“Sure he will, Jacky boy,” Mortensen said, with a nasty sneer.
Mortensen tried to be thorough; Jack had to give him that. First he made Jack remove his boots. Roger peered down each boot, then shook them vigorously to make sure there was nothing concealed inside. Then he began running his hands over Jack, down his sides, beneath his arms, down his legs. Finally, he patted Jack’s chest and back, then his midsection, working his way south, clearly uncomfortable with what he was doing. Jack stood passively, until Mortensen’s hands slid along his ribs, then he winced theatrically and giggled. “Roger, stop that! I’m ticklish!”
“Shut up, Jacky,” Mortensen growled.
As the jailer’s hands brushed the waistband of Jack’s britches, then started downward, toward his crotch, Jack snickered loudly, then caroled, “What is this, Roger? Trying to discover whether I’m a eunuch? Ask Miss Sophie, she’ll vouch for me.” He did a bump and grind, then winked and leered at the guard. “Roger, old chum, unless you want to cause me embarrassment—and yourself a lifelong case of envy—by demanding that I actually produce the goods for your delectation…er…inspection, I’d suggest you desist.” He batted his eyes at Teague’s lieutenant.
Mortensen stepped back. His weather-beaten countenance flushed a dull red. “You’re clean,” he snapped, indicating the corridor leading off to the right. “Come with me.”
Jack smiled and did as ordered.
Mortensen led him up a long cellblock. The dungeon seemed eerily silent. Each cell contained multiple prisoners, except for the last one, which was small by comparison. Jack looked in, to see Christophe alone, sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, his head drooping listlessly. The enclosure was featureless, save for a foul-smelling hole in the opposite corner. Hearing footsteps, the Frenchman looked up, then his eyes widened.
“Jacques!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Mon Dieu, I thought you’d never come!”
Without answering, Jack abruptly turned to confront Mortensen, who was looming behind him, scarcely a handbreadth away. “I don’t care if you’re present, Roger, but must you breathe down the back of me neck?” He rolled his eyes. “Or are you trying to work up the courage to grab me backside and give it a squeeze?” He’d spoken loudly, and his voice carried to all Christophe’s crewmen. The cell-bound pirates laughed, whistled, and jeered obscene suggestions at Mortensen.
Pretending he couldn’t hear them, and that it was his own idea, Mortensen stepped back a few paces.
Jack turned back to Christophe. “What the bloody hell is going on, mate?” he demanded, keeping his voice down. “They told me Borya gave you up as a rogue pirate.”
Christophe’s dark eyes met Jack’s unflinchingly. “Jacques, mon ami. Have I ever lied to you?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Jack said, cautiously.
“Then believe me now, of all times we have spoken truth between us. Jacques, I am innocent! Borya has long had hatred for me. I caught him cheating at cards once, in Tortuga, and I called him out. I challenged him to a duel in front of the entire tavern. But the Russian is, at heart, a coward. He did not have the…” Christophe groped for a word, “the spleen, the stomach, the internal organs…” He broke off, grimacing.
“The guts?” Jack suggested.
“Exactly! The guts to face me in a duel. He could do nothing but turn and walk away. Everyone in The Faithful Bride was laughing at him, calling him coward to his face. He has hated me ever since. So today, when he realized he was going to die, he seized his chance to gain his revenge on me, to make his own passing a bit more bearable by taking me, his enemy, with him. Jack, I swear to you, as le bon Dieu is my witness”—he crossed himself—“in the name of the Holy Virgin and all the saints, I am innocent.”
“They say you murdered Old One Tooth Tommy, Christophe,” Jack said. “The night he died, you were with me and Esmeralda for the first part of the evening. What did you do after we escorted her back to Venganza?”
“I heard that I am also convicted of killing that pitiful old crazy man,” Christophe said, twirling his fingers beside his temple. “But Jack, I did not. After we parted from Esmeralda, I rowed back to La Vipère, and I went to bed.” He paused. “Alone.”
“Damn,” Jack said. “Did anyone see you rowing back?”
“Only my crew.”
“That tears it, then,” Jack muttered. “I’d hoped there was someone that could vouch for your whereabouts after you left Venganza. Someone other than your crewmen.”
