Jack’s breath caught in his throat. “What happened to the princess?” he asked.
Ayisha’s reply to Chamba’s translated question was voiced in such bleak tones that Jack knew the answer wouldn’t be good. Chamba turned back to him, and said quietly, “She say one morning the princess not able to stand up, so Duke shoot her here.” He touched his forehead, between his eyes.
“Damn,” Jack said, unable to think of anything else to say. For a moment he was tempted to burden this serving woman with what he knew about the royal house of Zerzura, and the labyrinth leading to the treasure, but what was the point, now?
After a moment, he sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Miss Ayisha. The man’s an animal. But you’re still alive. I’m willing to take you home to Kerma, so you can tell the people there what happened. You know where the island is, don’t you?”
Chamba translated. The woman’s head moved in the starlight as she nodded, then she spoke. Chamba said, “She say, south of the Canaries, north of the Cape Verdes.”
Jack sighed. “That’s a lot of square miles of ocean, Miss. Could you point to it if I showed you a map?”
After her reply, Chamba translated: “She say no, Cap’n. She say Kerma closer to the Cape Verdes than to the Canaries. But she don’t know how to read English, and she sure don’t know how to read charts.”
“Not good,” Jack said, looking down at the earrings glimmering faintly in his palm. “Ask her if she wants me to take her home, and if so, how does she propose I do that, if she can’t give me the bearings?”
Ayisha didn’t speak for at least a minute, but finally, she said something, her tone soft and hesitant. Chamba reported, “She say she what my tribe would call a wise woman. Maybe you call it priestess? Anyway, she say if you get her close to her home, she will…feel …where her homeland be. Then she point you the rest of the way.”
Ayisha spoke again. Chamba sounded awed by her response. “She say her home hidden. People who sail past will not see it unless they have someone like her aboard to break the…” He cast about for the word. “The…seeming,” he said. “Looking like one thing, when it something else.”
“Illusion?” Jack suggested.
Chamba nodded. “Right word, Cap’n, thank you. Yes. She mean illusion.”
“I see,” Jack said. “Very well. I guess that’s going to be the way of it, then. I’ll sail to that area, between the Cape Verde Islands and the Canary Islands, and together we’ll find her home.” He thought about Tia Dalma’s compass, wondering if it would work for anyone but him. He couldn’t visualize Kerma, but this woman could. If Ayisha couldn’t find the island on her own, he’d let her try the compass. And once I know where it is, I’ll be able to plot the bearings onto the chart, he thought. In the event I decide to share them with Cutler Beckett…
Jack wasn’t any too sure that he would, in fact, give Beckett the bearings to Kerma. If there was gold and treasure on the island, why should he share, especially with someone who intended to make a clean sweep of the place and take them all for slaves? Talk about killing the goose that lays the golden eggs, he thought, contemptuously.
“So we have an agreement, Miss Ayisha,” he said aloud. “Chamba, tell her if that if she takes me to Zerzura, I’ll give her the earrings that belonged to the princess, so she’ll have something to remember her by.”
A moment later, Chamba translated her reply. “She say she be glad to have them, Cap’n. She say she know that you be wanting a reward in return for taking her home.” Ayisha spoke again. Chamba’s voice cracked with excitement as he translated. “She say she sure the queen of Zerzura will give you and your men much gold, for your reward.”
Jack felt a wave of excitement himself. “That would be lovely, darling,” he chirped, nodding at Ayisha, and smiling. Just what I was hoping to hear!
Ayisha smiled back at him. It was the first time he’d seen her features express anything but wary neutrality. Her smile held more than a touch of smugness about it, but Jack was too focused on visions of gold to take much notice of it.
“So when shall we go?” Jack said, wrenching his mind away from aureate fantasies. He saw that she had brought nothing with her. “How about tonight, Miss Ayisha?” Chamba translated.
Ayisha responded briefly, then launched into a longer speech, using her hands to gesture toward the south, then holding up five fingers. Jack realized she was speaking of something very important. Concerned, he leaned forward, waiting for the translation. Chamba looked at him. “You not gonna like this, Cap’n,” he warned.
“Go on. When does she want to go?”
