For those of you that were a bit confused in the first chapter, an astrolabe is an astronomer's instrument, usually a flat disc with different degrees and figures along it, that help determine the time or a ship's location by the appearance of the night sky. The three-dimensional thing Jack throws over the side is not really an astrolabe, although it's often mistaken for one (hence Jack's own error). It's called an armillary sphere, and while it also deals with the location of cellestial objects, it's not meant for maritime navigation, so even if it wasn't busted, it wouldn't have done him much good.

Picture of an armillary sphere: http://www.adlerplanetarium.org/history/instruments/images/m1.72.gif

Picture of a maritime astrolabe: http://www.civilization.ca/tresors/treasure/images/222_1b.gif

The whole thing with Jack mistaking an armillary sphere for an astrolabe is sort of a family injoke. My older brother (also, perhaps not so coincidentally, named Jack) made the same error when pointing out the external structure of the Moon Kingdom in The Adventures of Baron Munchausen. (Extra note to PotC fans: if you want a bit more of that Sparrow-esque whimsy, check out this film!)

-----
Ocean Soul

Chapter II - The Gentleman Pirate
 
 

    When William awoke it was long past into the afternoon, a hot yellow sun penetrating through the salt-encrusted windows over his head. One of the Cottons had taken to nesting on his shoulder sometime during the morning, and it'd taken care shred the fabric of Will's vest in its sleep, not to mention leave a bit of something behind before its departure.
    The deck was alive with crewmen when he emerged rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. The hot breeze hit him at the same time the cacophony of voices did, to almost dizzying results. He wandered about the deck taking in the sights, his bare feet seared on the hot black wood, until he heard the quartermaster Anamaria bellowing his name.
    He spun around, trying to spot her, and finally did by looking upwards toward the mainmast, perched on the sail's support. Her braids and bandana flew about her face in the breeze.
    "Turner!" she yelled again, once she saw she had his attention. "You're to report to the galley immediately. You're working for the cook today."
    "His last name's not Silver, is it?" Will yelled back.
    "What the bloody hell kind of question be that?"
    "Just checking."
    He went straight-away, back down below deck, but the time he spent in the galley with the cook --who, while named John, did not make any claims about length-- was brief at best. After a few hours composed mainly of Will cutting himself while trying to peel potatoes for that evening's stew, Cotton Two, who was so old his feathers were gray nearly all the way through, emerged through the doorway, squawking and whistling with excitement.
    "Raaaarrrk. Baggywinkle afloat. Whee-oo."
    William turned to the cook. "What's he saying?"
    "'Says we've caught up with the Revenge," John translated helpfully.
    "How do you get a message such as that from what he said?"
    "I didn't," the cook told him, sounding disappointed, as though he was expecting the boy would have been able to deduce this himself. "Ye could hear them drop anchor and lower th'gangplanks. An' there's music, hear?"
    Will strained his ears. Against the sloshing of the waves against the hull and the din of voices above them, Will could just make out the traces of drums and some sort of string instrument.
    "Raaaarrrk. Going ashore. Going ashore."
    "That means the cap'n wants you above deck."
    "That doesn't make any sense."
    "Wouldn't be the first thing to be so aboard the Pearl, lad," John told him consolingly. "Get a move on there, t'wouldn't be proper t'keep Mister Sparrow waiting."
    William all but dropped his potato and peeling knife on the upturned barrel before him and made for the doorway. Watching him leave, John took up these items and resumed peeling with them. He cut his finger.

