Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  Jack had done his best to prepare himself. In the canvas duffel he carried over one shoulder there was a full canteen, some smoked meat and dried fruit, several pieces of chalk, a large canvas bag to carry treasure, and two small leather bags that were identical, except that one was half-full of rocks of varying sizes. Over his other shoulder he carried the coil of rope.

  As Amenirdis had promised, he could see perfectly well inside due to the light that shone from the translucent rock of the ceiling. Jack had never seen anything like it.

  The doorway lay behind them. Featureless corridors led off to the left and right. Amenirdis stooped to trail her fingers along the stones of the floor. When she lifted them, they were gray with dust. “The priests could not get in, to clean,” she said. “The god will not like having his sacred place neglected.”

  Jack slid his duffel off his shoulder and pulled out a piece of chalk. “Which way?”

  She hesitated. “I am trying to remember, but I cannot. It has been too many years. Let us try left.”

  Jack drew an arrow on the wall, pointing left. “Let’s go.”

  They walked for a few minutes, then the corridor branched off. Again Amenirdis chose left. Jack chalked the wall, and they went on.

  Almost immediately, the corridor began to slope steeply downhill. The princess stopped abruptly. “This is wrong,” she said. “I do not remember this. We must go back.”

  Jack marked the wall, and they turned around and headed back up the slope.

  When they reached the intersecting corridor, they paused. “Now what?”

  Amenirdis bit her lip, looking frustrated. “Jack, the more I think of it, the more I believe we should have turned right after coming through the door.”

  “Right it is,” Jack said. “We’ll go back, after I mark the wall.” He scribbled for a moment.

  Christophe was wearing a pained expression, but remained silent.

  When they reached the door, Jack marked their new path, and they went on.

  The right-hand corridor ran straight for at least ten minutes, then jogged to the left, then right, then went straight again. Jack dutifully marked each turn, even though there were no alternative paths to take, and their footprints were visible in the thin coating of dust. They walked for another ten minutes or so. Jack had been counting steps since they’d left the door. When the corridors turned, he wrote the number of steps on the wall.

  After the corridor again branched left, then right again after only ten paces or so, then again ran straight for a longish walk, Jack called a halt. “Amenirdis, you come with me,” he said, “Christophe, stay where you are.”

  The rogue pirate glared at him. “Where are you going, Jacques?”

  Jack looked offended. “Just a few yards down the corridor.”

  “Why?” Christophe demanded, suspiciously.

  “If you must know, I need to pump the bilges,” Jack replied, blandly.

  Christophe rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you go before we left?”

  Jack and Amenirdis walked back down the straight corridor for about thirty feet. “Turn around, love,” Jack said, quietly. “Stand with your back to me.”

  Opening the waistband of his britches, Jack took out Tia Dalma’s compass and flipped it open. It was as he’d half expected…the needle spun crazily. “Amenirdis,” he said, “something strange is going on.”

  “What, Jack?” she asked.

  “I’m looking at Tia Dalma’s compass, and it’s just spinning, aimlessly. And I assure you that I’m quite clear on what I want most: I want to get to the center of the labyrinth.”

  Stowing the compass away, he fastened his britches. “Also, do you realize that if we were walking outside, and had covered this much ground, we’d be in your harbor by now? The temple is on a hill. We’ve walked about a mile; I’ve been counting paces. And we’ve been going roughly northeast, on level ground. If you were to draw a line from the temple, a mile northeast, that would put you into the harbor.” Jack turned to face her. “Or, rather, roughly a hundred feet above the harbor.”

  Amenirdis shrugged. “This is Apedemak’s temple. And his labyrinth. The gods have great powers, Jack.”

  They walked back up the tunnel until they reached Christophe, who looked at Jack. “Better, Jacques?”

  “Much.”

  They walked along the straightaway. At the end, the corridor turned left, then branched three ways. Amenirdis stood there, looking carefully down each branch. Jack started to walk past her, into the middle branch. She threw up an arm to block his way. “No, Jack. Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have encountered our first illusion.”