“I am sorry, but no. There is not.” Christophe’s shoulders slumped. He clutched the iron bars, hanging his head in despair. He was breathing hard, visibly struggling to control himself. Jack watched him, seeing that his friend’s handsome features were smudged and sweaty; stubble and bruises darkened the formerly clean line of his jaw. He must have fought back against his captors, because his elegant clothes were torn and filthy.
When the French pirate finally raised his head, Jack was shocked to see that his dark eyes were filled with tears. “Jacques, tomorrow at dawn they are going to hang me, and all my men, who are innocent, too. We are pirates, yes, but you are a pirate, too! We have not broken the Code! It is Captain Borya’s malice, his final revenge on an enemy that has brought us to this pass. Jacques, you are my best friend in all the world…please. Help me.”
Jack bit his lip, and did not reply.
Christophe drew a deep, shaky breath. “Please. Please, Jacques…I am begging you.”
Jack looked into his friend’s eyes for a long moment, then he took a deep breath. “Sorry, Christophe,” he said, distinctly. “I wish I could help you, but Teague’s given the order for execution and there’s no getting around it. Esmeralda says she’ll pray for you.”
“Jacques!” Christophe clutched the bars spasmodically. “Please!”
“I’ll be with you in spirit, mate, tomorrow morning,” Jack said, then slowly, deliberately, he winked.
Christophe’s eyes widened slightly.
“Don’t worry about how long it will take, mate,” Jack continued. “Keep in mind that it will only take a few minutes, then it will be over, Christophe, and you’ll be free.” He accented the words as much as he dared, which wasn’t much, but he knew Christophe was quick.
“You’ll be free of the bonds of this earth, mate,” he added. “Concentrate on that, not on what comes before. Savvy?” He winked again.
A spark leaped in Christophe’s dark eyes, and he quickly bowed his head and crossed himself again. “I understand, Jacques,” he said, quietly. “You are a good friend, to come tonight and offer me spiritual comfort.”
Jack waved a hand deprecatingly. “Just wish I could do more, mate.”
Christophe nodded, then, head hanging, he waved sadly at Jack, before lying down on the straw in his cell and turning his back to the outside world.
Jack turned and headed out of the cellblock, with Mortensen following behind. When they reached the area outside the guard post, Jack stopped and turned to the jailer. “Well, thanks for taking me in there,” he said, in a low voice, not looking up. “Won’t pretend it was easy. But maybe I was able to give Christophe some comfort.”
Mortensen nodded, but did not speak. He remained at the end of the passageway, which Jack had figured he’d do, because it was deserted, and he’d be able to grab another nip from his flask unobserved—which was precisely what occurred. Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as he walked through the guard chamber, then out into the entrance passageway, the one leading to the stairs.
When he reached them, he didn’t start climbing, however. A quick glance over his shoulder assured him that no guards were in sight. Jack turned to his left, stepping past the stone stairway, walked a few steps, then turned right. Pressing his back against the stone in the small area behind the dungeon steps, he waited for a moment to be certain he hadn’t been followed.
Jack walked along the old passageway behind the stairs, careful to move quietly. The passageway wasn’t long; it
dead-ended in a rock-fall about fifty feet from the stairs. Jack moved to the far left of the rock-fall, squatted down, and then began cautiously moving rocks, careful to make as little sound as possible.
He shifted perhaps twenty rocks the size of a medium-sized cannonball, then paused when he saw a glimpse of brown amid the gray of the rocks, to breathe a sigh of relief. Good, it’s still there. Now if the passage is still clear.…
Shifting more rocks brought his secret entrance into view. It was a portion of an old hatch that he’d wedged in there, to block the hole he’d discovered in the otherwise collapsed passageway. He’d found it years ago, when he was perhaps twelve or thirteen, during one of his many forays exploring the old dungeons.
Jack gazed dubiously at the revealed passageway. He’d worked at shoring it up, back when he’d first discovered it. He just hoped the supports were still holding. Taking off his hat, coat, and waistcoat, he placed them out of sight behind the rocks, then ducked down and wriggled forward on his belly.