    Emerging from the stairwell, William's ears and eyes were assaulted with such a dusk-time show that it put him in mind of a festival or carnival. The music was clearer now, seeming to consist of guitars, drums, cymbals, bagpipes, and Irish fiddle, to which a good few members of the Black Pearl's crew were dancing merrily in large groups. There was the scent of drink in the air, as was smoke, the result of two dozen or so carefully lit touches lining the deck.
    Not just this deck, Will realized as he scanned toward his right, where the largest cluster of people were gathered near the ship's starboard railing, or walking along the narrow wooden planks set between it and ship anchored adjacent to them. She was slightly smaller than the Black Pearl, shallower on the draft judging by her full keel, and while her sails were also black and the Jolly Roger was likewise hoisted to her foremast, she had none of the foreboding, intimidating air of the Black Pearl. It could be no other ship than the Revenge, captained by the Dread Pirate Roberts.
    Along the railings, the ships' occupants traded plundered goods and bottles of every imaginable intoxicant. Cheerful voices were raised in the regaling of recent adventures and the exchange of news picked up in ports. Wives from one ship met their husbands on the other; reunited brothers shook hands and slapped each other on the back.
    Will wormed his way through the crowds, trying to catch some sight of Jack. As he walked distractedly around the edge of the dancing circle at the bow of the Pearl, head turned to his left, he collided with something that felt for all intents and purposes like a brick wall.
    He wheeled back, landing on his rump on the black deck boards. He looked up, terrified, into the face of an enormous, square-jawed man easily twice his height and probably five times his weight, with arms that could reach all the way around a ship's main mast, and fists that could crush cannon balls in their grip.
    "Are yoo all right?" the giant asked, stooping to offer his hand to the young man. Will took it hesitantly, and felt as if his arm was being ripped from its socket when the taller man hoisted him to his feet. "Yoo should watch where yoo're going. Yoo cood get hurt." His voice was thick, heavy and slow, as if every word took tremendous effort for his lips to frame.
    "I'm sorry," Will stammered, unable to take his gaze from the giant's unsettlingly nonthreatening smile. "I didn't mean to."
    "That'z all right," he was told. "I believe yoo."
    "Are you with the other ship?"
    "Yes. Eet'z been quite the trip."
    "Oh," said Will. Something about how the man formed his sentences was odd, outside of the effort it took. He couldn't quite place it, however... "What's your name?"
    "My name iz Fezzik. May I ask yoo the same?"
    "Will Turner."
    The giant who called himself Fezzik frowned. "Turner... Turner... Not many tings rhyme with Turner..."
    William glanced to either side of him nervously, as if hoping some reason to excuse himself would turn up. When nothing did, he asked, "Look, do you know where I can find Jack Sparrow?"
    "Sure. But be careful, the way iz narrow." Fezzik pointed to the gangplanks bridged between the two decks. Will acknowledged these with a fervent nod. "Yoo go now, Will?"
    "It, um, will certainly be a... thrill?"
    Fezzik patted him on the shoulder lightly, although to Will it seemed he sank a few inches into the wood. "That's all right, not everyone iz good at rhyme."
    "Why do you do it?"
    "I like eet a bit."
    "Oh... I see..." The young Turner glanced over his possibly bruised shoulder toward the gangplanks, seeming to him suddenly as very, very appealing. "I think I'll be going now," he told Fezzik. "Thank you for your help."
    "Eef you need me again, just yelp."
    "Er, right..."
    "Goodnight!"
    Will walked very swiftly toward the starboard railing, grateful for the crowds of people that enveloped him. He followed behind two small boys carrying a huge chest of silks between them across the left plank, admiring for a few brief moments the view of the sunset-colored ocean beneath him, and stepped off onto the Revenge. The atmosphere here was definitely different, however marginally considering that half the Black Pearl's crew was on deck just as half of the Revenge's crew was on the Pearl, but there was a distinct air of would-be sophistication. More attention had been paid to the deck's appearance, and even the sails looked as if they'd recently been cleaned and pressed. There was no dancing over on this side, although the ship's cook had set up a stew pot and was presently cooking something that smelled a lot better than what John would ever prepare. Will began toward the small crowd surrounding the cooking pot, until he saw a sign by the chef listing prices. He turned aft instead, and nearly ran into someone else. The nearly is what saved him from a repeat of the last sequence of events involving bottoms and floorboards.