  Jack peered down the corridor. “Looks perfectly ordinary to me,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She continued staring at it, frowning. “Something is not right. I cannot quite see.…”

  “Sacre bleu! ” Christophe cried. “Out of my way, Jack! Mademoiselle, you are as fou as he is! There is nothing there.”

  Jack smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. Stepping out of the way, he waved, ushering the rogue pirate past him, so he could continue down the blank stretch of corridor. “By all means, Christophe. After you.”

  Christophe hesitated, then shrugged and leaned against the corridor. “How do I know you didn’t come in here last night and lay a trap for me? This is just the kind of trick you would play, Jacques.”

  “One of me better tricks, coming in here last night, with no bracelet, and then carefully covering my trail with this nice dust, just to fool you, Christophe,” Jack commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Nobody has been in here for five years,” Amenirdis said, coldly. “Because you stole my father’s bracelet, thief.”

  Christophe crossed his arms and looked away.

  Jack nodded at the corridor. “What do you see, Amenirdis?”

  “There is an opening in the floor,” she said. “It is too far to jump.”

  “Damn,” Jack said. “Do you remember this from before?”

  “No. Either the high priest brought us a different way, or part of his chant included the sacred word, and saying it negated this trap.”

  Dropping to her hands and knees, the princess crawled forward, disturbing the dust. She sneezed, then moved a few inches more, and halted, peering down at what, to Jack, seemed to be a completely solid floor.

  “The light only illuminates the first twenty or thirty feet,” she said. “Then it all becomes gray, then black. I believe the shaft narrows.”

  “Is there a ladder we have to climb down?” Jack asked.

  “No. Jack, do you have something I can drop down there? So I can listen for it to hit the bottom?”

  “I do indeed,” Jack said. “I tried to think of everything.” Reaching into his duffel, he withdrew the half-full leather bag. Ceremoniously, he reached into it, and withdrew a chunk of gray stone. “One rock, suitable for dropping.”

  Walking over to Christophe, he handed him the stone. “If you would be so kind as to hand it to the lady,” he said.

  “Why don’t you give it to her yourself ?”

  “Because I would never willingly turn my back on you. Especially when I was standing on the edge of a big, deep hole.”

  Christophe drew himself up. “You impugn my honor?”

  “I’d say shooting Don Rafael in the back pretty much established everything I need to know about your ‘honor.’ Or the lack of it.”

  Jack could tell Christophe was thinking of drawing his elegant colichemarde and running him through, but after a moment the rogue took the stone and walked over to hand it to Amenirdis. “Your rock, mademoiselle.”

  Taking the stone, Amenirdis held it a foot above the floor, then released it. Even though he’d known what to expect, Jack was still amazed to watch it drop through the seemingly solid stone floor—

  —which then proceeded to vanish. The gap Amenirdis had seen from the beginning was revealed.

  Christophe cursed
again, and jumped back. Jack edged closer to peer over the drop-off.

  “Long way down,” he said. “Did you hear the rock land?”

  Solemnly, she shook her head, no.

  “Bugger,” Jack muttered, looking at the gap. It was close to ten feet across. And, with the wall only about ten feet behind them, it would be impossible to get a running start to try the leap. “The rope won’t do us any good; there’s nothing to attach it to on either side.” He looked back down. “And it’s probably not long enough to reach the bottom.”

  Amenirdis was staring fixedly to Jack’s left. “Move, Jack,” she said, and crawled sideways along the gulf. Dust rose up. They both sneezed.

  Putting out a hand, she ran it down the wall, over the emptiness. When her hand reached the level of the drop-off, her fingers moved outward, at right angles, as though she were running them along a solid surface.

  “This is a ledge,” she said. “Most interesting. A double illusion.”

  Jack crawled over, and verified this for himself. He could clearly feel a solid projection running along what his eyes told him was emptiness. It was wider than his hand with his fingers outstretched, but not by a whole lot. “You’re right. It’s not quite a foot wide. Should be enough,” he mused. “Though trusting my weight to something I can’t see…” He shrugged. “No way around it, eh?”

  Jack stood up. “Christophe,” he said, indicating the gap, “will you do the honors?”

