Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  Jack looked up at the sky. Guess you showed me, didn’t you, Zeus, or whoever you are that metes out punishments to those guilty of hubris. I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t send harpies, or whatever they call those monster women, to hound me and teach me the error of my ways. Instead you send me beautiful, competent women, to save my sorry arse.

  He wondered how Ayisha was doing. For a moment he considered going down to the main deck and checking on her, but being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he could walk that far. She doesn’t need you, mate, she has Tarek and her brother looking after her.

  His eyes still burned. Jack closed them.…

  “Jack? Jack!”

  Startled, Jack opened his eyes and sat up straight. Esmeralda was there, peering at him, concerned. “Oh, hello, love,” he said. “I wasn’t asleep, just resting me eyes.”

  “Sleep is what you need, Jack,” she said. “I’m going to take a look at your arm, and see if it needs the surgeon. Is that your cabin?” She pointed.

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s the one with the cannon next to the bunk. But I need to check on—”

  “Everything necessary is being attended to,” she said. “I sent your second mate off to his bunk, but your first mate is with my first mate, and they’re making sure everything is being done. It’s nearly midnight, Jack.”

  Jack looked up at the stars. She was right.

  “Manuel!” she called.

  “Aye, Doña?”

  She spoke in Spanish too rapid for Jack’s fogged brain to follow. He caught the word for “cannon,” but that was all.

  Jack winced as she removed the blanket and bent over him. “Do you want to try to save this coat?” she asked. “You can get bloodstains out with cold water. Or I could just cut it off.”

  He nodded. “I don’t have as many clothes as you do, love. Can’t afford to lose the coat.”

  The next few minutes were decidedly unpleasant. But finally he sat there, bare to the waist, while she peered at his left shoulder by the light of two lanterns. “I can handle this,” she decided. “No need to take Doctor Martinez away from his patients below.”

  Jack didn’t want to look. “Does it need cauterizing?” he asked, envisioning red-hot irons. He couldn’t disguise the fear in his voice.

  “No, just a matter of picking the remaining splinters out, then getting it clean.”

  It seemed to take forever. Jack gasped and winced with every splinter. “Stop being such a baby,” Esmeralda said. “And if you don’t hold still, I’ll have you restrained.”

  “But it hurts,” he muttered.

  “You’re lucky, Jack,” she said. “And you know it. Now hold still!”

  Finally she was satisfied. “I’ll have the surgeon look at it in daylight, tomorrow. Just to be sure,” she said. She knelt on the deck before him, then, with a wet rag, she cleaned the blood off his arm, below the wound. Then she took another and began wiping his face. Jack grimaced. “I can wash me own face, Esmeralda!”

  “You should see yourself,” she said. “You’re as black as a Moor.” The cloth did indeed come away black. When she began wiping his hands, Jack looked down at them. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago they’d been clean enough to pass for a lord’s.

  “Now for that wound. Hand me that bottle,” she ordered the young Spaniard who was acting as her assistant.

  Jack recognized the familiar bouquet just before she poured rum all over the wound. The fiery liquor burned. He couldn’t help it; he yelped.

  “You might have warned me. Then I could have braced meself,” he grumped.

  As she stopped pouring, he grabbed the bottle with his right hand. “Or, better yet, let me have a nip beforehand. Give me that! Waste of perfectly good rum,” he added accusingly. Raising the bottle, Jack tipped a goodly quantity down his gullet.

  When he finally lowered it, Esmeralda said mildly, “That was more than a nip.”

  “I needed it,” he said.

  She didn’t argue with him, just bandaged up his arm, securing the bandages in place with a red bandana she wore over her hair at times. By the time she finished, Jack was feeling no pain.

  “Now, off to bed with you,” she said, standing up. With the help of her young crewman, she grabbed his right arm, and heaved him to his feet. She held him steady as he swayed.

  Esmeralda gave more orders in rapid Spanish, but Jack paid no attention. His feet seemed to be floating half a foot off the Wicked Wench’s deck. It was a very pleasant sensation—one he hadn’t experienced in quite a while.