    "Easy there, mate," said Jack Sparrow, causing Will to jump and back up a bit. Jack had donned his coat and trihorn hat, and carried a brass-ended cane he probably thought made him look sophisticated. "Glad you could come, young Master Will. Captain Roberts is set to emerge from his cabin quite shortly," he told the boy, directing his gaze toward the door at the top of the aftward stairs.
    "Roberts makes an official entrance?" Will asked incredulously.
    "You have to understand the, what'd you call, vanity of some of these gentlemen pirates," Jack said airily. "Very concerned about the impression he makes, Roberts..."
    "Is that why his writing is so poor?"
    "Let it alone, Will."
    Their heads snapped up as their peripheral vision caught movement up on the top stair as the door of the captain's cabin opened, and a very harassed-looking second mate scurried out. The man, dressed in new linens that were only slightly too big for him, brushed his hair back, cleared his throat, then put two fingers in his mouth and whistled so loudly that it echoed throughout the empty ocean. The music faltered and conversation squealed to a halt.
    "Good people!" the second mate shouted, in a loud, clear voice so that everyone on both ships could hear. "Brothers in arms of the Revenge and the Black Pearl! I give you... the legendary... Dread Pirate Roberts!"
    Will heard Jack mutter something under his breath. "They never call me legendary..."
    At that moment, the doors of the captain's quarters again swung open, but this time with great flourish and flare, golden lantern-light spilling out across the deck, and in the center of it an indistinct figure, clad completely in black. This man walked casually to the top of the stairs, took a bow, and then backed up. He went into a run, catapulting him off the edge of the stairs, coming down perfectly on his hands on the middle landing, and then into another flip coupled with a mid-air spiral. He landed thunderously, arms out straight, mere inches from where Jack Sparrow stood.
    Cheers ran out throughout the crowd. Jack rolled his eyes. The Dread Pirate Roberts caught this and cracked him a smile, going into an elaborate, flourishing bow.
    "Same as ever, Roberts," said Jack, resting on his cane. "Although I don't remember the mask."
    Indeed, the man before them, in addition to wearing brand-new, all-black clothing, wore a mask and bandana that covered everything but the bottom half of his face, the thick curls of brown hair that framed his bottom jaw and poofy mustache accenting his ironic grin.
    "It's just so comfortable," Roberts said with ease, also with an accent Will had not expected, trilling his Rs and elongating his vowels. "I feel they will become a trend one of these--"
    He was cut off by the shriek of metal as Jack drew his sword, kicked Roberts in the abdomen to send him into a pratfall, and putting the tip of the blade to his throat before Roberts could begin to climb back up.
    Will glanced around him, too stunned for anything approaching fear to kick in yet. Surrounding the three of them, the entire crew of the Revenge were drawing swords and pistols.
    "Jack," Will hissed. "What are you..."
    "Who are you?" Jack demanded of the masked figure, in a hushed voice so that only those immediately in the vicinity could hear. "You're not the Roberts I met before."
    The masked man swallowed slowly. "That is not a matter easily discussed, my friend." The accent, Will discovered, was Spanish. Now the young Turner felt thoroughly lost. "Put delicately-- yes, delicately, if you would," he stammered, as the tip of the blade began to press into the soft skin of his neck, "we all have our own means of immortality, Mister Sparrow. Wouldn't you agree?"
    Will turned his gaze on Jack, witnessing as a chill ran up through his face and contorted his expression into something unreadable. The pirate's eyes glanced to either side of him. "Let's not discuss that here," he said to the masked man. He drew back his sword, and the man claiming to be Roberts climbed to his feet.
    Then, to Will's astonishment, Jack slapped the other pirate on the back and grinned at the assembled. "Just our old game, hey?"
    The tensions dissolved. Ah, the air seemed to say, so that's what that was about. Several of the crew chuckled as they put away their weapons.
    Jack Sparrow turned his attention to Will. "This kind gentleman and I are going to adjourn to his quarters for supper. You toddle off back to the Pearl and help John out some more."
    "But--" Will began.
    "This is not," Jack said coldly, "a matter that concerns you, young Master Turner. Run along."
    "You called me over here for--"
    "Plans. Change."
    Shooting furious glances at both him and the black-clad captain, William turned on his heels and stormed off for the other ship.
    "Now," said Jack to his companion. Before the masked man could react, Jack grabbed his right wrist and twisted his arm painfully behind his back, so that stranger let out a sharp yelp. Jack continued angrily, through gritted teeth, "I would like a full--" he twisted the arm further "--explanation, if you would be so kind."
    "Naturally," the masked man whimpered. "Shall we go, then?"