Jack scuttled forward, but a passage that had been easy when he was twelve was painful now; he’d grown more than he’d realized in the intervening years. Twice he stuck fast, and the second time when he finally managed to wriggle forward by pushing hard with his toes and pulling with his hands, he heard the shoulder of his shirt rip. He cursed mentally, not daring to open his mouth, because of the dampness, as well as the stuff filtering down from the rocks that brushed the top of his head. Still, he’d gone too far now to stop; Jack kept moving.
Finally he pulled himself through into empty darkness. This old section of the dungeons was long-forgotten by everyone except him.
Cautiously, feeling above his head for the roof of the passageway, he stood up, then fumbled along the right wall until his fingers encountered a rusted old bracket. He’d left a bundle of candles here, years ago.
Taking out his flint and steel, he managed to get the candle lit.
The passageway was unchanged from the last time he’d come here. Jack started forward, mentally reviewing the way to get into the still-used cellblocks. Five minutes later, his flickering candle revealed an ancient door, its planks as hard as iron. Taking out Teague’s ring of keys, he located the correct key.
Before unlocking the door, he stood on tiptoe and dripped candle wax onto the top hinge, then the bottom one. Then, praying the old lock wouldn’t make too much noise, he inserted the key and turned it very, very slowly.
It creaked, but not too loudly. Pushing the door open, Jack blew out the candle, placed it a foot from the door inside the passageway, then closed the door behind him and relocked it. He stood for a moment, listening, but couldn’t hear anything but the sounds made by the unhappy denizens of the cells. Before him, the passageway ran for about twenty feet, then split.
Leftmost passageway…first cellblock. Rightmost…second cellblock.
Jack headed right. Moments later he was standing before Christophe’s cell, having entered the cellblock from the opposite side of the dungeon from the guard post.
Christophe was on his feet, waiting for him. “Jacques!” he whispered. “Mon Dieu, it’s been forever, where have you been?” Taking in Jack’s disheveled condition, he added, “What have you been doing?”
“Shhhh!” Jack cautioned. Turning to face the rest of the cellblock, the faces pressed against the bars, he held up the keys and put a finger to his lips, then pointed to himself. The level of chatter ceased. Then, as La Vipère’s crew caught his meaning, the background chatter picked up again.
“We have to hurry,” Jack breathed to Christophe. “The guards come through every twenty minutes or so to make sure nothing’s amiss.”
Finding the right key, he quickly unlocked Christophe’s cell. “Be quiet, Christophe,” he cautioned. “Borya’s men aren’t far away. They’re in the first cellblock. If he gets wind of what’s going on, he’ll surely betray you.” Stepping back, he eased the door open.
The next few minutes were busy. Jack handed Christophe the ring of keys, and together they moved quietly down the cellblock. As he unlocked each cell, Christophe spoke in a hushed whisper, cautioning his men to remain in the cell with the door shut until he gave the signal.
As they neared the end of the long row of cells, Christophe seemed to remember something that had escaped him. Placing a hand on Jack’s arm, he fixed his rescuer with a penetrating stare. “You will be going with us, mon ami, non?”
Jack shook his head. “No. Once all your men’s cells are unlocked, I’m taking those keys and scuttling out of here as fast as a crab on a white sand beach, Christophe. I have to put them back in Teague’s cabin before he misses them. Give me about ten minutes to get out of the dungeons before you make your break, understand? I have to go back the way I came, so they won’t see me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “With any luck, Teague decided to sit in on Villanueva’s Hazard game.”
Christophe nodded. “I see, mon ami. Very well. It is, of course, your choice.”
Jack followed behind Christophe as the French pirate unlocked the remaining cells, all the while keeping a nervous lookout. He felt horribly exposed. Finally, Christophe turned the key in a lock, and announced, triumphantly, “There we have it, Jacques. The last of my crew.”
Jack let out a sigh of relief. “That’s great, Christophe.” He held out his hand for the ring of keys. “You’d best get back in your cell. One of the guards will be along any moment. Remember, I need about ten minutes to haul my arse out of this bloody dungeon, then you make your break for it.” He smiled. “I hope we run into each other somewhere. We can have a drink and have a good laugh over all of this, eh?”
