Chapter Text
Young Henry Turner is rowing out to sea. He drops a bag of rocks off the side and jumps into the water, sinking rapidly down to a massive shipwreck. He has done this before. He knows how this will work. He lands on the decaying deck, amongst seaweed and barnacles. For a moment he floats, letting out his air slowly, until the ship begins to shake. Surge. Surface.
The ship floats on the water now, and he is surrounded by its crew. Pale men, like death revived. They look at him, at arms.
“It be young Henry!” one of them cries.
“Fetch the captain!” says another.
But the captain is already here, arms folded, disappointed. “Henry,” he says. “I thought you understood the last time.”
“F-father,” the boy says, shivering with the wet and cold. “Father, I can break the curse.”
There is a hush amongst the crew. Will Turner, captain of the Flying Dutchman, looks somewhere between upset and broken. “Please, Henry,” he murmurs, “go back to your mother. Don’t come for me again.”
“This be a cursed ship, son,” says one of the crew. Henry has been told that he was his grandfather. “If you keeping coming aboard, you may never leave.”
“I can!” says Henry. “The trident of the sea god, Poseidon! It can break your curse, it can free you!” When Will shakes his head, the boy continues, “You could come home!”
“We are bound to our duty,” says Will. “There is no such trident. I have looked.” His expression becomes grave. “I’m so sorry, Henry, but this is the last time.” He takes his sword and cuts through the rope holding the rocks, making Henry flinch. “I will see you in nine years, my boy. Make sure you’re there.”
Water comes up over the sides again. The ship sinks back into the depths, and Henry does not go with it. He watches it under the water, sees his father looking back up at him. And then the ship disappears in the murk of the water, and Henry runs out of air, so up he comes, and clambers into his rowboat. He lies down, shivering and catching his breath, and looks up at the stars.
The trident, he thinks.
Alone in her home, Elizabeth writes. Will, Henry has snuck out again. I imagine it’s to see you, as I used to when he was younger. I think he found my diaries. Or maybe he’s read the same book I did. It doesn’t matter. He misses you. I miss you. I wish dearly I could jump into the water for just a few moments in your arms again. It has only been a year but it feels like a hundred. But if I board that ghost ship again, I will never part with it.
She pauses, and pulls back the sleeve of her left arm. There. The skin is gray and briny. Something that looks like a barnacle sits there. She covers it again.
And so, my love, this is why I cannot stay here.
Downstairs, she hears the door open. The creak of the floors. Her son is back.
I miss, she writes, the feel of a sea breeze. I miss the thrill of the waves. I miss slipping on wooden decks and turning that great wheel. Weigh anchor, starboard side, hoist the main sail… I miss it. So much. I love you Will Turner with all that I have but this corset, these walls, this land. I long to be at sea.
She hears Henry come up the stairs, puts down her pen, and sits back in her chair. The door is open, her candle is lit, and she can tell by the sudden cease of shuffled steps that her son knows he is caught.
Elizabeth turns in her seat. “Nice night for a walk, is it?”
Henry has the grace to look guilty, at least. “Mother, I…” He pauses, and Elizabeth waits to hear what sort of story he has. “I went to the stream for water. I, um, fell in.”
She nods. “So you didn’t take the rowboat out to the shipwreck and drop a bag of stones to go and visit your father. Good to know.”
Henry turns white. Elizabeth says, “It’s all right, dear. Come here,” and she holds out her arms.
Henry almost runs to her. “I had to see him, Mum,” he says. “I had to tell him. I have to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Henry pulls back. He is shivering. He looks so much like Will. “I can break the curse.”
He tells her everything, the book he read, what the trident is, how to find it.
“A map no man can read?” Elizabeth says. She squints and nods. “All right. I know where to start.”
“You do?” Henry says.
"An old friend who specializes in this sort of thing," she says. "Captain Jack Sparrow."