  The rogue came over and dropped down to feel the ledge. “Very well,” he said.

  “Jack, I don’t think I can do that,” Amenirdis said, staring at the pit. “What if I miss a step?”

  “I’ve got an idea about that,” Jack said. “Don’t worry.”

  Christophe took the precaution of removing his coat, hat, boots, and stockings. “If you would be so kind as to tie these onto your pack, Jacques?”

  Jack nodded. The rogue pirate edged out onto the ledge, and moved along it, fairly rapidly, feeling his way with his feet. Amenirdis had to look away. Christophe reached the other side, and stepped onto the solid corridor.

  “You’re next,” Jack said, taking the rope off his shoulder.

  “But—”

  “Just do what I tell you. Put your back to the wall, and don’t look down. Take your boots off.” She obeyed, then stood beside the ledge. She was trembling.

  “It will be all right,” Jack said, soothingly. He tossed the free end of the rope to Christophe, who, without being told, backed up against the wall, preparing to hold the rope taut.

  “See, we’re making you sort of a railing,” Jack said. “The rope will help keep you upright. Just edge along sideways, the way Christophe did. Don’t look down.”

  She glared at him. “This might seem like child’s play for sailors who spend half their time walking around on yardarms and such, but it’s not easy for ordinary people!”

  Jack smiled and winked. “You’re not ordinary.”

  Her mouth tight, Amenirdis edged along the last of the corridor. Jack moved back until he and Christophe were holding the rope taut, about chest-high on her.

  Closing her eyes, she began moving resolutely along the invisible ledge. Sweat trickled down her face as she felt her way along, eyes still closed. As she neared the visibly solid corridor, Christophe said, “Only about another foot to go, mademoiselle. You are almost here.”

  Then, moments later, she was on the other side. Amenirdis let out a whoosh of breath, and plunked down in the middle of the corridor, as though her legs had given way.

  Jack took off his coat, hat, and boots, then tied their clothing and the duffel together with the rope. Christophe took up most of the slack on it, then pulled the bundle across to the other side of the void, as Jack edged along the ledge, then sprang nimbly to safety.

  The group redonned their clothing and footwear, and Jack passed around the canteen before they proceeded.

  Amenirdis walked along the corridor, looking around her intently for any more pits. The path soon branched, and she went a few steps down each way before she returned. “We go to the left,” she announced.

  “How can you tell?” Christophe asked. His tone toward her was considerably more respectful than it had been earlier.

  “There is an illusion in the tunnel to the left. An opening in the wall that you cannot see.”

  Jack and Christophe followed her, until she stopped before a section of wall. “Here is the opening. It might be best if you walked through with your eyes closed. It can be disconcerting, penetrating an illusion.”

  “I’ll go first,” Christophe volunteered.

  Closing his eyes, he stopped though the solid-appearing wall. The illusion held, this time. He disappeared, and the wall still appeared solid. Almost immediately, though, they heard an ominous clicking and scrabbling, then a loud, distinctive hiss. Christophe shouted, “A moi, Jacques!”

  Jack ducked his head and leaped through the wall, Amenirdis at his heels. He had his hand on the hilt of his cutlass, and drew it as he landed.

  A monster. Why is there always a monster? he wondered.

  This one was a particularly fine specimen, as monsters went. It was larger than most—at least twenty feet from the tip of its hissing, forked tongue to the end of its barbed, poisonous stinger. The creature was black, some kind of hideous hybrid of cobra and scorpion. Its cobra head was easily as big around as Amenirdis’s waist, not counting the hood that flared out on either side, and it was reared up, its head at least six feet off the floor. The rear half of its body was that of a scorpion, scuttling along on eight spindly legs, its movements terrifyingly quick. The barbed, deadly stinger at the end of its segmented tail was held up, four feet in the air, poised to strike.

  Jack had landed in a large, rectangular chamber, not a corridor, and the cobra-scorpion was moving forward, as though it had come from the opposite wall. Christophe, sword drawn, was slowly retreating, waiting to attack until his expected reinforcements arrived.