    Roberts's cabin was smaller than Jack's, but gave the impression of being far more spacious, due largely in part to its well-ordered state. Unlike Jack Sparrow, the captain of the Revenge did not hoard piles of treasure mixed in with spare clothes and odd junk, although there were a notable number of empty liquor bottles littered about. His beautifully carved mahogany desk had been pushed to one side to allow for a small furnished table and two squashy, high-backed armchairs. A small boy of around 11 that the masked man identified as Jimmy mutely set the table with pewter plates laden with roasted meat and fresh vegetables and goblets filled with fine red wine, and then just as silently left the room. The masked man sat down in his chair, reclining back with only a slight hint of nervousness, while Jack prowled the room with an air of distaste.
    "Impressive, no?" said the man in black while untying his bandana.
    "Mine's better," Jack said coolly, studying an ornate china dish fixed to the wall.
    "As you are in an argumentative mood, I will not contest you," said the stranger, pulling off his face mask and ruffling his curly brown hair that had been matted down by the head gear.
    Jack sauntered up behind the chair set out for him, running his hand along the back as he took in the man's newly-revealed face. "Then shall we move right on to introductions?"
    The man in black nodded somberly. "Indeed you are right. I will come clean: my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my-- No, sorry." He held up a gloved hand apologetically. "I'm so used to starting out that way."
    "And why, may I ask, are you sailing under the guise of my old mate Dread Pirate Roberts?" Jack waltzed forward a bit and placed his hands on the wooden table. The cutlery rattled as he did so. "And it had better be good."
    "I am Dread Pirate Roberts," the Spaniard named Inigo insisted. "Just in a, err, relative way."
    "Is that so," Jack said dully.
    Seeing that he had to make this quick or risk a blade to his throat again, Inigo plunged on into his explanation at full speed. "The man you know as Roberts has been retired twenty years. He passed his title and reputation on to his first mate, who in turn gave it to his first mate, until the title fell to a man named Westley. When he retired he gave the post to me." Inigo Montoya leaned forward earnestly. "The thing, Westley said, was not who Dread Pirate Roberts actually was, so much as who everyone thought he was," he pointed out. Jack nodded in reluctant agreement. "Roberts is the only man to enjoy a reputation even close to the magnitude of your own. This is how we achieved it."
    Jack Sparrow inhaled morosely, sitting down in the chair opposite Inigo and reclining back at a rather unhealthy slump. "So you're telling me," he said at length, "the man I know as my ally, to whom I would have entrusted a most precious cargo, has in fact not been around for over twenty years."
    "Not entirely," Inigo corrected. "The real Roberts may no longer sail, but all of his successors have carried on his spirit. Hence all these ridiculous clothes-- And do you know how long it took me to perfect that entrance out there?" He waited while Jack took this question under consideration. "But the real Roberts had you as an ally, and so too for all that come after him. You have my oath as well as his."
    "Well, then," said Jack, sitting up as he underwent a dramatic mood change. "Good to hear it's all settled, hey?" He lifted his goblet, swirled its contents a bit in dulled appreciation, and began to gulp it down.
    "Yes," Inigo said with a measure of hesitation. "Although, now that you know my secret, I must ask you... How? How did you do it?"
    Captain Jack Sparrow lowered his goblet slowly, peering at Inigo over the rim. He set it down silently, cleared his throat, and said tartly, "Sorry to disappoint you."
    "I told you so much, you owe me just as much of an explanation. Quid pro quo?"
    "No, you see, mate," said Jack, grinning at him with gold teeth, "you told me your secret because otherwise I was going to do you in as a bloody impostor, whereas I have given you no such incentive."
    Inigo Montoya accepted this with a bit of reluctance. Silence fell on both of them, and the Dread Pirate Roberts picked up his fork to start on his dinner, when he looked up at Jack again. Jack had picked his steak up with both hands and was tearing at it with his teeth not unlike a starving dog.
    Inigo cleared his throat politely and waited for Jack to take notice. "We do have cutlery, you know," he said meaningfully.
    Jack looked down toward his plate. "Oh, so you do." He put the steak down as nicely as possible, successfully masking whatever awkward embarrassment he was feeling, if any existed at all.
    "But about how you did it... Can you at least permit me to guess?"
    The captain of the Black Pearl shrugged. "'Spose there's no harm."
    Inigo Montoya leaned forward until his black dress shirt was nearly in his food. "The Fountain of Life. It has to be."
    Jack chuckled and shook his head, chewing on a cherry tomato picked from his plate. He took another drink of his wine while Inigo retreated to thought again.
    "You're the son of a Greek god?" Inigo suggested.
    "N--" Jack drew out the sound while his mind raced behind it "--ot that I'm aware of."
    The Spaniard clucked his tongue and sat back a little. Jack began to sense the man had no further ideas and the matter was closed when Inigo burst out: "That one rock! What's the name of it... Something... Sorcerer's Stone?"
    Jack paused, save for his lips that moved with the effort of thought. "The... Philosopher's Stone?" he tried.
    "That's it!" Inigo said excitedly, pointing a finger at him. "It was that, wasn't it?!"
    "Sorry."
    Inigo deflated. "Ah well," he said with resignation. "I'll think of it eventually."
    "You do that," said Jack, emptying his glass. He began looking around for where the boy Timmy had left the bottle.
    "In the meantime," said Dread Pirate Roberts, lacing his gloved hands together, "shall we discuss payment?"
    "Ah. So you're not treating it as an act of good will." Jack smiled approvingly. "You're more like the old Roberts than I'd given you credit for."
    "Such flattery."
    "What would you like? Money? Treasure? Fine silks?"
    "Could I trade it all for the truth?"
    "You don't give up, do ya, mate?"

