult to believe—”
“If you don’t believe in what I tell you, then you can at least believe in human nature. It’s all the same, after all, whether we’re speaking of the living or the…not.” Will sighed, then folded up his beads and stowed them in whatever pocket from which they’d come. The air freshened a little, and then a little more, and suddenly the oppressive atmosphere that had engulfed them was gone. “You’re not a religious man, are you?”
“Not…particularly.” A careful reply for what appeared to be a careless question, but Horatio was sure that the prudent thing to do would be to walk lightly around Will Turner. Walk lightly, listen well, and wait for a chance. To do what, Horatio hadn’t quite determined, but he would have to do something. Things were under too much strain to continue as they were.
“That might do you some good. Good night, Lieutenant. I’ll see to my father,” Will said, walking away.
Over the water, Horatio thought he spied a pinprick of light. He squinted harder and as he did, a soft cry came up from the rigging. “The signal!”
Norrington and Archie would be back in short measure. Weight off his shoulders, Horatio strode forward to order a boat lowered and for the time being, forgot about strange feelings in the night.
***