Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  If Chamba didn’t show up, Jack was fully prepared to lead his party to the slave compound, if that’s what it took. He was only too aware of the loyalty his crewman had shown him by agreeing to become a slave again for one more night. He would not leave him behind—he had given Chamba his word.

  Jack listened to Fenwick, counting the minutes until he could thank his host for the tour, give Fenwick’s hand a hearty shake, then go back to the stables and climb into his rented barouche. After his experience with Caesar, Jack had gotten Tarek to show him how to drive this morning, before they’d set off along the plantation road. He felt fairly confident that he could drive the barouche for as long as it took to reach Tarek, who would be waiting for him, near the road, once he was out of sight of Wickhaven.

  Taking a deep breath, Jack told himself to relax, that his plan was sound. He’d get back to Viviana, return the barouche and team, then take back the rented clothing and this cursed wig. Well before dawn, the Wicked Wench would turn her stern to the Viviana port…and Jack Sparrow would have two of the three bracelets necessary to get into the labyrinth.

  Jack smiled faintly. Two down, one to go. You’re going to be very surprised when I come calling, Christophe.…

  Ayisha shaded her eyes from the sun, then glanced back down at the needle of the Jack’s compass. It was still quivering.

  When she looked up again, she saw a slender figure, clothed in servant’s livery, emerge from the woods beside the cart track, then walk out onto the dock.

  Turning to de Ver and Featherstone, she said quietly, through the constriction in her throat, “There he is. Row for the dock, please.”

  Quickly they stowed their fishing poles beneath the seats, then began rowing. The dinghy headed for the dock, where the liveried figure stood uncertainly, glancing back at the track, as though fearing pursuit.

  Ayisha pulled her shawl over her head, then, remembering Jack’s nonsense about her wearing a “mask,” she moved around a little, as though some struggle was going on beneath the gray fabric. Ducking her chin against her chest, she quickly yanked the shawl down, shoving it beneath the opposite seat, so she would not inadvertently touch it.

  With part of her mind, she heard the two sailors gasp as they took in her changed appearance, but Ayisha didn’t look around. Her eyes were fixed on the figure waiting on the dock. The dinghy was moving swiftly—now she could make out her brother’s features, his dear, familiar face, though older, thinner, fined down to sharp planes and adult angles by the lonely years, the suffering, and near-starvation. As the boat neared the dock, she waved, and saw Shabako recognize her. His teeth flashed in a white, ecstatic grin.

  The boat bumped against the dock, and de Ver and Featherstone steadied it. Ayisha scrambled out, onto the dock, and then—Apedemak be praised!—her arms were wrapped tightly around her brother. They clung to each other, rocking back and forth a little, not daring to speak, clinging to each other like two shipwrecked sailors grasping the fragile safety of a broken spar.

  Shabako was trying to hold back his sobs. Ayisha wiped her own tears from her eyes, and whispered, “Shabako, my dear one. Listen carefully. Get into the boat, and lie down, with your head between the seats, and your legs extended beneath the empty seat. We will cover you with a blanket, so you won’t be seen until we can get you aboard the ship. Before dawn we’ll be sailing away from here. You’ll be free.”

  He nodded, then did as she bade, climbing down into the dinghy, then stretching out. The two crewmen covered him up. Featherstone extended a hand to help her step down onto the seat.

  She settled down, arranging her skirts, and smiled at the two crewmen. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Now…back to the ship.”

  They bobbed their heads at her in acknowledgment, then bent to the oars. The boat seemed to leap through the water like a startled horse.

  Ayisha turned back once, to see the empty dock, now growing smaller by the moment. Then she faced forward again. Against her bare foot, she felt the roughness of the blanket, and then the warmth of her brother’s living body. She drew a long, contented breath, and offered up a silent prayer of thanks to her god.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Red Flag…Ho!”

  THE WICKED WENCH SAILED FROM THE PORT of Viviana just as the eastern horizon began to lighten, heading north, past New Providence and its port of Nassau. Jack knew his crew assumed they were following the Triangle, but they weren’t—the heading he gave his helmsman was the one Tia Dalma’s compass indicated. Christophe was somewhere to the north, and that was where Jack was going.

