“That draft does feel good, Cap’n,” Prescott agreed. “Still, when I finish me watch, I know I’ll sleep like a babe.”
Jack had a thought, and smiled. “Tell you what, Mr. Prescott, why don’t you take yourself off and get a bit of extra shut-eye? I’ll take the rest of your watch.”
Prescott didn’t have to be asked twice. “Why, thankee, Cap’n, that’d be most kind of ye. I’ll just nip off to me hammock, then.”
“Sleep well,” Jack said, envying the old sailor a bit, but when he took the big ship’s wheel in his hands, he changed his mind. Sleep was overrated. He savored the feel of his ship beneath his bare feet, the spokes of the ship’s wheel feeling alive against his palms, the touch of the night breeze cooling his damp flesh.
Jack looked down at the sea, checking the angles of the waves, then up again, to confirm that the amount of luff in the main tops’l was the way he wanted it to be. Yes, all was right; the Wench was rigged correctly for the speed and direction of the wind.
His duty done, Jack then threw his head back and looked way up, past the sails and the spars of the mainmast. The bright star he’d been expecting to see winked at him. Fomalhaut…the Southern Fish. To his right, the Milky Way was sinking into the west, a bright swath of stars containing Sagittarius. Jack glanced to his left, knowing that Achernar was rising in the southeast, but the sails hid it from his view.
He sighed with contentment, thinking that life held nothing better than the feel of a good ship running before the wind, with a sky full of stars to guide her.
For a while he was content simply to savor the moment, enjoying this private time with his ship. The coast of western Africa lay to Jack’s left, he knew, though he couldn’t see it. As he stood there, automatically steering the ship, his mind drifted back in time, to another sleepless night, and the day that had followed it. That endless night, followed by the day when everything had changed.…
After finding One Tooth Tommy’s body, Jack had wandered around Shipwreck Cove, tired, but too keyed up to sleep. For a while he’d considered going off to find Melinda, but he’d given her the last of his money as payment for fetching Teague and his men. He hadn’t a penny to his name at the moment.
In the end he’d wound up sitting on the dock, leaning against a mooring post, feet dangling over the night-colored water, thinking about what both Barbossa and Tommy had said about the sinking of their ship. Their words created images that chased themselves round and round in his mind, like a ship caught by a maelstrom.
At some point Jack dozed off, waking with a start when sunlight crept over the peaks of the caldera to touch his face. He yawned, stretched, and rubbed his eyes, seeing the bright rays turn the water of the cove to indigo. A few puffy clouds, still tinged pink, hovered low in the sky.
Jack looked down at the water, placidly lapping against the mooring post, remembering Old Tommy’s body bumping against that same post last night. The conviction that the old pirate’s death hadn’t been, as Teague had claimed, an accident, made him set his jaw with determination. He climbed to his feet. Teague can sit around and wait for more things to happen, but there’s nothing says I have to. It’s time to get to the bottom of this, if only to prove to the All-Powerful Keeper of the Code that things really are going on under his very nose.
Realizing he hadn’t eaten the night before, Jack headed for Troubadour, where, as a sometime member of her crew, he could claim breakfast. He moved quietly through the sleeping ship like a ghost, getting his clean shirt out of his sea chest, along with his sliver of soap and his comb. He went back up to the weather deck to commandeer a bucket, then filled it with fresh water for his ablutions. He wound up scrubbing his hands several times. It was probably his imagination, but he could have sworn they were still slimy from poking and prodding the corpse last night.
After washing up, Jack shaved, changed his shirt and combed his hair, then tied his old bandanna around his head to protect it from the sun. Since Troubadour was in port, the cook wasn’t up yet, but he knew every inch of the vessel, and had no trouble foraging in the tiny galley.
Nodding to the pirate on watch, Jack headed back down the gangplank and walked purposefully along the docks, heading south. One of the docks ended only a short distance from the wall of the rocky caldera enclosing the water of the cove. Strung between the dock and the narrow strip of beach was a rickety rope footbridge. Jack strode casually along the thick cable of rope, barely bothering with the thinner, waist-high rope serving as a handrail. When he reached the end, he jumped down, boots sinking into the sand, and headed left, in the direction of the tunnel ships used to enter Shipwreck Cove.
