Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  As the ship drew closer to Africa, Ayisha could feel the pull of her homeland growing, and she knew that when the time came, she would be able to guide Jack there. And, unfortunate necessity that it was, she would also guide Christophe de Rapièr and La Vipère there. The rogue captain had kept up with the Wicked Wench because Jack had intentionally slowed down so they could follow.

  She and Jack talked almost every day, and at times he invited the three Zerzurans to have dinner with him.

  Several times Ayisha caught him looking at her, and she could see a kind of hunger in his eyes. She knew, now, what that meant. He wanted her. The thought gave her pleasure, even as it scared her.

  Jack knew what he wanted. What did she, Ayisha, want? She felt a growing urgency to discover the answer to that question.

  The answer came to her one sunny morning, as she sat on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, watching dophins leap alongside the ship, free as the wind. The reason she’d been feeling this urgency, this vague sense of foreboding was that Ayisha did not have long to live.

  The moment the Wicked Wench broke through the fog-shrouding illusion, and entered the harbor of the Shining City, she realized, Ayisha would die. It would not be Ayisha who walked down the gangplank from the ship to the dock—it would be Princess Amenirdis. From that day forward, her life would be the life of Princess Amenirdis.

  Ayisha, the former slave, was as wild and free as those dolphins. She could do as she wished. Princess Amenirdis was not free; she had responsibilities to her homeland, her people, and her family.

  Spotting Jack up on the bow, she rose and descended the steps, and went to join him. “Jack,” she said quietly, “how many more days of sailing before we reach Zerzura?”

  “At least ten, maybe twelve days, love,” he said, then smiled. “Depending, of course, on the wind.”

  “Our journey together is almost ended,” Ayisha said, softly.

  “It is,” Jack agreed. “Soon you’ll be a princess again, and I’ll be nothing but the humble ship captain that brought you back home.”

  Ayisha glanced up at him in surprise as she heard him echo something of her own thoughts. She managed a faint smile. “Not humble,” she said. “At least, not very often.”

  “You’re one of the few people that has ever seen me humble, love,” Jack told her.

  It was the first time he had ever referred—even indirectly—to the time they’d kissed. Ayisha saw his eyes linger on her mouth, then move downward to the bodice of the gown she’d sewn from the rose cotton. “Another new dress? Very pretty, love.” He chuckled reminiscently. “I was getting quite tired of that old blue one.” The hungry look was there again, in the back of his eyes. It made her knees feel weak.

  Ten days, maybe twelve, to live.…

  “I threw that one into the ocean yesterday,” Ayisha said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of ever putting it on again.”

  “Good,” Jack said. He smiled at her again, seemed as though he might say something else, but changed his mind, and went striding off, to oversee some minor task.

  Ten days, maybe twelve, to live.…

  What was it that Esmeralda had said? You’ll know if—or when—it’s the right time.…

  Ayisha looked out at the sea, thinking, thinking, and then feeling.

  “It’s the right time,” she whispered, softly. “I want to live. I want this….”

  That night, she put on one of the two nightgowns she had made for herself. One was for everyday, and was made of cotton, but she had made another from the white silk. Standing in the darkness of her canvas-walled “cabin,” hearing Tarek’s gentle snores, she worked by feel, sliding the silk one on.

  It was a very simple garment, long, sleeveless, with a deep V neck. She had washed today, even her hair, and the strands curled around her fingers as she combed it. Picking up the old gray shawl, she pulled it over her shoulders, then went swiftly out of the cabin, and up the ladder to the weather deck.

  There were so many stars in the sky that she could almost feel their light sinking into her skin, making the white silk of her nightgown luminous. Luminous to her, perhaps, but not to the crewmen on watch. A simple illusion had taken care of that, making the human eye slide away from her.

