In the town of Port Royal, Jamaica, it was common knowledge that Mr. Jeremiah Brown had been a first-rate blacksmith before the loss of his wife to a cholera epidemic sent him on a downward spiral into the bottom of a bottle. Now he was a beastly lump of a man who spent most of every day doing nothing but drinking himself into insensibility in the sweltering heat of his smithy. He consumed such vast quantities of liquor that, on the rare occasions that he shook off his stupor long enough to even consider swinging a hammer against a piece of iron, he didn't dare go near the forge for fear the fumes on his breath might catch fire. The cruel or uninformed might laugh at his phobia, but he did not live in terror of his own flammability without good reason. He had learned such fear the hard way, and his hair had never grown back properly afterwards. Mr. Brown may have been a rough, unattractive man with repellant habits, but no one could say that he didn't learn from his mistakes.
It was also common knowledge throughout Port Royal that, before his wife's untimely demise and his own untimely abandonment of all things of the nonalcoholic variety, Mr. Brown had managed to teach everything he knew of the smith's craft to his apprentice, Will Turner. Indeed, the young Mr. Turner, having a fairly good set of wits and a sizeable amount of aggression that needed channeling into more creative pursuits, took to blacksmithing as if he had been born for it. He learned everything that he could on the subject, not only from Brown but also from the other town blacksmiths, as well as every relevant book that he could buy, barter, beg, or borrow. The boy quickly surpassed his master, even before the older man had started doing everything in his power to lower himself. And thus it came to be that William Turner II became known (and rightly so, in case there were any doubts) far and wide as an excellent general-purpose blacksmith and the greatest bladesmith in the Caribbean.
It was not very common knowledge in Port Royal, or anywhere for that matter, that Mr. Brown continued in his efforts to educate his apprentice, even after descending into a state of more or less perpetual inebriation. Unlike the boy's nearly instinctual acquisition of the metallurgical arts, young Turner learned these later lessons with only varying degrees of success. He learned to care for Brown's donkey well enough, but the incident with the fugitive pirate proved that he still could not recognize the smell of scorched animal hair, even when it was fresh. He could knit a somewhat serviceable sweater as long as the intended recipient of said garment lacked either an arm or a head. He could produce an edible birthday cake, but only if he baked it in a hexagonal pan. However, Mr. Brown shared that particular culinary weakness, so at least that one was understandable. Turner eventually learned to dance fairly well, as long as his partner took the lead, but try as he might, he could never tune a harpsichord in less than an hour, and he couldn't keep an orchid alive to save his own life. The less said about his attempts at beaded embroidery, the better.
Ferret husbandry was another skill that seemed to be forever beyond the lad. He attacked the task with the same earnestness that he applied to everything in his life, but the only things that he gained from all his best efforts were lots of little bites and an aversion to anything small and furry with beady black eyes. This aversion was the real main reason that Turner had instantly disliked Captain Jack Sparrow the first time that they met. The fact that the man was a pirate, which Turner also hated, had been a contributing factor as well, but mostly it was the fact that those dark, kohl-rimmed eyes had reminded him of the little creatures that used to sink their teeth into his hands at every opportunity. It was not until after Turner had seen Sparrow actually wearing that battered leather hat of his that the young blacksmith had begun to consider the possibility that Sparrow could potentially be both a pirate and a good man. After all, everyone knew that ferrets didn't wear hats.
No, the truth of the matter was that Will Turner did not find himself particularly well suited to most of the auxiliary skills that his master wanted to teach him. Instead, he spent more and more of his free time up at the fort, practicing sword work with Captain Norrington and any other military man who was looking for a challenge. The boy didn't want to hurt his master's feelings, so he always insisted that it was because he wanted to kill pirates. Brown would sigh, shake his head as much as his drink-impaired coordination would allow, and then shuffle back to his bottle, leaving his apprentice free to pursue endeavors that he actually had a talent for. Even after Norrington was promoted to Commodore of the entire Port Royal naval fleet and Will stole the man's fiancée in the wake of the Black Pearl fiasco, young Turner still went up to the fort to practice his swordplay every chance he got. Sparring with Norrington was a bit socially awkward at first (not to mention frightening, although the Commodore was always a perfect gentleman in all regards), but Turner continued to do it because his only other option was an afternoon spent sharing a detailed exploration of the ins and outs of taxidermy with Mr. Brown.
Aside from blacksmithing, there was really only one skill at which Will Turner managed to exceed the teachings of his master. It was a skill that he never had any real need to make use of in his own daily activities, but he practiced it every Friday night, just to make Mr. Brown happy. And, old sot that he was, it made Mr. Brown very very happy indeed. Turner himself did not know just how good he truly was, because, aside from a single night spent in Tortuga, he was sadly lacking in worldly experience and thus had no one to whom he could compare himself. However, despite all that, to put it quite plainly and honestly, Will Turner could make the best banana daiquiris in the whole of the British Empire.
Had he used this skill wisely, the young blacksmith might have gone his entire life without his lesser-known talent causing any trouble beyond giving Mr. Brown the occasional Saturday morning hangover. Unfortunately, the one and only Captain Jack Sparrow had developed a liking for the town of Port Royal, even though the navy shot at him every time he came to visit. Turner had come to think of Sparrow as a good friend, despite the fact that the man still sometimes caused him to have flashbacks of beady black eyes, twitching whiskers, and pointy little teeth. Sparrow's fondness for Port Royal and Turner's fondness for Sparrow were, by themselves, not a particularly dangerous combination. The unfortunate part of the equation occurred when, during one of the pirate captain's frequent visits to Port Royal, Will Turner decided to introduce his friend to the wonderful drink that was the banana daiquiri. He really should have known better.