    "Pirates, they certainly do run amok."
    "That iz, until dey're out of luck."
    "A more fearsome bunch you've never seen."
    "The bezt men dere's ever been."
    "Why are you eating over on our side anyway?" asked Will, spooning another serving of soup into Fezzik's bowl.
    "This food'z so good, I'd like to stay."
    "John would be surprised to hear that."
    "He might juzt have a heart attack," Fezzik said cheerfully. He picked the enormous bowl up with both hands and slurped the soup loudly.
    "Jack seemed pretty upset at your captain."
    "Yoo'd be surprised, eet happens often."
    "Will it mean I can't get back home?"
    "Are yoo even old enough to travel alone?"
    "I'm eighteen, I'll have you know," Will said coldly, as if this was a question he felt was asked far more than necessary.
    "Oh."
    William stood up from the mess hall bench so quickly that he banged his knees on the table, causing all the crew members' bowls of soup to rattle. Ignoring the pain, Will said, "I cannot sit idly by while other men decide my fate for me. I have to go see that-- Oh." He stopped short as Cotton Nine fluttered in through the ceiling hatch. He extended his arm, which it gratefully used as a perch.
    "Raaaarrrk. Turnabout sail, Mister Smee. Turnabout. Turnabout. Whee-oo."
    "I tink he say yoo need to go back to the Revenge," Fezzik said with unfakeable honesty.
    "How is it that everyone can understand these things except for me?"