He walked for about fifteen minutes until he reached a section of the rocky wall that jutted out slightly, concealing a rift in the rock. A narrow channel of water flowed between the cliff walls. Jack turned right, watching his step, and staying close to the rocky wall. The opening was quite narrow, only about ten feet across from wall to wall. After the first forty or fifty feet it opened up, and the water channel widened to reveal a small, hidden inlet running back into the mountain. Jack had discovered this inlet, plus several similar ones scattered around the cove, when he was a boy. He’d never shown them to anyone, until Esmeralda had been looking for a place to tie up the little dory she’d borrowed from Don Rafael, the one they used to row out through the tunnel and around the perimeter of Shipwreck Island in search of places to swim.
Jack walked along on the narrow strip of sand and rock running beside the water of the inlet. Far overhead, sunlight filtered through the rocky rift in the mountain. Straggly brush and long beach grass brushed his boots. The channel widened out until it was nearly forty feet across. The opening didn’t go all the way out to the sea, like the tunnel pirate ships navigated to enter Shipwreck Cove, but dead-ended in a perilous cliff half a mile from the entrance to the cove.
When Jack had first shown Esmeralda his secret inlet, suggesting she moor her dory there, he’d neglected to mention to her his primary reason for keeping their meetings secret. He’d been too embarrassed to admit that Teague had ordered him not to see her, because he, Jack Sparrow, wasn’t good enough for a Pirate Lord’s granddaughter. Instead, he’d merely suggested they’d have more freedom if they met secretly. Esmeralda had been delighted with the idea, and, until Christophe had followed them that fateful day, they’d enjoyed making the inlet into their private rendezvous. They’d spent a couple of mornings collecting driftwood and using it to build a makeshift platform to serve as a dock to moor the dory.
Reaching the little boat, Jack climbed into it, stowed his spyglass carefully, and untied the painter from the iron ring he’d hammered into the biggest and sturdiest of the logs. Unshipping the oars, he began to row. He’d gone only about fifty feet when he heard a cry and looked up. “Jack! Jack! Wait!”
A small figure was running down the little beach, her booted feet sinking into the sand. Esmeralda was dressed similarly to Jack, in a loose shirt, britches, and waistcoat. She carried a leather satchel over her shoulder. Beneath her hat, her long black hair was pulled up and tied at the back of her head. It waved behind her as she ran, like a black plume, or a spirited horse’s tail. Jack’s grim expression brightened. “Esmeralda!” He stopped rowing. The dory continued to glide.
She reached the small dock that extended out over the water. “Turn that boat around, and come back here,” she called. “I am coming with you, Jack Sparrow. You’re not going swimming without me!”
Jack cupped his hands around his mouth. “Not going swimming. Going rowing around the cove. It’ll be hot and dull, señorita.”
Esmeralda put her hands on her hips and stood there, her expression perplexed. After a moment, she shrugged. “I don’t care what you’re doing, or why,” she shouted back. “Come back here and toss me that painter, so I can climb in.”
Jack shrugged, turned the dory, and rowed back. As he neared their makeshift dock, he tossed her the line. Quickly, Esmeralda pulled the little boat over to he
r. After lowering the leather satchel in, she followed, climbing in carefully, settling onto the seat facing him. Shoving them away from the little dock, she quickly coiled the painter. “I brought food,” she said, indicating the bag.
Jack nodded, and began rowing along the inlet, heading for the cove. After a moment, he looked up at her. “It’s still early,” he observed. “What brought you down here at this hour?”
Esmeralda hesitated, biting her lower lip. “Well…”
“Yes?” he urged.
“I was coming down here to move the dory to one of the other inlets you showed me.”
Jack blinked at her. “Move it? Why?” He thought of what it would have been like to come here and find the little boat gone. That seemed a clear message, all right. He scowled at her, hurt. “You didn’t want to go swimming with me again?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “That’s not it at all!”
