“I didn’t know she could write English,” Jack said, impressed. “You taught her to write, as well as read, Chamba?”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
Jack fingered the document, as he read it. “This must be papyrus,” he said. “All right, lads, Tarek will come down to the ship to fetch us by sunset, to escort us to this homecoming feast, so we’d better get ready. Chamba, do you have a coat, or a waistcoat, you can wear?”
“No, Cap’n. But don’t worry. His Highness, Prince Shabako, he told me ’bout this earlier, said there was sure to be some kind of celebration when he got home. He said he be sending me some clothes for tonight. He got lots, he said. Remember, we be about the same size.”
“Well, I guess you’re all taken care of, then,” Jack said. “You became friends with the prince during our voyage?”
“Yes, Cap’n, we did. He’s been teachin’ me to speak his language.”
“You speak Kerman? Or is it Zerzuran? Good, because we’ll need someone to translate for us tonight.” Jack glanced at Robby. “I suppose we’ll be stared at as though we’re in a wild beast show.”
Robby looked rueful. “I was just thinking that.”
Jack stood up. “I guess we’d better get ready, then.”
Jack hurried through his preparations, so he was up on the weather deck of his ship, washed, shaved, combed, and wearing his best, at least thirty minutes before sunset.
While he waited, he paced the deck of the Wicked Wench restlessly, thinking about the labyrinth that awaited him. He hoped Ayisha—no, Amenirdis, now—would be able to find out that sacred word, whatever it might be. He didn’t fancy having to tangle with the kinds of creatures that tended to inhabit magical labyrinths. Finally he slowed down, then stopped, running his fingers absently over the embroidery on the cuffs of his coat. Damn it all, he missed her, and she’d been gone only a few hours. The thought of sleeping alone tonight, after the feast, was depressing.
Robby joined him as he stood at the rail, watching the sun sink. His first mate had carefully brushed his best coat and hat. His blond curls were tied back, and his face was scrubbed and freshly shaved. Jack gave him an approving nod. “Very nice, Robby. I don’t think we’ll disgrace jolly old England.”
Robby laughed. “Whoever could have predicted we’d be here, getting ready to eat dinner with royalty that have lived on this island, as their ancestors lived, since long before Our Lord was born?”
“Your lord, Robby,” Jack reminded him.
His first mate smiled. “Any time you want to borrow my Bible when you run out of reading material, just say the word, Jack.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, mate. I’d rather spend me leisure time, as little as there is of it, thinking about what I’m going to buy with my share of what Prince Shabako gives us—as well as anything I can carry out of the labyrinth.”
“What will be the first thing you buy?” Robby asked. “I’m betting I know.”
“Go ahead, guess,” Jack said.
“We’re standing on it,” Robby said. “You’ll try to get Mr. Beckett to sell you the Wicked Wench.”
“You know me too well, mate.” Jack glanced at the lowering sun. “It won’t be easy. I’ll have to do it through a solicitor, I expect. Set up some kind of fake shipping company or something. Beckett certainly won’t want to sell her to me when I come back from Zerzura, telling him I never found Kerma, and that I don’t have the bearings to the island.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do, Jack? Lie to Beckett?”
“The thought has crossed me mind, Robby,” Jack said, lightly. “Mr. Beckett rather rubbed me the wrong way, last time we spoke. He made some threats. I don’t like threats.”
“But Jack,” Robby said, and there was suddenly fear in his blue eyes, “you’ll have to give him the bearings. You can’t just lie to a man like Beckett and expect him to swallow it.”
“I’m a pretty convincing liar, Robby,” Jack reminded him.
“Yes, but Jack, you’re not the only one who knows the bearings. Frank and I can navigate. Not as well as you can, but we manage. I doubt I could lie convincingly to Beckett, Jack. And with that thug Mercer standing by…” He shook his head and swallowed. “I wouldn’t even try.”
“I know. And no matter what I decide to do, Robby, I’ll not expect you to lie. Or Frank, either. Not to Beckett, and certainly not to Mercer. That brute scares me, too, with those black gloves.” Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure how it will all work out, Robby. But I trust Amenirdis. We discussed this problem, and I told her my concerns about Beckett and Mercer.”