  Ayisha padded across the weather deck, then turned and went between the two ladders leading up to the quarterdeck, to the door of the captain’s cabin. Quietly she opened it and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

  She heard a sound, from the bunk. Her eyes were well-adjusted to the dark. She could see the lightness of the bedclothes, and then the comparative darkness of Jack’s upper body. She heard a metallic click, and realized it was a pistol being cocked. “Jack?” she said, hastily. “It’s me.”

  “Ayisha?” He sounded incredulous, then concerned. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

  She heard his fingers scrabbling again. “I’m fine,” she said, taking a step toward him. “Don’t strike a light.”

  Jack stopped scrabbling, and was still, very still. When he spoke again, his voice was different. “Why are you here, love?”

  “I’m here because I want to be,” she said, hearing a fierceness in her own voice. A hungry fierceness. She took another step, then a third, and then her legs, beneath the thin fabric, touched the side of the bunk.

  Ayisha put out a hand, blindly, and touched the bare warmth that was his shoulder. She heard his breath draw in, as she ran her fingers along his skin. It was a very hungry sound.

  We are both of us hungry, she thought.

  “I can’t see,” she whispered, though that wasn’t altogether true. “I need help, to find you.”

  “I’m right here, love,” he said. His hand moved up, holding hers, then he moved his body sideways a bit, making room for her. His hand tightened on hers, and then drew her toward him, until she was lying beside him, there in the dark.…

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kerma

  AYISHA WAS SITTING ON A CRATE up on the weather deck, embroidering a colorful border onto the neck of the sleeveless linen tunic she had made for her brother, when a shadow fell across her work. She looked up to see Shabako himself standing before her. “Good morning, brother,” she said in their language. She held up her project. “See? I found embroidery silk in the color of lapis lazuli, and carnelian, and this bright yellow. You will not have jewelry befitting your station when we disembark in Zerzura, but you will not be unadorned!”

  Her brother did not even glance at the colorful needlework. Ayisha shaded her eyes with her hand to see his expression. The weather was mild and clear—but a thundercloud could not have looked darker or more ominous than the young pharaoh’s expression. She lowered her hands, setting her work off to the side.

  “Walk with me, sister,” he commanded, and turned away. Ayisha followed him silently. She’d rarely seen her father angry, but just now, Shabako had resembled Taharka more strongly than he ever had before.

  Shabako led the way, down the ladder to the main deck, then down again, until they were standing together in the now considerably emptier cargo hold of the ship. No crewmen were present at the moment.

  Ayisha forced herself to face her brother quietly, her hands at her sides. He had always been forthright and direct as a boy, and he did not play games with her now, but came straight to the point. “Last night, I could not sleep, so I came next door to see if you were still awake and wanted to go up on deck with me and look at the stars, as we did when we were children, and our nurse nodded off. We would go up on the roof of the palace, and watch the heavens.”

  “I remember,” Ayisha said, very quietly.

  “But when I called your name, then struck a light, you were not in your bed. Tarek said you must have slipped out while he was asleep to relieve yourself, but I waited for an hour. You never returned. At first I was worried, thinking you might have fallen overboard. But then I realized that Tarek knew where you were—he just wouldn’t tell me. I threatened to have him executed when we reached
Kerma, and he remained mute. But I could tell he knew where you were.”

  He gave a short, sardonic bark of laughter. “Of course, Tarek would die for you without a second thought. I suppose it should not surprise me that he would also lie for you.”

  Shabako folded his arms across his chest, and fixed her with a dark, forbidding look. “Where were you, sister?”

  Ayisha drew a deep breath, trying to think of what to say. She had never lied to her brother before. She did not want to start now. “I would rather not say,” she said, her voice cold and formal. “The information is not your concern. It is private.”

  Shabako looked at her, and she could see him, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. “Sister, you were gone all night. Yet today you are cheerful and bright eyed. It is clear that you did not miss a night’s sleep.” He hesitated, then continued, his expression stony, “So where did you sleep?”

  “I told you, that information is private,” Ayisha said. She could feel her throat tightening; her face grew hot. “It is not your right to know.”