He regarded her inquiringly, but didn’t speak. After another minute, she sighed, then ducked her head, intently studying the toes of her boots. “I was planning to hide it elsewhere, then either find you or leave you a message to meet me, so we could go there together,” she admitted.
Jack cocked his head at her as he drew back on the oars. “Why?” he asked, finally. There was only one reason he could think of for her to do what she’d described—but he could hardly believe he was correct.
Esmeralda shrugged. “I…I didn’t want Christophe coming along,” she murmured.
I was right! Jack’s heart leaped, but he worked to keep his expression neutral. “Why, Esmeralda?”
She was staring at her boots again. “He…well, lately, he…he made me…uneasy.” After a moment, she raised her head and stared at him, her dark eyes stormy. “Jack, he pushes. You must have noticed. Lately, he never misses a chance to…touch…me.”
Jack, thinking of how those “touches” had infuriated him, nodded. “I’ve noticed.”
“Anyway, I didn’t like it. He’s too forward. And,” she drew a deep breath, “while the three of us were together, I never got a chance to talk to you.” She bit her lip, her voice going so soft he could barely hear her. “Jack, I’ve missed you.”
Hearing this, he couldn’t repress a rather foolish grin. “Oh,” he said, pulling back on the oars. As he leaned forward again, his eyes met hers, then they both looked down. What should I do? he wondered, holding the oars suspended, letting the dory glide toward the narrow part of the inlet, and the entrance to Shipwreck Cove. I don’t want to push, obviously. But she’s confiding in me. Just as a friend? He looked back up and she was still sitting there, leaning forward, her expression part anxious, part wary.
Dammit, in for a penny, in for a pound, Jack decided, and abruptly ceased rowing and unshipped the oars. “Esmeralda,” he said, meeting her eyes. Reaching forward, he took both of her hands in his. “I’ve missed you, too. You have no idea how much.”
“You did?” Color touched her cheeks, visible even beneath her tan.
“I did,” he said. “Every day. Hardly an hour went by that I didn’t think about you.”
Esmeralda smiled a little, then lowered her eyes to regard their clasped hands. A strand of black hair had come free, swinging down to touch her cheek. Slowly, she interlaced her fingers with his, then squeezed Jack’s hands slightly. “I’m glad you missed me,” she whispered. “For a while there, you were so…distant. I thought you’d changed your mind, and didn’t like me anymore.”
“Oh, no,” Jack said, softly. “Nothing could be further from the truth.” He took a deep breath. It felt strange, telling the complete truth. But Esmeralda had been honest with him, he could tell. She deserved nothing less from him. “I thought you fancied Christophe, love. So I steered clear.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise. “No,” she said, finally, shaking her head. “Oh, Jack, no.”
Jack smiled at her, then, greatly daring, he lifted her right hand up and bent forward. Gently, he kissed the back of her hand, letting his mouth linger on her skin, then pressed her palm to his cheek. He heard her draw in a breath, and felt her tremble a little. When he raised his head, he found she was still leaning toward him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her dark eyes were soft, full of promise.
Their faces were only inches apart.
Did he lean forward, or did she? Jack didn’t know. All he knew was that he could smell her faint perfume, mixed with the scent of her skin, and a hint of clean sweat. It was a warm, seductive scent that sent his head spinning and his heart racing. If she turned her head just a little…
If he turned his head just a little…
Her mouth was warm, her lips soft beneath his. As he kissed her, her lips parted slightly, but Jack reminded himself to hold back. He didn’t want to push. Besides, this kiss was sweet and perfect just as it was.
He didn’t want it to end, but he felt the pressure of her mouth ease, just a fraction, so he sat back. They regarded each other for a long moment. Esmeralda smiled shyly. “Now what?”
Jack smiled bemusedly back at her. Now I turn this dory around and row back to the beach, and we climb out and walk hand-in-hand a little farther on, until we find a nice cushiony patch of beach grass behind a screen of brush. While I spread our waistcoats and my shirt over that patch of grass, you uncork a bottle of wine. And then I unlace your—
“You said we were going rowing in the cove,” she said, breaking into his fantasy. When he blinked at her uncomprehendingly, she cocked her head at him, then, laughing a little, pulled her hands free of his. Reaching over, Esmeralda gave him a little push on his shoulder. “Wake up, Jack! What is it you English say…has the kitty pulled out your tongue?”
“Huh?” Jack blinked at her, startled. When he realized what she’d said, and why, he began to laugh. After a moment, she joined him.
Their shared hilarity grounded him, made him realize that his fantasy of finding that patch of beach grass wasn’t bloody likely. At least, not today, and probably not any time soon…Which was as it should be. Esmeralda was a lady, and one perforce spent more time romancing a lady.
Running through a quick mental tally of his acquaintances, Jack wondered which of them might lend him a bit of money. I am definitely going to go find Melinda tonight…
When he could speak again, Jack said, “Esmeralda, the expression you want goes, ‘Has the cat got your tongue.’”
“Oh!” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “My English is good, but not perfect.”
“It’s ruddy good. Better than my Spanish,” Jack reassured her. He took a deep breath, sobering. “And as to going rowing in the cove…I have something I should tell you.”
“What is it?” Her smile vanished. “Something is wrong.”
He nodded, then gave her an edited version of his time for the past two days, saying he’d been looking for the old sailor she’d seen him talking to that night in The Drunken Lady, but hadn’t found him. “So finally I gave up searching, and went for a walk out on the docks. While I was there, I saw something…someone…floating. You can guess who it turned out to be.”
“It was this man Tommy? Tommy of the One Tooth?” Esmeralda was concerned, but not alarmed. Jack could tell she hadn’t put the whole picture together yet. “That’s too bad. Poor old man.”
“Tell me, Esmeralda, did you ever talk to him? Did you meet Barbossa’s crew members after your grandfather picked them up to transport them here, to Shipwreck Cove?”
Her dark brows drew together as she thought. “No, I just saw them in passing during the voyage. I think Captain Barbossa must have warned them away from approaching me.”
Recalling that hideous little homunculus Pintel, Jack could understand that. He nodded. “It’s my guess that by the time I found him, Old Tommy had been dead for at least two days,” he said. “I examined his body after I fished him out of the water, and sent for Teague so he’d know what had happened. He dismissed it all as an accident. A drunken old sot falling off the dock and drowning.”
“Why would y
ou examine Old Tommy’s body?” Now he had her full attention. “What happened to him? How did he die?”
“Teague was probably right. Tommy most likely drowned. But I don’t think it was an accident.”
Her dark eyes widened. “Murder?” she whispered.
Jack nodded. Shipping his oars, he started rowing again, aiming for the narrow channel that led into Shipwreck Cove. “I think so,” he said. “There were no signs of foul play on his body, so Teague decided he just fell in and drowned. I think he’s wrong. I think someone filled Old Tommy full of so much rum that he passed out, then chucked him into the cove, maybe held him under to make sure.”
Esmeralda shook her head, frowning. “But…but why?”
Shipwreck Cove had its violent side, there was no doubt about it. But actual murder was quite rare—especially the kind of clandestine crime Jack was describing. Pirates were given to more direct means of expressing their dislike or disapproval—such as running each other through in swordfights, or shooting a cheating card or dice player at point-blank range.
“Esmeralda, love, you didn’t hear what Tommy was saying to me that night, but it’s clear to me that someone in The Drunken Lady heard him ranting about what happened the night Cobra sank. I believe that person, or persons, killed him before he could tell more people about it.”
“What was he saying that could make someone want to kill him?”
“Tommy told me that he saw the captain of the attacking rogue ship that night Cobra was sunk.”
“He saw the rogue captain that night?” Esmeralda said. Jack nodded. “You mean he was saying he would recognize him?”
Jack leaned back, pulling the oars. “Yep. But here’s the most important part. Tommy told me he not only saw the rogue captain the night Cobra was sunk,” he paused for emphasis, “but he also said he’d seen him here. In Shipwreck Cove. Just a few days ago. Standing on the deck of that same sloop.”
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 27