    The deck was a lot quieter this time when Will came up from below. The sun had set fully on the horizon save for a last receding red glow, and overhead the dark violet sky was lit with a thousand stars. Music still played, although it was far more laid back now and consisted mostly of an idly-plucked guitar. No one danced, although there were huddles of discussion spaced about the deck and conversing couples hanging along the railing at random intervals. The aroma of the Revenge cook's meal still lingered, but it was overpowered now by the torches, cigar smoke and liquor.
    Jack Sparrow and the masked man were amid a crowd of crewmen passing around a tobacco pipe. Jack caught sight of Will as the boy was crossing the gangplank, and called out to him.
    He removed himself from the group around him and met Will halfway. "This is the Dread Pirate Roberts," he said of Inigo beside him, by way of formal introduction.
    Will wasn't particularly impressed. "Oh, so he was not, in point of fact, a low-grade impostor and you just happened to have a severe memory lapse?"
    "No, I-- Look-- It's just--" He made a couple more false starts before giving up in exasperation. "You explain it to him later, all right?" he said to Roberts. "Like I was saying: Will, this is Roberts. Roberts, Will Turner the Third." The masked man extended his right hand. Will shook it hesitantly. "Will here is headed for Port Royal in Jamaica, as you no doubt recall..."
    "Actually, I was headed for England," Will cut in.
    Jack and Inigo exchanged a glance. Jack said, "These are dangerous times to be going to England, mate. Now, have you got all your gear?"
    "I'll need to go get my boots. Are we departing soon?"
    "Within the hour," said Inigo. "Incidentally, have you seen my first mate?"
    "What does he look like?"
    "It's very hard to miss him..."
    "I'm heer, captain." The three looked up toward the source of the new voice, their eyes falling on Fezzik the giant crossing the gangplank between the two ships, which sagged under his weight. He held a pair of brown leather boots, which seemed like small doll's clothes in the grip of his ham-sized fist. "I tought maybe Will could use hiz bootz. Eet'z getting cold out."
    "Good job, Fezzik," Inigo Montoya, a certain warmth in his voice that Will hadn't detected before.
    Jack leaned close to the Spaniard's ear, so that when he spoke Will did not hear him. "So is he taking up the post after you retire?"
    "Probably not."
    "Ah."
    "Heer are yoor bootz, Will," Fezzik said happily, lowering them down far enough so that William could reach up and grab him. "Are yoo going with us?"
    "That's right."
    "Dat'z great!"
    "Fezzik," said Inigo, "round up the rest of the crew visiting the Pearl and tell them we're setting sail soon."
    "All right, Inigo."
    "Fezzik."
    "Err... Captain Robertz."
    Will shot Jack an accusatory glance.
    But Inigo clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder in consolation. He hissed in Jack's ear, "This is why you should tell no lies, Jack. One lie begets half a dozen more."
    "Perhaps," Jack muttered back. "But think of that when you're trying to get a merchant ship to surrender to Dread Pirate Montoya."
    "All right, fair enough. So," he said, the last part in a normal voice, moving back a little, "you're off to Barataria, then?"
    "Aye. A couple business contacts, you could say, that need to be contacted about business. And you, off to South America?"
    "Yes, for much the same reasons as you."
    "We could loan you a parrot if you want to keep in contact-like."
    "Thank you for the offer, but we don't anticipate any problems. We are fairly new to this region, so we are in little danger."
    "Port Royal is a real hotbed for milit'ry activity," Jack warned him. "You be on your guard and don't get off it, savvy?"
    "Such concern," Inigo said mockingly. "You forget one very important thing, Jack. The Spanish Main holds no terror for a Spaniard."