  Jack was eager to find his erstwhile friend so he could persuade him to sail east to Kerma. His plans were hazy from the point where he located Christophe, but they inevitably involved figuring out a way to get the third bracelet back from the French rogue. After all, Pharaoh Taharka had given it to Jack, not Christophe, right? Once Jack had all three bracelets, he’d get into the labyrinth and find the treasure himself. Whether or not Christophe survived the transfer of the third bracelet depended on Jack’s mood at the moment.

  Chamba hadn’t needed his shipmates’ help to escape from St. John Fenwick’s slave compound. The lad had appeared down at the Wickhaven dock to meet Jack’s boat before midnight, and they’d spirited him away as planned. Jack resolved to give Chamba a liberal reward for his part in rescuing young Shabako, just as soon as he got his hands on the fabled treasure.

  He was extremely pleased that Shabako’s rescue had proceeded so smoothly and successfully, and not just because he now had access to the second bracelet. Increasing his bargaining power with Christophe was important, yes, but Jack was also mindful of how happy Ayisha was to have found her brother. From a woman who had never smiled when Jack had first encountered her, she had scarcely stopped smiling since they’d rescued the young pharaoh.

  They continued to anchor out at night, so it took the Wicked Wench another two days of sailing north for Jack to sight the island of New Providence in his spyglass, still some distance away. He went up to the quarterdeck to double-check that the helmsman on watch knew to keep that pirate-controlled island off their starboard bow. A deep water channel running north-south lay to the west of the island, and Jack smiled as he saw the color of the water change beneath the Wench’s keel, darkening as they sailed into the channel.

  After days of having to keep lookouts posted to watch for shoals, plus repeatedly checking the depth of the water, he was finally able to relax his vigilance. Many captains wouldn’t have chanced sailing through the heart of the Bahamas, but Jack knew these waters…he’d sailed them for years, as man and boy.

  With his ship safely in the deepwater channel, Jack decided it was finally safe to take a few hours off to celebrate the success of their mission.

  Accordingly, just before seven bells of the forenoon watch, Jack and Robby left Frank Connery on duty as officer of the watch. Leaving Robby to collect people and escort them to his cabin, Jack prepared to host the guests he’d invited. He set out some of his precious supplies of fresh bread, purchased in Viviana, as well as fresh fruit and some of his best cheese and smoked meat. After due consideration, he set out not one but two bottles of good wine.

  A few minutes later, Robby knocked on the door of Jack’s cabin, and Jack ushered in his guests: Robby, Chamba, and the three Zerzurans. This time, Robby and Chamba shared the floor, while Jack and Tarek sat on the bunk, and Ayisha and her brother took the chairs.

  People passed around the food, talking and smiling, as Jack filled his motley assortment of cups with wine. Upon reflection, the captain decided that this was an occasion that merited his favorite drink, so he filled his own tankard with his best rum, savoring the heady fumes. Mindful of the fact that he would be going back on duty before too long, he served himself a plate of food and sat munching it.

  As the group refilled their cups, there was a lot of laughter and recounting of experiences from the day of the rescue. Jack’s description of his notable dinner at Wickhaven, especially
when he regaled the group with his inspired description of his prowess as the most notable rider to hounds in all of England made everyone chuckle—but Ayisha, who knew the actual derivation of his imaginary hunter, Caesar, laughed until she was breathless.

  Jack watched her laugh, enjoying the sound of it. It still fascinated him, how animated and lovely her real features were, as opposed to the illusion she’d woven so well. The afternoon sun glinted off her gold earrings that swung back and forth, brushing the dark skin of her throat. Idly, Jack imagined lifting the nearest gold disk and kissing her there, then feeling her pulse leap. He took another swig of rum, and sighed contentedly. Truly a moment to savor, he decided. Here he was, captain of a fine vessel like the Wicked Wench, with good rum to drink, enjoying a lovely woman’s smile, with the promise of treasure soon to come. What could be better?

  You’re thinking more and more like a pirate, Jacky boy, the little voice mocked in the back of his mind. Obsessed with rum, wenches, and treasure.