Christophe smiled. It was a sly, cunning, expression. Jack found it unsettling, even disturbing.…It was almost as though he were looking at a stranger, one wearing Christophe’s face and clothes. “Oh, yes, Jacques. A good laugh, that is most apropos.”
Turning, he walked away from Jack and his outstretched hand, carrying the ring of keys, and heading for the first cellblock. Before de Rapièr turned the corner, he carelessly waved his free hand. Jack stood there gaping as the Frenchman vanished. “Christophe! What the bloody—”
He barely registered the sound of the cell door at his back creaking open, he was so stunned to realize that Christophe was, in fact, betraying him. How can he do this to me? Jack thought, outraged. I have to warn Teague’s—
As Jack drew breath to yell, hard hands seized him and a filthy palm clamped down over his mouth.
All around him Christophe’s crew, many of them grinning and waving cheerfully at him, were opening their cells and silently filing out. The pirates holding Jack shoved him forward, and they all headed into the next cellblock.
The first sight that greeted Jack’s eyes when they got there was Borya, stepping out of his cell and embracing de Rapièr. “Spasibo! Thank you, my brother,” he said to Christophe. As he saw Jack, he gave him a mocking salute. “Now let us free the rest of my crew.”
Jack watched the two rogues as they moved together, talking in whispers, while Christophe busily unlocked the cells containing Koldunya’s crew. He felt as though he’d been gut-punched by a battering ram; he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and that was only partly because of the brutal hand clamped over his mouth. His mind raced frantically in circles. Should he fight? Try to break free so he could yell and raise the alarm? His eyes flicked to the mob of silent, grinning cutthroats, and he knew that any motion on his part, and he’d be dead within seconds.
All of the cells were now open. Borya cautioned for quiet, then spoke softly, but clearly. “Remember our plan…when we give the signal, we all go together, running quietly until we see the guards. Then we make plenty noise, da?” He grinned.
“Stick to the plan,” Christophe added. “Once we deal with the guards, we storm the armory. We need weapons to fight our way out of Shipwreck City. When we reach the docks we will commandeer every small boat we can, and row for our ships. Understand?”
Jack saw the huge mob
of rogues nodding, heard the commands being repeated in soft whispers.
When silence fell, the tension was so thick Jack felt as though it had sucked all the fetid air from the dungeon.
Christophe and Borya stepped slightly apart, clasped their hands together, then suddenly, raised them high.
Quiet chaos erupted.
One moment they were all standing there, silent, then they were running, still in eerie silence except for the sounds of their feet. Jack’s captors shoved him forward, kept him locked in an iron grip. He tried to throw himself to the side, but the men holding him were so strong they nearly picked him up to keep him moving. Hearing the pounding of the feet behind him, he began to run in earnest, realizing that if he threw himself down, he’d be trampled by the men behind him.
Moments later he saw the guard post, heard the guards yelling, and only then did the rogues break their silence. Screams and battle cries filled the air, deafening in the echoing dungeon.
The next few minutes were a blur, as the rogues stormed the guard post. A good dozen of the cutthroats went down before the shots and sword thrusts of the guards, but there were simply too many of them. The guards stood their ground, brave men obeying orders to the last. As the last defender fell, his throat a red ruin, Jack felt the hands holding him loosen, and suddenly he was free. But now there was nowhere to go. He was as trapped as if they’d locked him in a cell, trapped by dozens upon dozens of screaming rogue pirates.
Now they were emptying the armory.
Jack kept trying to make himself small, so he could slide free of the mob and hide, or run. If he could just make it into the secret passage.…But it was impossible in the melee. Someone thrust a cutlass into his hand. He almost threw it down, but, at the last moment, he hung on to it. Maybe when they got outside, he could cut his way free, and bolt.
Almost immediately, he realized that was a forlorn hope. The moment they reached the top of the stairs and burst out into the night, half of Shipwreck City would know that Jack Sparrow had betrayed his heritage, not to mention breaking the Code. If he managed to elude the rogues, Teague and his men would catch him, and he would swing from a yardarm. They probably wouldn’t even wait for dawn.
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 39