    The voyage to the Bahamas on the Revenge was not as exciting as William would have hoped. Most of the crew were from Europe, having sailed down to the Caribbean when Inigo had grown tired of his old waters, and of the half that spoke English they had very little to say. There were no parrots named Cotton, brash-talking runaway slaves that knew a thousand and one games to play with a rusted knife, or salty old seamen with more gold in their mouths than teeth.
    The Dread Pirate Roberts himself was decidedly boring. After giving William a quick run-down of events, abridged more for his own sake than the boy's, and making him swear an oath with a blade to his throat not to tell another soul about his true identity, he'd pretty much let him be. Will was sent to work with some of the other boys, many of them under fifteen, to wash the decks and rig sails, duties that kept him too occupied to break away to bother Fezzik, in addition to darkening Will's light tan to a shade approaching that of a ripened tomato, contrasting horribly with the fair hair he'd inherited from his grandmother.
    While on duty, Will tended to see Inigo several hours a day, practicing with his rapier near the bow of the ship. But the practice sessions never lasted long because no one on the Revenge, although many of them masters of fencing in their own right, proved a challenge to him.
    Will asked Fezzik about it one night at supper, after begging the giant not to answer in rhymes.
    "Because he iz training to be the best," Fezzik explained. "Even dhough he iz the only livink fenzing Wizard, he waz still beaten wonce. So now, he train so one day, no man in the whorld will defeet him."
    "Who was it that defeated him?"
    "A man called Westley. He uzed to sail on thees ship," Fezzik said, giving Will a wink, "but he retired now."
    "Why did he retire?"
    "Troo love."
    "I'm sorry, what?"
    It was a matter of days before the Revenge reached New Providence, a bustling, lawless city hidden among rocky hillside, situated on a small island littered with coves and inlets. Will ceased in his duties when he caught sight of it, hanging recklessly onto the starboard rigging as he stared in awe. Dozens of ships were docked there, of all size and shape, and even so far out to see the sounds of music and city life wafted out to Will's ears.
    He was therefore in a particularly foul mood when the Revenge dropped anchor right there offshore, and only Inigo and a handful of men went ashore in a small boat, leaving the rest of the crew behind. He kicked his bare feet against the deckboards in frustration as he made to storm off until the leader of the boys he worked with, a German named Goethe who was probably not even half Will's age, ordered at him to come back. Will continued to stare morosely at the distant city as he was set to scrubbing the deck boards along with a ten-year-old named Patinkin and a thirteen year old named Ashton Trinity who Will half-suspected was really a girl.
    When Inigo Montoya and his men returned that evening, and Fezzik had hoisted their boat up singlehandedly, Will helped roll barrels of food stores down into the storage, then was sent down to the galley to assist with dinner. He was beginning to detect a rather unfavorable pattern in this and maintained his bad mood all the way through supper and afterwards up on deck, up to the moment Inigo approached him with something long wrapped in cloth.
    "This is for you," Inigo told Will, offering it forward. Will took it gingerly, weighing it in his hands while he gave the masked man a suspicious look. "Jack asked me to get it for you-- on his money," he added quickly, before Will had the chance to ask.
    Young Turner turned his gaze to the package, and undid its cloth covering. The brass handle of a gleaming new rapier shone under the lantern light.
    Mouth gaped in astonishment, he removed the rest of the cloth, casting it aside by his feet, and held the sheathed sword in his hands. He drew it from its scabbard and admired its perfect, silvery blade.
    Then his brow furrowed. "A fencing sword? But--"
    "I admit a little bit of bias during my purchase. I see little virtue in the swords of pirates in these waters. A cutlass seems so... unsophisticated. And it's not a Yeste, sadly, to say nothing of a Montoya," Inigo said apologetically. "My father's swords are hard to find these days, and are all very expensive. But it is nice solid craftsmanship even still."
    Eyes not leaving the blade, Will was only vaguely aware of the soft, sleek metal ringing as the Dread Pirate Roberts drew his own sword.
    "Would you like to try it out?"
    Will snapped his eyes up, to see Inigo Montoya with his own blade at the ready, in full fighting stance. There was a grin on his face.
    "I-I--" Will stammered. "I can't!"
    "Why not?"
    "I don't know how to fence!"
    Inigo cocked his head to one side, puzzled, and stood upright. He lowered his sword, letting its tip touch the ground. "Jack told me your father was an expert swordsman. One of the best he'd ever seen. Surely you have some education..."
    Will found he couldn't look the pirate captain in the eye. He cast his eyes downward. "My father has long been out of practice, sir. By the time I was born he had given it up entirely. No amount of pleading on the part of my siblings could persuade him differently, either... I know nothing of how to use a sword." He swallowed with a dry throat, and began clumsily to resheath the sword.
    "Well, we shall have to see to changing that."
    Will looked up. Inigo was smiling again.
    "Honestly?"
    "You have my word as a Spaniard," Inigo said solemnly, one hand over his chest.
    Will continued resheathing the blade.
    "I meant that in a good way!"
 

End Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter I