Esmeralda put her hand to her mouth. “He was saying one of the rogues is here?” As she spoke, the dory emerged from the narrow channel, into the wide expanse of the cove, blue-green and tranquil in the early morning sun.
Esmeralda and Jack regarded the pirate hideaway in silence. Quickly, Jack counted all of the ships he could see on this side of the cove, then doubled the number. There were at least fifty pirate vessels moored at the docks, or anchored in the cove. He heard his companion counting in Spanish under her breath. “And you think one of these vessels…” she gestured at the ships as she trailed off.
“Sank the Cobra. Yes.”
“Dios mio!” she muttered.
“Yep,” Jack said. “Now you savvy, love.”
“Jack, there are—I don’t know—a dozen sloops here. More.”
“Ah, but I’m betting only one is Bermuda-rigged and has that brass bow chaser Captain Barbossa described, love,” Jack said. “Keep a sharp eye while I row.”
He bent to his task, and the little dory threaded its way up and down the ranks of moored vessels on the eastern side of Shipwreck City. It took them at least half an hour to finish checking all the sloops on that side.
“That’s half of them,” Jack muttered, as he turned the dory and headed for the other side of the small center island. “Now for the other side.”
When he reached the docks on the western side of the cove, Jack unshipped the oars to take a breather. He’d been rowing steadily for half an hour, and the tropical heat was rising. “Here, you must be thirsty,” Esmeralda said, uncorking one of the bottles of wine she’d brought. Jack gulped eagerly, then handed the bottle back to her.
She took a few sips, then recorked the bottle and stowed it away. “Let me row for a while,” she said. “Switch seats with me.”
“Wouldn’t look right, letting a lady row,” Jack protested.
“Jack,” she said, nettled, “I’m not a lady, I’m a pirate, just like you. I can row a boat as well as you can. Now hurry up and switch seats with me.”
Jack opened his mouth to remonstrate further, then closed it with a snap, as he remembered just how close one had to come to another person in order to successfully change seats in a small dory without capsizing it. He shrugged. “Who am I to argue, love?”
Keeping their center of gravity low, they wriggled past each other, until they’d reversed their positions. By the time he sat down again, Jack was still breathing fast, but for a far different—and much more pleasant—reason. He was pleased to note that Esmeralda’s cheeks were flushed from more than heat and exertion.
She began rowing along the docks, maneuvering the dory so they could get close to all of the sloops. “Barbossa said Bermuda-rigged,” Jack said. “But we’d better check them all. They might have changed the rigging.”
“If the rogue pirate captain has any sense, he’s rid himself of that bow chaser,” she said.
“Blimey! Wait a moment, love!” Jack exclaimed, suddenly. He was surveying the anchored ships through his spyglass. “There’s a sloop over there, and there’s something shiny on her bow. I can see the sun glinting off it.”
“We’ll get closer,” she said. “But not too close. We don’t want the captain seeing us and deciding we’re a threat.”
“Too right, love.”
Esmeralda began rowing for the northern end of the cove, and Jack, to make things look good, took out some bread and cheese, and the bottle of wine. She unshipped the oars, and they drifted, sharing the food and wine, for all the world like a couple of pirate lads out rowing about on a lark.
Jack took out his spyglass and swept it around, staring up at the cliffs, then back at the docks, at the towering piled derelict hulks of Shipwreck City, and then at several ships anchored in the cove. He allowed himself only a few moments to look at the sloop in question—but it was enough to accomplish his purpose. He lowered the spyglass and closed his eyes. If he’d been alone, he might have cursed a blue streak, but he wasn’t, so he confined himself to just shaking his head and muttering, “Damn. Oh no…”
“What is it?” Esmeralda asked, still rowing. “I want to see, too.”
“Wait till we’re past them,” Jack said. “We don’t want him to figure out who we are and what we’re doing.” He shook his head again. “We really don’t want that.”
She peered at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “Jack, what’s going on? You…are you all right? You look sick.” As she leaned forward, she examined his face more intently. “You look like you’ve gotten too much sun.”
“Esmeralda,” Jack said quietly, “That ship…she’s a sloop, Bermuda-rigged, just as Hector Barbossa described. And she’s got a brass bow chaser, all right. Foreign work, and it looks to be India work to my eyes. But darlin’…I know that ship. That’s Koldunya. Borya’s sloop.”
