Disclaimer: Consider this work disclaimed. Arrr.
"...he is a blacksmith, you know."
"No. He's a pirate."
Prologue
But William Turner wasn't a pirate.
Not really. It wasn't as if he didn't have some...piratical inclinations. Blood will out, as they say. Indeed, no. The sea called to him like the sirens it had contained in the fairy tales he had been so drawn to when he was young, and he found it difficult to sleep without the rocking of a ship underneath him. And, of course, he was mad about treasure. Obsessed with finding it, and, once he possessed it, with guarding it, dragon-style, until the end of his days.
And his treasure took the form of Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, and she rather trumped all else. He would rather die than see her hurt, and had suspected that losing her husband to the high seas and a life of crime, brigandry and drink might just do that. So, unfortunately for the son and heir of Bootstrap Bill, pirating was out of the question.
Instead, Will Turner, the man who had spent nearly twenty as a blacksmith and a few hair-raising weeks as a pirate, was, of all things, an ambassador. It was more suitable than it seemed.
Firstly, and most importantly, it was a proper vocation for the husband of the former Miss Elizabeth Swann. Diplomats were highly respectable and well paid, and there were no papers of aristocracy required to land the position, particularly when your father-in-law is particularly influential and determined to make you into something resembling a gentleman.
Secondly, it allowed him to spend a reasonable portion of his life on ships. Diplomats need to travel; if this particular diplomat traveled somewhat more than was strictly necessary, nobody noticed or cared who really had any say in it. So, while not wholly satisfactory, the arrangement worked and it managed to quell certain urges that might, in another vocation, have surfaced abruptly and formed themselves into a very nasty midlife crisis. As it was, midlife came and passed disregarded and uncelebrated and by the time the story really begins, and piracy in William Turner's life was rooted strictly in the past.
Well...
That isn't precisely true.
For later, treasure was embodied in a succession of children. If parenting ability or spousal skill was not exactly in his blood as piracy was, they were filed under "gold" and sorted out from there, with more-or-less successful results.
But if certain traits were passed down to said offspring, even pirate blood would be highly diluted by the time it got to them, wouldn't it?
They would be sons and daughters of a diplomat and a well-bred lady, and they would hear the call of adventure even less than their respectable father, right?
And if adventure, tired of calling, decided to take more proactive measures and come find them?
What then?
Let us say that our respectable diplomat has a daughter who-at nearly 18, the eldest of his children-is finished school and just beginning to travel with her parents two and from England and the Caribbean colonies. Her parents, delayed unexpectedly in London, send her ahead on the planned voyage, and make arrangements to take a subsequent, less luxurious ship. The girl smiles and nods, accepting their offer, glad to leave England and the half-lidded glances of noblemen whose eyes travel first to her ring-less left hand and then sweep surreptitiously across the rest of her.
Her name, by the way, is Lilian.
She is of a marriageable age, and has been for a few years, but her parents, who are, after all, rather unconventional despite outward appearances to the contrary, have made but few quiet comments about appropriate gentlemen. Other than her unmarried, unengaged status, she is a perfectly normal young lady of her station.
Well, relatively, anyway.
She greatly resembles her mother in face and figure (and, perhaps, in temper,) with her father's dark hair and eyes. She is quite a lovely girl, as far too many irritating Englishmen seem bent on noticing.
She is very glad to be returning to Port Royal. Several of her siblings will be greeting her there, and she will be able to relax, knowing that the infuriating aristocracy is several weeks' travel away.
And of course the pirate blood in her veins is probably very diluted indeed. So weak as to be practically nonexistent.
Yo ho.
"...he is a blacksmith, you know."
"No. He's a pirate."
Prologue
But William Turner wasn't a pirate.
Not really. It wasn't as if he didn't have some...piratical inclinations. Blood will out, as they say. Indeed, no. The sea called to him like the sirens it had contained in the fairy tales he had been so drawn to when he was young, and he found it difficult to sleep without the rocking of a ship underneath him. And, of course, he was mad about treasure. Obsessed with finding it, and, once he possessed it, with guarding it, dragon-style, until the end of his days.
And his treasure took the form of Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, and she rather trumped all else. He would rather die than see her hurt, and had suspected that losing her husband to the high seas and a life of crime, brigandry and drink might just do that. So, unfortunately for the son and heir of Bootstrap Bill, pirating was out of the question.
Instead, Will Turner, the man who had spent nearly twenty as a blacksmith and a few hair-raising weeks as a pirate, was, of all things, an ambassador. It was more suitable than it seemed.
Firstly, and most importantly, it was a proper vocation for the husband of the former Miss Elizabeth Swann. Diplomats were highly respectable and well paid, and there were no papers of aristocracy required to land the position, particularly when your father-in-law is particularly influential and determined to make you into something resembling a gentleman.
Secondly, it allowed him to spend a reasonable portion of his life on ships. Diplomats need to travel; if this particular diplomat traveled somewhat more than was strictly necessary, nobody noticed or cared who really had any say in it. So, while not wholly satisfactory, the arrangement worked and it managed to quell certain urges that might, in another vocation, have surfaced abruptly and formed themselves into a very nasty midlife crisis. As it was, midlife came and passed disregarded and uncelebrated and by the time the story really begins, and piracy in William Turner's life was rooted strictly in the past.
Well...
That isn't precisely true.
For later, treasure was embodied in a succession of children. If parenting ability or spousal skill was not exactly in his blood as piracy was, they were filed under "gold" and sorted out from there, with more-or-less successful results.
But if certain traits were passed down to said offspring, even pirate blood would be highly diluted by the time it got to them, wouldn't it?
They would be sons and daughters of a diplomat and a well-bred lady, and they would hear the call of adventure even less than their respectable father, right?
And if adventure, tired of calling, decided to take more proactive measures and come find them?
What then?
Let us say that our respectable diplomat has a daughter who-at nearly 18, the eldest of his children-is finished school and just beginning to travel with her parents two and from England and the Caribbean colonies. Her parents, delayed unexpectedly in London, send her ahead on the planned voyage, and make arrangements to take a subsequent, less luxurious ship. The girl smiles and nods, accepting their offer, glad to leave England and the half-lidded glances of noblemen whose eyes travel first to her ring-less left hand and then sweep surreptitiously across the rest of her.
Her name, by the way, is Lilian.
She is of a marriageable age, and has been for a few years, but her parents, who are, after all, rather unconventional despite outward appearances to the contrary, have made but few quiet comments about appropriate gentlemen. Other than her unmarried, unengaged status, she is a perfectly normal young lady of her station.
Well, relatively, anyway.
She greatly resembles her mother in face and figure (and, perhaps, in temper,) with her father's dark hair and eyes. She is quite a lovely girl, as far too many irritating Englishmen seem bent on noticing.
She is very glad to be returning to Port Royal. Several of her siblings will be greeting her there, and she will be able to relax, knowing that the infuriating aristocracy is several weeks' travel away.
And of course the pirate blood in her veins is probably very diluted indeed. So weak as to be practically nonexistent.
Yo ho.