  So what if I think like a pirate, Teague? Jack replied to that part of himself. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, mate, and if I want to think about—or lust after—lovely wenches—excuse me, that should be lovely princesses—and treasure, too, so bloody what?

  “Teague” fell silent.

  Jack took another swig of rum, grinning and listening as Tarek, in his halting English, rose and described, with gestures, how “Frederick” had fussed about the dirt on the white silk parasol, before he’d ever bothered to look down at the “swooning” Chamba lying sprawled at his feet, eyes rolled back into his head. The big eunuch revealed a hitherto unexpected talent; he mimicked Jack so well that the captain laughed harder than anyone.

  When it comes right down to it, piracy isn’t a bad life, Jack thought, watching as Ayisha mock-fussed at her brother to eat more, picking grapes off a bunch, putting them on his battered pewter plate, then slicing him another hunk of cheese. A short life, all too often, but nothing’s perfect. When you’re a pirate, you’re master of your own fate. Pirates have more freedom than just about anyone else. Look at the Cutler Becketts of the world. Always scheming, trying to make everyone do everything their way. Determined to hem you in, pin you down, make you toil and scrape and sweat for every bloody farthing.

  Jack abandoned his mental back-and-forth when the young pharaoh stood up, and the group fell silent. Jack took another gulp of rum.

  Shabako cleared his throat, then said, in good English, “As you know, I am Shabako, brother to Princess Amenirdis.” He smiled at his sister. “She has told me of your search for me, how everyone present worked together to plan my rescue. You traveled far, you searched for weeks, you located me, then you risked much to free me. Each of you has demonstrated notable wit and courage.”

  The young man paused, then he straightened, his expression altering, becoming grave and formal. Despite the motley assortment of slop-chest garments he wore, he appeared taller, stronger, and full of power. Shabako gazed regally at Chamba, Robby, and finally Jack, in turn, and, perhaps for the first time in his young life, he deliberately employed the royal “We.”

  “Be assured,” he said, his tones deepening, “that We are speaking as the Horus, Lord of the Two Lands, Hemef of Kerma, Ruler of the Shining City. Please accept Our gratitude, Chamba, Robby Greene, and Jack Sparrow.”

  “Captain Jack Sparrow,” Jack corrected, before he could stop himself. Then, as Ayisha glared at him, he gulped and added, “Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

  Shabako gave him an imperial nod, and continued. “When this vessel reaches Our homeland of Kerma, We shall be able to make Our thanks more tangible, but until that time, know that you may call upon Us in any way, should you need help during this voyage. Thank you.”

  With a nod, the youthful pharaoh sat back down.

  Well-spoken lad, Jack thought, exchanging a glance with Robby and Chamba.

  Minutes later, the impromptu party broke up, with the participants returning to their regular tasks. Jack saw Robby yawn as he left the cabin, and guessed he might be heading for his tiny cabin to rest up before his next watch.

  Swallowing the last drops of his rum, Jack straightened his neckcloth and put his coat back on. He hid his good rum in its hiding place next to the head.

  After grabbing his spyglass, he opened the door to the cabin. Spotting the cabin boy, Sam Hopkins, Jack called him over, then left him to clean up after the festivities. Heading out onto the weather deck, he sauntered around, enjoying the sea breeze as it cooled his rum-flushed cheeks. He was, he realized, more than a bit tipsy. Not really drunk, he thought, somewhat defensively. Certainly not half seas over, or three sheets in the wind…nothing like that! Well, maybe one sheet, he thought, repressing the urge to giggle. At most, two.…

  Clearing his throat, Jack made himself focus on the business at hand. Automatically, he checked the sailing conditions. Licking his finger, he held it up, scanning the waves. The seas were mostly calm, with the wind coming east-northeast at a steady eight knots. A glance at the sun told him it wasn’t much past noon. Any moment now, he’d hear the bells sound, and then he’d know whether it was one or two bells of the afternoon watch. While he’d been entertaining, some cloud cover had moved in; some of the sky was now pale blue, due to some thin clouds gathering in the west. The rest of the sky was deeper blue, spotted with fair-weather cumulus.