“What?” she was so taken aback she lost her grip on one of the oars, and only Jack’s quick grab saved it from slithering out of the oarlock. Esmeralda was nearly stammering. “But—but—Borya…you can’t mean the man I met! The Pirate Lord? It can’t be!”
Jack nodded grimly. “It is. I’ve sailed aboard her. I’ve rigged and reefed her sails, and gotten drunk with her crew—and her captain, too. That’s Koldunya—means ‘witch’ in Russian—and she belongs to Boris Palachnik, the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. Borya’s our rogue pirate captain.”
Esmeralda bit her lip and rowed steadily for several minutes, until she’d reached a spot on the other side of the sloop, not too close. “Hand me that spyglass.”
“Look all around,” Jack cautioned her. “Not just at Koldunya.”
She nodded abstractedly, as she went through much the same charade as Jack had, until she finally allowed herself to focus on the sloop for a few moments. A minute later, she lowered the telescope and handed it to Jack. “Today we have seen at least eight other Bermuda-rigged sloops. It is not inconceivable that another captain captured a bow chaser of this type. So this could be just…” she snapped her fingers impatiently, searching for a word. “You know…happenchance? Is that it?”
“Happenstance,” Jack corrected. “Means coincidence. Do you really believe that, love?”
She sighed, worrying her lower lip for a moment. “No,” she said, finally. “Perhaps I might, if Tommy of the One Tooth was still alive. But if he was talking about seeing this captain, and then he is dead…” She turned her hands palm up. “Then no. It can’t be coincidence. That is not believable.”
They stared at each other for a moment. “So now what, Jack? What do we do? Who should we tell?”
Jack thought fast. “You should tell Don Rafael. And get him to tell Teague. As for me”—he leaned toward her—“switch places with me again. I’m going to row back to Shipwreck City and find Barbossa and get him to look at Koldunya’s bow.”
Esmeralda didn’t argue. They changed seats, and Jack began rowing them back toward the city with all possible speed, though he took a route that would keep several anchored ships between the dory and Borya’s vessel for most of their route.
No sooner had they tied the dory to the mooring post than Jack leaped out and gave Esmeralda a hand up onto the dock. “Head straight back to Venganza. If you find Captain Barbossa there, tell him to come to Shipwreck City and wait for me in The Drunken Lady. Otherwise, just explain to Don Rafael what we saw while we were rowing around, looking for a good spot to have our picnic, savvy?”
She nodded, and they headed off in opposite directions.
Jack plunged into the hodgepodge that was Shipwreck City. He raced up crooked flights of stairs, down narrow hallways, and leaped over uneven footing. He was surprised to discover that it wasn’t even noon yet—waking up that morning out on the dock seemed to have happened half a lifetime ago.
Shipwreck City never really slept; there were always places open where a pirate could get a drink, or a wench, or buy a weapon. But it did tend to be at its lowest ebb before noon, because of all the roistering that went on by candlelight. Jack’s boots t
hudded loudly as he ran along a corridor, causing several denizens to poke their unkempt heads out of doors, demanding to know where the fire was.
Jack shouted, “Sorry, mate!” back a time or two, then quit bothering, saving his breath for running. He yanked open the door to every tavern, drinking hall, gaming den, and bordello he passed, shouting, “Captain Barbossa!” and giving a quick glance inside.
The most polite response he received was, “Who?” Usually it was some variation on that theme, accompanied by various curses and suggestions that were anatomically unlikely, if not downright impossible.
He was nearly to the top of the towering hulk of derelict vessels when he found him. Jack flung open the door to Fanny’s brothel, gave a quick, abstracted “G’morning, love,” to Fanny herself, who was sitting in her parlor, alone, wrapped in a flouncy negligee and eating an apple. She looked up in surprise, rouge smeared, hair hanging in her eyes, but said nothing as he thrust aside the rug hanging over the next door as a token privacy screen, and ducked to enter a narrow corridor. Tiny rooms opened off it. Jack began opening them, sticking his head into each one, and then pulling it back out with a quick, “Sorry, wrong room.”
Most of the male occupants didn’t even wake up.