“What can she do about it? No illusion will help this, and she can’t blow them up—can she?” Robby stared at him doubtfully.
“No,” Jack said, with a wry smile. “Though it would be handy if she could, wouldn’t it? I can’t tell you exactly what she’s planning, but she swore to me, by her god, that neither you, nor Frank, nor any other crewmember would suffer or come to harm because they rescued her or Shabako or Tarek. I have no idea how she plans to arrange this, but I believe her, mate.”
Robby considered this. “All right, Jack. After seeing what she did to Borya’s ship, I have considerable trust in the lady too.”
Jack nodded. “It’s possible Beckett will fire me. And if he does, Robby, I’ll be glad to see the last of Calabar. When I first met Cutler Beckett, I thought he was such an upstanding gentleman.” He shook his head. “In his own way, Beckett’s as bad as Borya. He just does it all without getting his hands dirty.”
“I’m surprised he let you sail off without sending Mercer along, to keep you in line,” Robby mused.
“I think he did send someone to report to him, Robby.”
Robby thought for a moment. “Newton? The carpenter’s mate who showed up so conveniently?”
“Yep. I wondered about him from the beginning, but I really began to wonder when I noticed that every time the man went on shore leave, he was posting letters. It’s always possible Newton was writing to his mum, I suppose, but I’ve never yet met a sailor that wrote to his dear old mum from every port of call.”
“If my mum was still alive, I’d send her letters from every port, Jack.”
“Robby, mate, don’t take this wrong, but you’re…not your run-of-the-mill sailor.”
“True. Getting press-ganged isn’t the same thing as choosing a profession. Before that happened, I’d always figured I’d be a farmer, like my dad. I liked the farm.”
Jack shuddered. “No offense, Robby, but I’d rather be keelhauled than live in one place, mucking out cow byres and staring at the stern of a bloody ox while wrestling a plow through the mud from dawn till sunset.”
Robby chuckled, as did Jack. This was an old dispute, one they’d hashed over many times, without reaching any solution other than to agree to disagree. “If you want the Wicked Wench, Jack, you’ll figure out a way,” the first mate said. “You’ve loved this ship since the first moment you saw her. I’ve never seen you look at a woman the way you look at her.”
“She’s a good ship, Robby,” Jack said, running a finger along the railing, as though the wood were soft, yielding flesh.
Robby smiled. “I think you and the Wench were meant to be together, Jack. One of those pairs people say in the same breath. Like…Adam and Eve. King Arthur and Excalibur. Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Jack Sparrow and the Wicked Wench.”
Jack looked at him in surprise. “What a romantic, Robby! Never knew you had it in you. Before you know it, you’ll be writing ruddy poetry.”
Robby shrugged. “Some things are just obvious, Jack. The Wicked Wench is like your pearl of great price.”
“Pearl?”
“It’s from the Bible, Jack. A parable Jesus told his disciples, about a merchant who saw a perfect pearl, the most wonderful, beautiful one in the whole world, but very costly. The merchant had to have this thing that was so perfect, so he sold everything he had so he could possess it. It’s in the Gospel according to Matthew.”
Robby shook his head, slowly. “No…no, Jack. That’s not what the story means. It’s a parable about how one gets into Heaven.”
Jack waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t ruin it, Robby. I like the story! First Bible story you ever told me that I liked. Be happy, mate.”
“But, Jack—”
“Chamba!” Jack exclaimed. “Look at you!”
Robby turned. Chamba came across the deck toward them. He wore a finely tanned leather kilt, pale golden in color, with a long-sleeved tunic made of linen, embroidered with blue thread. A pleated blue mantle covered his right shoulder, hanging below his waist, which was cinched with a broad belt, decorated with copper and gold. A wide collar of finely worked links of gold and copper hung around his neck. On his head he wore a closely fitting cap.
“How do I look?” Chamba asked.
“You look like the prince,” Robby said, simply.
“These are his clothes,” Chamba said. He looked down at the kilt a bit dubiously. “You sure I don’t look strange?”
“You look great,” Jack said. “We’re the ones that are going to look strange. You’ll fit right in.”
“Here’s Tarek, come to get us,” Robby said.
They walked up the hill as evening fell, along streets paved with stone. Some of the circular houses with roofs like flattened cones bordered their way, and they could glimpse gardens and plantings behind them.
As they walked, the buildings grew larger and became rectangular. Tarek pointed to an imposing three-storied one. “The Temple of Apedemak. I was a temple guard, before I became bodyguard to the princess.”
Jack stared at the group of massive white stone buildings, linked by covered porticos. The temple complex was composed of rectangles, some spreading out along the ground, others going up into the air. An enormous gateway stood before it. “Impressive,” the captain said. And beneath those buildings, he thought, is the labyrinth…and the treasure.…
Past the temple, toward the top of the hill, another large rectangular building stood, perhaps half the size of the huge temple. Carved white columns supported an overhanging, flat roof. Tarek pointed to it. “The royal palace.”
Next to the rectangular building stood another, low, circular one. It appeared to be made of whitewashed brick, rather than stone. Tarek indicated it. “That is the old palace, which was kept to house many of the guards and servants.”
“Do you live there?”
“No, I sleep in the palace itself, in the antechamber of the princess’s bedchamber. So I will be able to defend her in case of attack.”
Jack sighed. Forget trying to sneak into the royal bedchamber tonight.…
When they entered the palace, Tarek led them up several series of ramps. They emerged onto the broad roof, which was taken up with large, scattered cushions, woven mats, low stools, and small, low tables. A waist-high wall enclosed the roof area, and benches ran along it.
There was a crowd of people already present, excitedly chattering away. As Jack, Robby, and Chamba entered, the buzz of conversation ceased, as all the guests and not a few of the bustling servitors stopped what they were doing, turning to stare at them. The moon shone overhead, half full, and torches flickered at the tops of tall metal stands.
“Please, forgive their lapse in manners,” Tarek said softly. “They have never seen white persons before.”
Jack glanced sideways at Robby. “Bring in the wild beasts,” he muttered.
After a long, uncomfortable minute, the other guests seemed to recall that they were staring. They abruptly turned away and resumed talking, all the while stealing surreptitious glances at the newcomers.
Jack smelled roasting meat, and his stomach rumbled. “How soon do we eat? I’m a bit peckish.”
“As soon as the…” Tarek paused, then addressed a quick question to Chamba, who murmured a reply. “…the butler announces the arrival of the royals, we shall be seated, and as soon as the royals take their seats at the head table, the food will be served.”
“Any chance of getting a drink?” Jack said, looking around for a barkeep of some kind.
“I will see what can be arranged,” Tarek said. “Wait here.”
Soon enough, he was back with a bottle and three cups. Jack examined the cup. It was fired red pottery, marked with a black line. It was beautiful ware. Tarek poured for the three of them. It was a heady, dark wine, not too sweet. Jack sipped appreciatively.
Guests continued to arrive, and everyone had to stop and gawk for a moment at the strangers. After his first cup of wine, Jack started raising his cup in a smiling toast to those who stared, which inevitably made them look down and scurry away.
“You’re incorrigible,” Robby whispered.
Jack shrugged. “Can’t help it, mate.”
At long last, the “butler” called out an announcement in loud tones, and Jack caught the names of the royal family. Their little party headed toward the tables. “Where do we sit, Tarek?” Jack asked.
“The princess told me where to seat you, and asked me to apologize for her that she cannot sit with you. Follow me.”
Tarek led them to one of the rows of tables, not far from the head table. Jack craned his neck, wondering where the princess was, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of her.
They sat at the low tables, cross-legged on cushions. Only after the other guests had stopped milling around and taken their seats did Jack get a good view of the head table, and the royals who stood near the wall, waiting. At a nod from the master of ceremonies, they approached their seats.