  “I am pharaoh. It is my right, sister, and I command you to tell me the truth.”

  Ayisha felt panic simmering within her. Soon they would reach Zerzura, and her brother’s word would be law. If he commanded his guards to execute Jack, they would do it, and there would be no recourse. What should I do? Tell Jack not to go to the island, to land us somewhere else, where we could hire another ship?

  Ayisha bit back the urge to laugh, knowing the sound would be shrill, on the verge of hysteria. Hire a ship? We have no money! We could not hire a donkey-cart, much less a vessel!

  And she knew Jack. Nothing would keep him from going to the island. They were so close. He’d never turn back.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she dashed them away, quickly, ashamed of her weakness. She was frightened and angry—her control seemed to have deserted her. Setting her jaw, she stared silently at her brother.

  The sight of her tears seemed to reach him, as her words had not. “Amenirdis,” he said, softly, finally using her real name, “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.” He hesitated, then said, “It is my responsibility to protect you, just as it is Tarek’s. I…” He struggled to find words. “You are so young,” he said, finally. “So innocent. Men of the world like that…they take advantage of young girls. I have seen his type before. He seduced you. It is not your fault.”

  Ayisha stared at Shabako, then—she couldn’t stop herself—she laughed out loud. Stepping forward, she hugged him. “Shabako, little brother, you are so kind, so sweet, and I love you dearly, I truly do. But you are completely wrong in your conclusion. I swear by Apedemak that I went to him. I made my intentions perfectly clear. If anyone did any seducing, it was I.”

  Her brother was staring at her. His mouth hung open slightly. I couldn’t have shocked him more if I had sprouted an extra head, she thought, and bit back an unnerved giggle.

  Shabako closed his mouth with a snap, strode across the deck, stopped at the ladder, then about-faced and walked back. “Why?” he demanded.

  Ayisha took a deep breath, and shrugged. “I fell in love,” she said. “I knew that we would not have much time together, so I made the decision to act on my feelings. I don’t regret that decision.”

  “You love him?” Shabako said, clearly incredulous. “But…he’s white. Look what his kind did to us!”

  Ayisha shook her head. “Shabako, evil has no color. Duke Wren-John, the slave hunter and trader, he was black. Remember?”

  He nodded. “Yes…I remember. I would like to forget. But I probably never will.”

  Ayisha nodded. She understood.

  Shabako was looking at her. “Does Sparrow return your feelings?”

  She shook her head, then she nodded, then she shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. He cares, in his own way, I am certain of that. And it is enough.” She ran her finger along the edge of one of the barrels. “Soon we’ll reach Kerma, and it will be over. I will go back to my duties as a royal, and he will sail away. But I will have the memory.”

  Shabako nodded. “I think…I think I understand,” he murmured, watching her hand move along the wood. “There was a girl at Wickhaven, the plantation.…” He sighed. “She died last year. Childbirth.”

  “Oh, brother!” Ayisha murmured. Tears came to her eyes again, and this time they were for him. “I am so sorry!”

  He nodded, still not looking directly at her. “When it happened, I told myself that it was better that way. It was one way of escape. The child…was stillborn.” Shabako drew a long, painful breath. “I never even found out whether it was a son or a daughter. The Fenwicks didn’t bother to mark the graves of their slaves.”

  Ayisha hugged him again, and this time, he hugged her back.

  “When I am crowned,” he said, “my first royal decree will be to free Kerma’s slaves.”

  Ayisha nodded. “I decided the same thing, when I thought the lion throne might pass to me.” She smiled at him. “And, just so you know, I am very glad that it will not.”

  “You will be my heir until I get myself one,” he pointed out.

  “Find a nice girl and marry her quickly, then,” she said, with a smile. Then, sobering she said, “It will not be easy, brother, to make such a sweeping change. It will take time, and work. If I were you, I would tell the people my intention, and set a date for the slaves to become free. Then work toward that date. That way the slaves will know they have that day to live for. They will accustom themselves to the idea of freedom, and taking responsibility for their own welfare. Where and how they will live, buy food, that kind of thing.”