Jack opened the door to the last chamber but one, stuck his head in, then, with a pleased “Ah!” inserted the rest of himself. He’d recognized the enormous old cartwheel of a battered hat from the tangle of clothing dumped beside the bed. “Captain Barbossa!” he cried, verifying the identity of his sleeping quarry. “Wake up!”
Barbossa’s plump, copper-haired bedmate sat up, squeaking in surprise, then began fumbling to pull the sheet up over her ample charms, thus effectively diverting Jack’s attention for a crucial moment. He didn’t realize the bed’s other occupant had roused until the tip of a sword blade touched his Adam’s apple and a gravelly West Country accent growled, “I’m Barbossa, and I don’t think ye’ll be the one givin’ the orders here, boy. Not if ye want to keep breathin’. Now who are ye, boy?”
Jack swallowed reflexively, trying not to move his throat much, and rolled his eyes away from the captain’s bedmate—who had finally succeeded in yanking up the sheet—to the man before him. He essayed a tentative smile. “Good morning, Captain Barbossa. I’m Jack Sparrow. We met last month, remember? I…I have important news for you.”
“Ye do, do ye?” The tip of the blade didn’t move so much as an inch, as Hector Barbossa sat up in the bed.
Jack couldn’t nod, because of the sword tip, so he said, in his most earnest tones, “Yes, I do, Captain. Very important. You need to hear this. Quickly.”
“Jack Sparrow…” Barbossa’s weathered features, beneath his grizzled, graying hair, frowned slightly. “I remember ye now. They say Captain Teague is yer—”
“Yes,” Jack interrupted hastily, “Captain Teague commands Troubadour; it’s his ship I serve on.” Greatly daring, he put up a finger, and very lightly touched the edge of the blade. “I’m unarmed, Captain. So, if you wouldn’t mind…” He mimed pushing the sword aside. He didn’t want a split finger.
Barbossa growled, low in his throat, but grudgingly moved the blade to one side a crucial few inches.
A plump, good-natured face, topped by fetching coils of copper hair, appeared over the captain’s shoulder. “Oh, Jack, it’s you. I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes…” She broke off, giggling. “Good morning, love.”
“I’d forgotten how delectable you look in the morning, Sophie,” Jack said, gallantly. He kissed two fingers at her, sending her off into another fit of good-natured giggles.
Barbossa ostentatiously cleared his throat. “So why were ye looking for me, Jack Sparrow?”
“Captain.” Jack made as if to lean closer, then mimed pushing the blade aside again. When he was closer to Barbossa’s ear, he breathed, “I believe I’ve found the vessel that sank Cobra. I’d like you to come with me and see if you can identify her.”
Barbossa’s reddened eyes widened. With a curse that sounded more like an animal’s snarl, he began donning his clothes. Within moments he was stamping his feet into his tall boots with their folded-over cuffs, while clapping his huge old hat onto his head. Tossing a few coins over his shoulder at Sophie, he strode out of the tiny room without a backward glance, Jack at his heels.
Barbossa paused in the corridor. “What’s the fastest way out of here?” he demanded.
“Follow me, Captain,” Jack said, leading the way.
When they reached The Drunken Lady, Jack motioned the captain to follow him in. “We might be able to see her from here…ah! There!” he pointed out the window, open to catch the morning breeze. “She’s the sloop farthest to port.”
Barbossa stared at Koldunya, eyes narrowed. “I see her…Bermuda-rigged sloop…yes. And I can see something bright on her bow…catches the sun…” He blinked, then shook his head. “Me eyes aren’t what they used to be, Jack. Looks like the same ship, but I can’t be sure. Have ye a spyglass?”
“I do,” Jack said, eagerly, then his face fell. “I left it in the dory,” he admitted. “But we can be there in just a few minutes.”
“Aye, let’s hurry.”
Jack took to his heels, racing past Steve and Marie, who were standing behind the bar, gazing at them, their mouths open with astonishment to see two pirates enter their establishment and not order anything to drink.
Barbossa thudded after Jack as the younger man ran through the crowded warrens of Shipwreck City, down, down…until they emerged outside one of the entrances.