  Seeing the creature, Jack skidded to a halt. He glanced behind him at the featureless wall, and only then realized he couldn’t be sure where he’d come through it. Amenirdis, too, faced their venomous opponent, a bronze dagger in one hand, and her papyrus list of names in the other. Clearly, a strategic retreat wasn’t uppermost in her mind, though it certainly had been in Jack’s. Bugger, Jack thought, disgustedly. I’m the only sane coward in a room full of brave idiots.

  Slinging the duffel bag and the coil of rope into a corner, he stood poised to attack.

  “Jacques,” Christophe called. “Be careful. It spits.”

  “Wonderful,” Jack yelled back. “Amenirdis? We’d rather not have to engage with this beastie if one of your names will make it vanish, or melt, or something.”

  “Kashta! Shabako! Piye! Taharka! Amanislo! Apelta!” She shouted the names, one after another.

  “It’s still there,” Jack said, unnecessarily, to the princess.

  “Senkamanisken! Analmani! Piankhy! Kasta!”

  “Jacques, is there a corner behind me?” Christophe yelled.

  “Yes!” Jack shouted. “I’ll go round to the beastie’s left, and get it to turn toward me, and you go right. Got that?”

  “Go!”

  Jack raced to his left, and saw the barbed tail with its deadly stinger flash toward him. He heard liquid splat against a hard surface and Christophe’s yelp. The cobra head must have spat venom. Even as he dodged flying poison, Jack half turned and slashed upward and to the right with his cutlass. He felt the edge of his blade bite into something hard, then the hardness gave way with a crack, and the cutlass penetrated the creature’s tough exterior with a meaty thunk. For a terrifying second he thought his blade might be pulled out of his hand by the scorpion’s tail, but it came free as he followed through, dripping a substance Jack didn’t want to get within a foot of—yellow, viscous; he’d have staked his good rum that it was poison.

  He heard Amenirdis shouting. “Shebitku! Tanwetamani! Khababash!”

&
nbsp; He caught a glimpse of Christophe darting around to the creature’s right side, where Jack had been moments before. Obviously feeling Jack’s attack on its tail, the cobra head swung away from the rogue, aiming at Jack. Christophe took advantage of the distraction and lunged, piercing the lower part of the snake’s neck. Jack gasped as the fangs spurted venom in a jet, and threw himself to the side. The poison splashed against the wall where he had been just an instant before. Jack was already moving fast, but he sped up, slashing at the head. His weapon clove through the flared hood until the edge cut deeply into the snake’s muscled neck, leaving a gaping maw of a wound.

  The scorpion-snake writhed in agony. Christophe lunged again, and this time his sword went straight through the neck. He hung on grimly as the monster flailed, pulling him off his feet.

  “Alara! Ergamenes! Arrakkam! Tanoutamoni! Psamtik! Natakamani! Nenu!”

  The creature spat venom again. Christophe, still hanging onto his sword, nearly fell into a pool of it as his blade finally came free, and he dropped.

  “That’s all the pharaohs,” Amenirdis yelled. “I’m starting on the queens! Much shorter list!”

  Jack reversed direction and ran back, thinking he would have another go at the creature’s tail, but to his surprise, the barbed stinger lay in his path. He leaped over it, realizing he must have cut it clean off earlier and not realized it.

  “Amanirenas! Shanadakhete! Amanitore! Aqaluqa! Tuty! Mi! Amenirdis! Nasala! That’s all I’ve got!”

  Christophe thrust into the cobra’s neck, over and over.

  The monster was clearly weakening under the double assault.

  Jack leaped in for another slash. It was handy, having an edged weapon in a fight like this. Christophe, expert swordsman that he was, had to depend solely on the point.

  The cobra spat venom one more time, then its neck drooped. Amenirdis was closest to it. She ran in, her bronze dagger ready, and stabbed it hard into the huge, slit-pupiled snake eye.

  The creature collapsed, and lay still. Amenirdis pulled out the dagger, and wiped the blade off on the creature’s hood.

  Jack and Christophe stood there, holding their befouled swords. The only sound was that of humans panting for air.