  Shabako nodded. “You obviously did give this much thought. Go on, please!”

  “Setting a date in the future will allow the owners to adjust to the idea of paying their workers. This decree will affect so many things—the economy, marriage and inheritance laws, property rights—everything. If you announce a future date, give it perhaps a year, perhaps more, that will give you and your advisors time to study how best such progress can be accomplished.”

  Shabako regarded her for a moment, then cocked his head to one side. “I always knew that my older sister was smart. I don’t think I knew how smart until just now. Amenirdis, when I am crowned, I shall appoint you my grand vizier.”

  “But…that’s…no woman has…” she started to protest. Then she trailed off when he chuckled.

  “And there have always been slaves, too. But that will change, and soon. A woman as grand vizier is a small change compared to emancipation of half the population.”

  “That is true,” she admitted.

  “So you will you accept the position?”

  “I shall consider it, brother, and give you my answer—after you are crowned.”

  “Have you ever been inside the labyrinth, Ayisha?” Jack asked. He lay stretched out, arms behind his head, looking up at the stars through the leaded skylight in the ceiling of his cabin. The crescent moon had set an hour or so before, so only the starlight provided illumination. Nights at sea were cool enough these days to be pleasant, with a breeze coming in through the stern windows. The evening watch on the quarterdeck had just signaled two bells.

  Ayisha was lying with her head on his chest. She’d been drifting, content in the moment, and she didn’t want to return to the real world of miles sailed and irretrievable time passing. But she knew they must discuss this subject sooner or later, so, after a moment, she replied, “Just once. A long time ago.”

  “What was it like, love?”

  “My father took my brother and me inside with him. The high priest went with us, and he led the way. I remember the walls and floors, all built of pale, gray stone, very smooth to the touch. But the ceilings, they were different. I’ve never seen anything like them. We have nothing like them in the temple or the palace.”

  “What were they like?”

  “The ceilings were made from some kind of different stone. It was like quartz, but it gave off
light. You could see without carrying a torch, which was a good thing, because the priests say fire will not spark within the labyrinth.”

  “Torches don’t work?”

  “No. It is part of the protective spell.”

  “No sparks at all…” Jack mused. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why are you—” Ayisha caught his meaning. “Oh! You’re wondering whether you could fire your pistol in there.”

  “Right, love.”

  She considered the question, then shook her head in the darkness. “I shouldn’t think so, Jack. Piye always said it just the way I repeated it to you. ‘Fire will not spark.’ It takes a spark to fire a pistol.”

  “That’s right,” Jack said. “So we’ll have to rely on blades to overcome any…adversaries. Tell me more about your journey through the labyrinth. I want to know all that you remember, love.”

  “I remember walking for what seemed a long time. The high priest chanted as we went. We walked, and walked…my legs grew tired, but I was proud of being a big girl, so I didn’t want to complain. Shabako began to fuss about being tired, so my father picked him up and carried him.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seven, I think,” she replied. “Shabako would have been four.” She raised her head to look at him, though it was too dark to make out his features.

  “In the Captain Ward book,” Jack said, “he reported that there were illusions and magical pitfalls put there when it was first built, traps that will bar anyone but the rightful users from finding the way to the center, where the Heart of Zerzura is located. Captain Ward said the stone rests on the outstretched palm of a life-sized golden statue of the lion-god, Apedemak.”

  Ayisha nodded. “Your Captain Ward was correct, Jack. I wonder how he discovered all of this?”

  “I have no idea. The author of the book claimed that he was a pirate for ten years, and maybe he was. It was published in England when I was just a little shaver. The pirate captains he mentioned in the book sailed the Spanish Main at least thirty years ago. One of the chapters in the book was titled, ‘Pyrate Lore and Legends of Treasure.’ I read that part over and over when I was a boy, dreaming about finding it all, and being the most famous pirate ever.”