  They made their way across the weather deck to the door of Jack’s cabin, and her lad opened it, hung up the lantern, deposited Jack’s bloody clothing, neatly folded, on the chair, then vanished. Jack blinked. The six-pounder was gone.

  “Th’ cannon’s gone,” he mumbled, peering about. “Why is th’ cannon gone?”

  “Because I didn’t fancy sleeping with a cannon,” Esmeralda said, matter-of-factly. “Here you go, Jack.” One-handed, she threw back the covers. “Now sit down, and I’ll get your shoes off.”

  Jack plunked down onto his bunk. “’M glad th’ cannon’s gone,” he said. “Didn’t look right in me beautiful cabin.” He blinked at her as she knelt down to pull off his shoes, then his stockings. “There y’go, undresh—undressing me again, love. ’S becoming a habit.”

  Esmeralda looked up at him, laughing. “You’re right, Jack. Only last time we were in my cabin, not yours.”

  “That’s right, you haven’ sheen—seen—me beautiful cabin before! Or me beautiful ship! How do you like ’em?” He swept his right hand in an all-encompassing gesture.

  Esmeralda gently pushed him down, then pulled up the sheet to cover him. “Very nice ship, Jack. Is she fast?”

  Jack grinned. “Two daysh off the Triangle record, love, on me first voyage sailin’ her.”

  “Impressive,” she said. “We’ll have to race sometime.” She removed her plumed hat, setting it carefully on the table.

  “I would love that, darlin’,” Jack chirped. “And if I win, you give me that magnificent hat!”

  She took off her waistcoat and hung it over the back of the chair. “If you win, I’ll buy you your choice of hats.”

  “No, no,” Jack said. “I want that one, love.”

  “Oh, very well,” she said, sitting down on the chair to remove her boots and stockings. “You drive a hard bargain, Captain Sparrow. If I win, what do I get?”

  “My undying admiration?” Jack suggested.

  Esmeralda stood up to unhook her corselet. Jack eyed this process appreciatively. “I already have that, Jack,” she said.

  “You do,” he conceded. “Bloody boshh—bossy—competent woman…” He looked up at her, holding her eyes. “Did I tell you that I love bossy competent women?”

  She sat down on the edge of the bunk. “You do?”

  “I do,” he said. With an effort that made him wince, he scooted over to make room for her in the bunk. “Especially if they’re beautiful ones.” Reaching over with his right hand, he tugged on the lacing of her shirt, undoing it.

  She smiled at him, then reached up and took the pins out of her hair. Jack watched the black mass fall loose in soft waves, reaching halfway down her back. Then she blew out the lantern.

  Jack heard the rustle as she removed her britches and shirt, but his eyes hadn’t adjusted yet, so he couldn’t see her. He felt the bunk give as she settled down beside him. “Good night, Jack.”

  “Don’t I get a good night kiss?”

  He heard her soft laugh, then saw the outline of her head and shoulders as she bent over him. Her mouth was every bit as sweet as he remembered. “Esmeralda?” he mumbled, when she drew away.

  “Sí, Jack?”

  “Gracias, mi amor.”

  “De nada.”

  Jack opened his eyes the next morning to the sound of soft breathing that was not his own. When he moved his left arm, it was sore, but the hot, stabbing pain was gone. He mana
ged to wriggle out of the bunk without disturbing her, and use the head. But when he crawled back in, she awoke. “Sorry, love,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Esmeralda raised her head to peer at the open stern windows. “It’s past dawn. I should get up. Things to do today. May I use the captain’s head, Captain?”

  “By all means, love,” Jack said.

  “Um, would you mind facing the wall, Jack?”

  “I would,” he said, honestly, “but a gentleman always honors such a request from his lady.” He turned over.

  After a short interval, he heard the door to the head open and close again. The soft sound of fabric, as of a shirt being donned, followed. “Esmeralda?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I turn over again?”

  “All right.”