“She say she fine to leave tomorrow night. She say there be some things she want to bring with her, but she don’t have them now, they back in her room. But she also say that before she leave Calabar, there be someone she have to bring along with her. Another slave. She say she will not leave without him.”
“Him?” Jack repeated, startled. “Who is he? What is he to her?” But I thought she lost the only person she cared about! What’s going on? Jack was skeptical. Could it be possible that Ayisha had a husband or a lover among the other members of the caravan? He reminded himself that not all men were obsessed with women’s faces and bodies…only most of them, in his experience.
“She say he her friend.” Chamba emphasized the word. “She say this slave belong to Mr. Dalton. Dalton farm a big place outside Calabar, on the south road.”
“How far south?” Jack demanded.
“Maybe five mile, she say.”
“Oh, great,” Jack said. “And I suppose she expects me to help her go steal this slave.”
“I think so, Cap’n.”
“Damn and blast,” Jack said, with feeling. “And here I thought this would be easy. Does she know where this slave’s sleeping quarters are, at this farm?” Chamba translated.
Ayisha nodded, yes.
“All right,” Jack said. “I’ll do it. But she’d better be telling the truth about knowing where this fellow will be sleeping.” He gave Ayisha a glance that held more than a little irritation. She gave him a faint, enigmatic smile, serene as a Madonna.
Jack did some rapid calculations, realizing that in order to make sure they reached the Dalton farm in the middle of the night, and had time to return well before dawn, they’d have to move fast. I’ll need a horse, he thought. Or a horse and a wagon.
It would take a human at least ninety minutes to walk five miles. A horse could travel five miles in less than an hour, and that was at a moderate pace. Jack sighed. I’ll have to hire one at the local livery.
“Tell her I’ll meet her tomorrow night as soon as she can sneak out, on the south road, just out of sight of town,” he said.
Chamba translated. Ayisha nodded yes.
Jack had only ridden a few times in his life, and not for any distance. He decided that hiring a carriage or a small wagon would be the best idea. He felt sure he could drive easier than he could ride, and there would be a place for Ayisha to sit. For a moment he considered trying to take a boat. The main river ran east to west, not north to south. But there were smaller tributaries that flowed into the Calabar, and they wound all around in the area. There was a good chance that one of those tributaries flowed past this farm. But if he asked questions about the Dalton farm, people would likely remember that later, when this slave turned up missing. Best to stick to the road. My kingdom for a horse, Jack thought, grumpily. After all, human beings had been riding for millennia. How hard could it be?
The next day, Jack dutifully presented himself at the livery to hire a horse and wagon, only to discover that all of the wagons were presently on hire, and none was expected back before the following day. The manager of the livery offered him a fat pony and a cart, but Jack knew that wouldn’t hold three adults. He shook his head. “No, that won’t do,” he said. “I’ll need a horse…or maybe two horses,” he amended.
“You’re in luck, sir,” the manager said. “Two horses happen to be what I have available.” He wa
ved Jack into the stable, and pointed to the first two stalls. “The bay gelding and the chestnut gelding,” he said.
Great, thought Jack. Horse eunuchs.
He walked into the third, empty stall to peer at the two animals. The tall bay horse raised its head and looked at him. “Good fellow,” said Jack, reaching through the bars to pat it. Quick as summer lightning, the animal’s ears swept back and it swung its nose toward his hand, lips drawing back from its large, squared-off teeth. Jack hastily yanked his hand back. He knew hostility when he saw it.
“Caesar will nip a little, have to be careful with him,” said the manager, heartily. “But he’s a fine, strong beast, and can go all day.” Jack looked at the horse’s bright eyes, and saw that its coat gleamed. Its muscles appeared smooth and powerful.
He took a look at the other candidate. The chestnut horse stood, head hanging, lower lip drooping, its coat rough, not sleek. Jack was suspicious of the way this one rested all its weight on only three of its legs. Even a non-horseman could tell the beast was resting no weight on its portside forefoot. “What’s wrong with that leg?” he asked, pointing down. Even in the dimness of the stall, he could see that the leg below the knee appeared swollen.