He saw Shabako, and Queen Tiyy, and—
Amenirdis? Jack’s eyes widened.
She was beautiful, but not beautiful like the girl he’d held in his arms just last night. That girl had been warm and alive, by turns laughing and passionate and pensive. This girl was every inch a princess, from the crown on her elaborate wig down to her elegant sandals. She was like a beautiful painted doll that had been given the ability to move on her own. Lovely, graceful, and elegant, yes, she was all those things. But her painted mouth did not smile. She appeared as remote as the moon.
Jack turned as he felt Robby bump his arm. “Look at that necklace the princess is wearing, Jack,” the first mate whispered. “There’s enough gold just at that table to buy the Wicked Wench.”
Jack gave him a quick, baffled glance. “What are you getting at? I should steal it?”
Robby blinked. “No! I’ve just never seen anything so…rich.”
Jack chuckled. “Look around us, Robby. They’re all wearing more than we make in a year.”
At long last, a servant came by and placed a plate before him. Jack watched the other guests, studying what was considered proper manners. Surprisingly, the Zerzurans hadn’t developed spoons or forks. Each person had his or her own knife, to cut food with, and luckily, Jack had his sailor’s knife with him. Once the food was cut, it was scooped onto pieces of rather spongy bread, which the guests then rolled up and ate.
Jack sampled the fare, and decided that Zerzuran cuisine compared well with others he’d tried all over the world. Some of the flavors didn’t appeal to him, but most of the food was quite tasty. Servitors circulated, offering assorted dishes: different kinds of roasted and barbecued meats, delicate fish steamed in large leaves, some kind of greens Jack had never encountered before, honey and spices sprinkled over roasted yams…the dishes just kept coming, all of them served on that beautiful, delicate pottery. Wine servitors came around every so often, pouring wine out of vessels with spouts molded to resemble animal heads.
They were halfway through the meal before any of the other guests got up enough nerve to speak to Jack, though Chamba had been chattering away since they’d first
sat down. His closest neighbor, a young man who wore the skin of some kind of spotted beast thrown over his shoulder, said, by way of Tarek, “Captain Sparrow, greetings. I am Psamtick, one of the pharaoh’s scribes. How do you like our city?”
“Very beautiful, mate,” Jack replied. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Do they have large cities where you come from, Captain Sparrow?”
“Yes, they do,” Jack said, wondering what Psamtick would think of London, or Paris, or Singapore. The servitor came by again, and ladled a serving of beef—Jack was fairly sure it was beef—mixed with lentils, in a sauce, onto Jack’s plate. He had to use his knife as a scoop to get it onto the bread. Picking up the rolled bread in his fingers, he took a bite. It was spicy, but not scorching. He noted that Zerzurans did not eat with their mouths open, and wondered what Cutler Beckett would make of this gathering.
“And what is your country called, Captain Sparrow?” Psamtick asked.
“It’s called England,” Jack said. “It’s an island too,” he added, as an afterthought.
Psamtick seemed surprised to hear this, but pleased. He smiled politely at Jack as he chewed, and Jack returned it.
By the time the meal ended and they all rose, Jack worried that perhaps the queen and her children would simply disappear, and he wouldn’t get to see Amenirdis at all. But she nodded significantly at Tarek, and the bodyguard escorted them to the royal family.
“Jack!” Amenirdis said. Her eyes, outlined with heavy kohl, looked enormous.
“Hello, Your Highness,” Jack said. “How is the homecoming going?”
“Fine.” She looked at him. “You look very nice, Jack. Beautiful jacket and waistcoat.”
“Thank you. So do you, love. Every inch a princess.”
Amenirdis looked down. When she raised her eyes, the remote expression was gone. The woman he’d known last night was back. “Jack, to be honest, it’s been difficult.”
“It’s bound to be,” Jack said. “Things change.”
“That’s the problem,” she said. “Things here are exactly the same. I’m the one that has changed. I’m not used to…this…anymore.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand that encompassed her hair and clothing. “I wish I could run away. I mean, sail away…with you and the Wicked Wench.”
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 60