  The sight of her wearing nothing but her long shirt, with the lacings loose, was an experience Jack knew he would remember on long, lonely voyages for many a year. He smiled. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Good morning, Captain,” she replied, then looked thoughtful. “I’ve never slept with another captain,” she confessed. “Last night was the first time.”

  Jack thought about that for a moment. “Neither have I,” he said.

  “What about that time last year?” she demanded, with mock indignation. “Are you telling me you’ve forgotten that night?”

  “I didn’t sleep that night, love.”

  She laughed. “Jack, nobody can make me laugh the way you do.”

  “About last night,” Jack said, slowly. “Me memory is a bit…foggy.”

  “I am not surprised by that,” Esmeralda said. “You were wounded and lost a fair amount of blood. I understand you took a knock on the head. And, of course, you were drunk.”

  “All of those things are true,” Jack agreed. “But I do remember watching you unhook your corselet, and let down your hair…and then you kissed me.…”

  “Ah, you do remember.”

  “But after we kissed…” He hesitated. “Nothing. Did we…?” He paused, delicately.

  “No,” she said. “You fell asleep.”

  “Oh,” Jack said. He moved his left arm, so she could see. “Me arm feels much better today. And I’m not a bit sleepy, now.” He gave her a tentative, hopeful smile. “Perhaps we can, er, remedy last night’s, er, omission?”

  Esmeralda smiled at him. “I think that might be possible.”

  She climbed back into the bunk, then stretched out on her back, her hands behind her head. “Amazing,” she murmured, gazing around at his cabin walls. “Last night I thought it might be a trick of the light, but it’s not.”

  Jack smiled happily and moved closer. “I picked out the colors meself,” he said. Hitching himself up, he kissed the tip of her right elbow. “They really make the place bright and cheery, don’t they?”

  “Yes, very bright,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything quite this bright before. It’s…unique.”

  Turning her head, she smiled at him, a smile that made his pulse speed up. “Like you, Jack.”

  Jack kissed her shoulder, then trailed kisses along it, moving in the general direction of her mouth, with a few interesting detours along the way. “I’m so glad you like it, love.…”

  Later that day, after the leak in the lower counter had finally been plugged, and the remainder of the water the Wicked Wench had taken pumped out, Esmeralda and her men returned to Venganza, but the two ships remained hove-to, drifting not far from each other. There were still many repairs to make on the Wicked Wench, and Doctor Martinez wanted to check on his patients for the next few days.

  To Jack’s surprise, the topman whose leg had been amputated had survived the night. Doctor Martinez told him that if the leg didn’t mortify, his prognosis was favorable. At Esmeralda’s request, the doctor took a look at Jack’s arm. After his examination, Doctor Martinez told his capitan that if she ever decided to retire from piracy, she could hang out her shingle as a médico. The wound was clean, and already healing. Jack would need to wear a sling to support the arm for a week or so, but would make a full recovery.

  Ayisha did not awaken from her long sleep until nearly noon, and when she did, she was very weak, Tarek reported, but completely lucid. Jack asked to see her, but Tarek told him she wasn’t strong enough to talk. So he asked the eunuch to tell her that he’d see her on the morrow.

  After his talk with Tarek, Jack braced himself, then went below to the cargo hold, to assess how badly the EITC’s cargo had been affected by the battle and the water. He took Chamba with him, knowing the agile young crewman would be able to scramble amid the barrels as a one-armed captain could not. After an hour inspecting the cargo, Jack reported to Robby, with a sigh, that the situation wasn’t good, but could have been worse. Though the Wicked Wench had taken on quite a bit of water during and after the battle, most of the cargo hold had never actually been submerged. But everywhere Koldunya’s cannonballs had caused leaks, barrels of the muscovado, or raw sugar, now appeared to contain sugar syrup. Some even sloshed when they were moved. Most of the molasses containers, which were better sealed, appeared to be unharmed. Jack estimated that perhaps half the cargo might have to be declared a loss.