“Oh, he’s just a little stiff on that leg,” the manager said dismissively. “He works right out of that once he’s gone a mile or so.”
Jack glanced at the manager skeptically. “I see,” he said, and he did see. This was the equivalent of trying to pass a rowboat half full of water off on a lubber, claiming “it just needs a little bailing every so often.”
“I’ll take the bay horse. Caesar,” he said, pointing. “I’ll need him this evening. Going to ride over and see a…lady…that I know.” He smiled, man to man. “If all goes well, I might not be back until dawn.”
“Ah, I see, sir! Well, that would be all right. Just make sure you bring the animal back with his skin cool, his coat dry, not all sweaty, you know. Give him a drink of water at the trough, loosen the saddle girth, then tie him to the hitching rail over there,” the manager pointed.
“Very well,” Jack said. “What time can I pick him up?”
“I’ll leave him saddled up, all ready to go, tied to the hitching rail,” the manager said. “Remember to just tighten up the girth before you mount, sir, then away you go.” He held out his hand, and named an amount.
Jack paid. “I’ll need some of those leather cargo containers I’ve seen before. The ones that fasten to the back of the saddle.”
“Saddlebags?”
“Precisely what I had in mind,” Jack said. “Right. Oh, and…how about you show me where the girth is, mate?”
He was back that night, about five bells of the evening watch. His mount awaited him, tied to the hitching rail. Caesar was saddled, and the requested saddlebags were in place. The horse himself appeared to be asleep; his eyes were closed, and his aft starboard leg was cocked up. He appeared very relaxed.
Jack untied the gelding and looked at the stirrup. It seemed an ungodly way up. He raised his foot, and grabbed the saddle. It rocked in his hands. Ah, yes. Tighten girth, he remembered.
It was more difficult at night, but luckily the crescent moon was still up, though sinking fast. Fumbling, he found the proper straps and buckles, and gave a strong tug. Caesar snaked his head around, teeth bared and aiming for Jack’s forearm. Before the horse could grab him, Jack managed to pull his left arm out of range. Doubling up his fist, he gave the creature a clout on its nose. He was gratified to see that the blow appeared to convince Caesar that this particular human’s arm wasn’t fodder.
The second time he pulled on the girth, the horse put its ears back, but that was all. Jack got the girth tightened.
“Easy,” he told himself, feeling cheered. “Millennia, right.”
He was about to lift his foot up to the stirrup again, when he realized the large, sawed-off tree trunk next to the hitching post must serve as a mounting block. Stepping up, he located the stirrup with his left foot, swung his right leg over, and settled himself on the horse’s back.
Jack remembered how to steer, one rein in each hand, so he pulled Caesar’s head to starboard and headed out of the yard, onto the street. He kept the beast to a walk, experimenting with how to sit so he didn’t mash tender parts of his anatomy. As he reached the end of the cobblestoned part of the street, he chirruped to the gelding, and Caesar obligingly increased his speed, breaking into a trot. Jack bounced, his teeth clacking together until he thought he’d bite his tongue off. After a moment, however, he managed to balance a bit more, and stood in his stirrups so he wasn’t slamming his rear—or anything else—against the saddle. That was better.
The horse trotted along, past the last houses of Calabar, heading down the southern road. On either side, trees and brush reared up. Jack tugged on both reins, and Caesar slowed back down to a walk. He glanced behind him, but couldn’t see the town. If she’s already here, this should be the place.
A voice spoke softly, in a language Jack didn’t recognize. Caesar pricked up his ears. A few yards away, brush moved, then the Zerzuran woman stepped out onto the road. It was dark, but Jack’s night vision was good, and he could see her. She seemed to be dressed as she had been the previous night, but she was carrying a cloth bag about the size of a pillowcase.
“Right on time,” Jack said, approvingly. “I’m afraid I could only get one of these beasts, the other one seemed to be needing a peg leg. So we’ll have to both ride Caesar, here.” He didn’t know why he was talking to the woman, when she didn’t speak or understand English, but he supposed it couldn’t do any harm. He smiled at her and patted Caesar’s rump. “Can you get up here?”