  Taking out his spyglass, Jack scanned the northern horizon for the southwest point of Great Abaco Island. When he sighted it, it would be time for the Wench to change course so they could enter the Northwest Providence Channel. This deepwater channel would take them safely between Great Abaco Island to starboard and the Berry Islands on the port side, avoiding the dangerous shoals. Jack resolved to post an extra lookout up on the main crosstrees to keep watch for any approaching vessels or shoal water. He’d sailed the Northwest Providence Channel many times and had the shoals and deep water marked on his charts, frequently in his own hand, but it didn’t pay to be overconfident.

  The Bahamas were notorious for shoal water. Many of the residents of these islands made their living as wreckers, salvaging ships that had run aground. Jack was glad to be approaching the channel in daylight; there were many tales of wreckers who had lured ships to their doom using lanterns rigged to look like beacons.

  The Wicked Wench was making good time as she neared the channel. Jack went back to the railing, took out his spyglass and looked north. This time, he spotted the tip of Great Abaco. Time to change course. Accordingly, Jack headed over to Frank Connery, who still had the deck as officer of the watch. “Mr. Connery,” Jack said, “please prepare the ship to take the Northwest Providence Channel.”

  Connery nodded. “Aye, Captain Sparrow.” Then he bellowed, “Hands to the braces! Trim the ship!” Striding over to the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck, he addressed the helmsman on duty, Lee Trafford. “Mr. Trafford! New course, northwest by north.”

  “Aye, Mr. Connery!”

  After watching the crew handle the lines from the deck, paying out on some lines, heaving taut on others, then belaying to finish, Jack went up to the quarterdeck to check their new course on the binnacle. Afterward he nodded approvingly at the helmsman. “Hole in the Wall is due north of us,” Jack said, referring to a distinctive “keyhole” landmark in the rocky cliffs running along the southern coast of Great Abaco Island. “Ever see it before, Mr. Trafford?”

  “I did, once, sir,” Trafford said. “My captain on that voyage wasn’t happy that we could actually spot it naked eye, since it meant we were too close to shoal water.”

  “Left it too long to change the heading, did he?” Jack shook his head and clucked his tongue reprovingly, watching Trafford hold his ship on their new course. “Did you run aground?”

  “By the mercy of Our Lord, Cap’n, we didn’t. But we were sweating for a few minutes.”

  Jack stayed up on the quarterdeck for a while, then wandered back down to the weather deck to check the trim of the sails. Connery had done his usual
competent job. For a moment he considered fetching his cutlass and getting in some sword practice, but he could still feel the effects of the rum, so perhaps that wasn’t the best idea.

  Jack wandered across the weather deck, heading forward, then went up the few steps of the ladder leading to the bow. He stood leaning against the starboard rail, looking across the water to Great Abaco Island, which lay about two leagues off. Idly, he took out his compass and flipped open the cover, then closed his eyes, thinking of Christophe and how much he needed to find him. When he opened his eyes, the needle pointed north. It won’t be long now, Christophe, Jack thought, as he stowed the compass back in its hiding place.

  Two bells of the afternoon watch sounded. Even though he stood in the shade of one of the jibs, the sun’s heat was still strong enough to make him drowsy, what with not having had enough sleep, and the lingering effects of the rum. Jack blinked, then blinked again. His eyelids grew heavy. They’d been running up the channel now for about thirty minutes. He looked aft, at the doors to his cabin, thinking of how good it would feel to take off his coat and shoes and just lie down on his bunk for a little while. He yawned, then yawned again, so widely this time he could hear his jaw crack.

  Come on, mate, he thought, what’s the good of being captain, if you can’t take a ruddy nap once in a while? Heading back down the short ladder to the weather deck, Jack found Connery again. “Frank, everything looks good,” he said. “I’m going to catch a few winks while I can. Have someone wake me at the change of the watch.”

  “Aye, Captain Sparrow,” Connery said, nodding.

  “Oh…and post an extra lookout on the main crosstrees, Mr. Connery.”

  “Good idea, sir.”

  Jack headed into his cabin, which was neat and tidy again, thanks to the ministrations of the cabin boy. Taking off his neckcloth, coat, and waistcoat, he kicked off his shoes, then flopped down on the bunk, and closed his eyes.…