  Before she left to return to Venganza that day, Esmeralda invited Jack and Robby to dine with her. Robby was hesitant, but Jack assured him that he would be welcome, and made a point of mentioning Esmeralda’s estimable cook. Accordingly, they washed up, combed their hair, and donned clean clothes for their visit. Jack wasn’t able to wear a coat, because of his sling, but he did put on his embroidered waistcoat and new shoes. Robby rowed them over to Venganza in the repaired dinghy.

  Esmeralda greeted them wearing a sky blue gown trimmed with dark blue lace, and a matching lace mantilla, worn over the traditional tall comb. Jack had never seen her wear one before. It gave her an illusion of height. The delicate blue lace framed her face, and set off her sapphire and diamond earrings.

  When she greeted them in her cabin, Jack bowed over her hand and kissed it. Robby, too, bowed over her hand, but did not kiss it. They had wine, a good Spanish rosé, and reminisced about Shipwreck Cove, before dinner was served.

  “Ever since I saw you last year, I’ve been thinking about the cove,” Jack confessed to her. “Remembering the good times…when we went swimming, and fenced together.”

  She smiled warmly. “Those were good times. Some of my favorite memories.”

  “Do you remember that night we went to The Drunken Lady?” Jack asked. “And your grandfather was waiting for us to return—his pocket watch in one hand, and the other on the hilt of his sword?”

  She giggled. “I remember being glad that we were back on time.”

  Although Christophe had been with them that night, neither of them referred to him.

  “I remember the last time we went to The Drunken Lady,” Jack said. “And you talked to Marie. I suppose…I mean, she’s had her baby by now?”

  “Of course. It only takes nine months, Jack, not five years,” she said, amused.

  “Boy or girl?”

  “She had a little boy,” Esmeralda said. “And then, a year later, a little girl. And the last time I heard from her, she said she was expecting again. We write. But I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “You haven’t been to Shipwreck Cove?”

  “Oh, certainly. But they aren’t there anymore. When Steve discovered Marie was with child, he packed them up and they left. He said it wouldn’t be fair to a child to try and raise it in Shipwreck Cove. He’d saved his money, and they moved to a little town named Raleigh, in the Colonies, and bought a tavern there.”

  “Steve did the right thing,” Jack said, gravely. “He was right; Shipwreck Cove is no place to raise a child.”

  The fact that Jack had been raised there wasn’t mentioned.

  “So what happened to The Drunken Lady?” Robby said. “I used to enjoy going there. Marie was a good cook. I remember her spiced apple tarts.”

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p; Jack nodded. “They were good, weren’t they? You’re making me hungry, Robby.”

  “Good,” Esmeralda said. “Because they will be bringing our dinner any moment. The tavern’s still there, at Shipwreck Cove, but they don’t serve food any more, just spirits. It’s gone downhill, sad to say.”

  The meal was, as Jack had promised, delicious, and especially tasty to men who had subsisted for months on ship’s biscuit, salted meat, and apples. Esmeralda’s cook had prepared sea turtle soup for the first course. The main entrée was roasted marinated pork, accompanied by fried yellow cornmeal cakes, white potatoes, cooked greens, and for a sweet at the end of the meal, fried plantains drizzled with a banana flavored liqueur. Pirates almost always ate better than merchant sailors or naval crewmen. Their voyages were usually short, by comparison with those of other mariners, so they restocked more frequently with fresh food.

  While they dined, Esmeralda asked her guests to tell her the entire story of the chase and fight with Koldunya. “I’ll tell you our story,” Jack promised, “but then you have to tell me how the devil you happened to be close enough to Great Abaco to see the explosion when Koldunya blew up.”

  Esmeralda nodded. “Fair enough. But you go first.”

  Jack undertook to give her a summary of the events, with occasional help from Robby. He was careful to leave out any mention of Zerzura or its treasure, or of his approaching search for Christophe. Jack knew that Esmeralda had been searching for the man who had killed Don Rafael ever since her grandfather’s murder. If she’d known that Jack was about to make an alliance with him, to go after treasure, she’d be justifiably furious.