She stepped over to him and busied herself for a moment, opening her bag and dividing the contents between the two saddlebags, then stuffing the empty bag in on top. Peering around by starlight, Jack made out a fallen log lying by the side of the road. He pointed to it. “Why don’t you stand there?”
With some difficulty, he managed to maneuver Caesar over to the log. Ayisha stepped up on it. Jack extended his hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed it. She jumped. Jack pulled strongly. A moment later, she was up behind him, holding on to the back of the saddle. “There you go, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jack said. “Now we’ll head for that farm.”
He pulled on the portside rein, turning Caesar’s nose so he faced south, and chirruped to the gelding. “Giddyup!”
Caesar snorted, but didn’t move. He seemed to be pushing his nose downward, taking up all the slack in the loose reins. “Come on!” Jack urged, and kicked the gelding, just as Ayisha’s hands moved. At first Jack thought she was trying to hold on to his waist, but then he realized she was groping, trying to grab the reins out of his hands.
Several things happened at the same moment. Caesar’s head disappeared altogether, the horse moved violently, and something hard seemed to surge up beneath the saddle. Jack had only a moment, as Ayisha grabbed frantically, trying to take the reins, to realize that Caesar was plunging like a ship in a typhoon, and then both he and the slave woman were flying into the air.
Jack landed in the middle of the road, his wind knocked out. Flaming stars cartwheeled past his vision. He lay there, gasping like a landed fish, for what seemed an eternity, before he could draw breath again. Finally, with a gasp that turned into a groan, he managed to roll over and get to his knees, then stagger to his feet.
Caesar was about forty feet away. From the sound of it, he was calmly snacking on all of the underbrush he could reach by the side of the road. Ayisha was climbing to her feet, clutching her shawl around her. Her head-cloth had come loose, and lay on her shoulder, along with her shawl. As Jack watched, she pulled it free, then looked straight at him. Even in the darkness, he could tell she was giving him a disgusted glare.
“Damn!” Jack mumbled. “Bloody horse.” He began trudging toward Caesar, who raised his head, ears pricked, to regard him. Jack held out his hand. “Nice horsey. C’mere,
you scurvy nag.” Caesar didn’t like being called a “scurvy nag.” He snorted, raised his tail, and began trotting away, tail waving like a banner. Cursing under his breath, Jack began running after him.
“Stop that, you fool!”
For one crazed second, Jack thought that Caesar had spoken. Then he whirled around to see Ayisha wave her arms at him. Her voice reached him again. “Don’t you know anything? You run, the horse runs! And he can run a lot faster than you!”
Jack’s mouth fell open. “You speak English,” he said, inanely.
“Let me catch him,” she said, not deigning to answer the obvious. “Wait here.”
Leaving Jack in the middle of the road, she walked over to the underbrush. He saw her bend down, heard tearing sounds. She straightened up, and he realized she had a big handful of grass. She started after Caesar, sauntering slowly, rather aimlessly, holding the grass out, crooning in that language Jack had never heard. It must be her native tongue, he realized.
Caesar eyed her, then he whuffled at her. It was a hungry sound. Ayisha continued to amble along. When she stopped, she sniffed the grass, then made enthusiastic noises, as though she were smelling food prepared by Mr. Beckett’s cook. Then she held out the grass, wiggling it enticingly, still crooning. The gelding took a hesitant step toward her. Then another.
Moments later, Caesar was caught.
Ayisha did something with the stirrups, then led the horse back to Jack. “I will ride up front, because I can control him,” she said. Her English was accented, but perfectly understandable…not to mention grammatical. “You will ride behind.”
Jack rubbed his backside. “I could just run,” he suggested.
“Not as fast as a trotting horse, and not for long,” she said. Gathering up the reins, she raised a bare foot, then a moment later she was in the saddle, her skirts tucked in around her legs. Jack caught a glimpse of bare calves in the starlight, but that was all.
He blinked, and Caesar was standing quietly beside the log. Jack went over to it, climbed up, and then grabbed the back of the saddle and jumped up. The horse’s backside felt slick and precarious. He clutched the back of the saddle. “You may hold on to me, Captain Sparrow,” Ayisha said. “I will not fall.”
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 34