Jack didn’t want to call attention to their mission, so he slowed down and headed for the dock at a brisk walk. When they reached the dory, he was relieved to see the leather satchel was still shoved beneath the seat, and, beneath it was the brass cylinder of his spyglass. He yanked it up, then dodged back and forth on the dock until he had a clear line of sight to Koldunya. Placing the eyepiece to his eye, he located the ship, then turned the barrel to bring the bow into focus. The brass cannon sprang into his view.
“There she is,” Jack said, pointing, handing the spyglass to Barbossa. “Sight right past that schooner there.”
Barbossa fixed the spyglass to his eye, and moved it slightly, searching to bring the sloop into view. His fingers moved on the barrel, focusing it…focusing…
Jack blinked as he saw the sun flash off something on Koldunya’s bow. What was that? he wondered, instantly alert.
Barbossa had finally focused in on the sloop. “Aye,” he said. “Riggin’s the same. Looks like the same ship…and on her bow…”
Jack saw the flash again and suddenly realized what it was. Someone on Koldunya’s bow was looking at them through a spyglass!
“Damn and blast!” exclaimed Barbossa. “I’d just started to get a look at that brass bow chaser, t’see if it was the same one, but now it’s gone!” He added a string of more colorful terms, one or two in languages Jack didn’t recognize.
Jack grabbed the spyglass, and, after refocusing it, he cursed, too. “There’s something dark covering it now,” he reported. “They’ve hidden it. While you were examining the ship, I saw a flash from a spyglass. Someone aboard the sloop saw us watching them.”
“Didn’t see the bow chaser clear enough to be sure,” Barbossa said. “But that sloop is a dead ringer for the one what sunk me ship Cobra—and killed me little Polly. What son of Hades owns that hell-begotten ship?”
Jack grimaced. “That’s Koldunya,” he said. “It belongs to Borya Palachnik. The Pirate Lord.”
Barbossa’s eyes widened. “Borya? Can’t be! I’ve known him for years! I’ve gambled with him, gotten drunk with him more times than I can count. He wouldn’t…would he?” Barbossa hesitated for a moment, then slammed his hand down onto the hilt of his sword. “Damn me for a simpleton,” he muttered, half to himself. “The little butcher always did love gold,” he added. “The soulless little blackguard.”
Unable to think of anything to say, Jack merely shrugge
d.
“Borya favored sloops. Liked vessels that didn’t draw much, and could sail rings around bigger ships. So it all fits, in a way.” He glared at the distant sloop.
“What fits?” an all-too-familiar voice asked.
Jack looked up to see Captain Teague standing there, with Don Rafael just behind him. Esmeralda was standing behind her grandfather.
Barbossa began to explain, and Jack was happy to let him summarize the situation. Teague would certainly believe Barbossa, an experienced pirate and a captain, long before he’d believe Jack.
When Barbossa reached the end of the comparison between Koldunya and the ship that had attacked him, Teague said, “This isn’t proof of Borya’s guilt. Just having a Bermuda-rigged sloop—even one with a brass bow chaser—proves nothing. It could be coincidence.”
Jack, who had stepped back, and was standing behind Barbossa, glanced over at Esmeralda and rolled his eyes.
“Seems like a farfetched set of coincidences t’ me,” Barbossa said. “I’d like to look Borya in the eye and ask him whether he attacked and sank me ship.”
“And do not forget Old Tommy of the One Tooth,” Esmeralda said.
“What happened to One Tooth Tommy?” Barbossa barked. “He was part of me crew.”
“Jacky boy found him floating in the cove last night,” Teague replied. “Face down. He thinks his death wasn’t accidental.”
Barbossa turned and regarded Jack with eyes that seemed to bore right into him. “Poor old Tommy. He never did get over that night Cobra went down. Sent him right round the bend, it did. He was always babbling about having seen the devil aboard that sloop. Is that what he told ye?”
“Yes,” Jack replied. “He was drunk, of course.”
“Old Tommy was always drunk,” Barbossa said. “The man could climb riggin’ and reef canvas in a blow when he was three sheets to the wind. Never saw him sober.”
“He told me he’d seen the devil that night Cobra sank,” Jack said. “But then he announced that he’d also seen him here, in Shipwreck Cove. That’s why I started looking for a Bermuda-rigged sloop.” He took a deep breath. “I think someone heard him talking about what he’d seen, and killed him to silence him, later that same night.”
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 28
