Jack sighed. That’s that, then…
He wanted nothing more than to pick his way across the deck to his cabin and have a drink, but there were things he had to do. The stage had to be set for the crew’s awakening.
Hoisting up the bag sent by the pharaoh, he headed back to the bow, which was the only place with enough room to put the sack, unless he did more rearranging of sleeping bodies.
Putting down the sack, Jack spread the contents out with his hands. Even running his fingers over that that much gold and silver didn’t cheer him.
Jack shrugged. Any man would be a bit spooked, he told himself, out here all by his lonesome, with bodies sprawled all over his deck. Looks like the last act of Hamlet. A quick nip of rum, and I’ll be right as rain.
The thought didn’t make him feel much better. Taking the folded parchment Chamba had brought, Jack laid it atop the coins that clearly showed in the open mouth of the sack, then weighed it down so a stray breeze wouldn’t send it flying away.
With the stage set, Jack headed off to his cabin, tiptoeing over and past bodies. It brought back memories of that night that Esmeralda had turned up to rescue the Wench. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what Esmeralda and Amenirdis had talked about when she’d had the princess over to Venganza to dine with her. Obviously, they’d talked about him. What had they said? They’d sure giggled a lot…
Reaching the door of his cabin, Jack entered with a sigh of relief. Rum, he thought. I really, really need a drink. Or two…
He also needed to hide the swag he’d brought out of the labyrinth. By now Jack had quite a number of hiding places in his cabin. Several of the deck boards could be pried up to reveal hidey-holes. And, of course, there was the largest space, located in the captain’s head.
Jack spent some time arranging his pick of the treasure items in his assorted hiding places. Not all of them fit, so he decided to take the sack back out with him, and place it beside the pharaoh’s. They could break up some of the silver and gold plates, for instance, in order to divide them up.
Only then did he allow himself to sink onto his bunk, with the bottle of rum in hand...
A while later, Jack decided it was time to get back out on deck. Amenirdis hadn’t been too sure how long the spell would last. It had been close to an hour since Heka had sailed away.
Carrying the sack, with half a dozen good-sized pieces from the labyrinth, Jack picked his way back across the deck, finding it considerably more difficult to avoid stepping on crewmembers than it had been earlier. He actually did lose his balance at one point, and wound up stepping on the cook’s arm, all the while windmilling his arms desperately to avoid falling on his backside. He nearly spilled the sack.
But finally, he made it all the way to the bow and placed his sack next to Pharaoh Shabako’s.
“There you go,” he said. Sometime in the past half hour he’d begun talking to himself—the quiet was getting on his nerves. “Now, to find a bit of shade...”
In the end, Jack wound up dragging a few crewmembers, including Frank Connery, half a foot this way or that, so he’d have room to lie down. He plopped down onto the deck in the nice little patch of shade cast by the capstan, sitting down rather harder than he’d originally intended, because he lost his balance on the way down. Carefully, Jack stretched himself out on his side—
—only to find himself looking at a pair of large, calloused, and remarkably filthy male feet, approximately six inches from his nose. That wouldn’t do, not at all.
Sitting up with a muffled grunt, he maneuvered himself around, then stretched out the other way so he was looking at nothing worse than the wood of the capstan. That was all right.
Jack closed his eyes. Must make this look good, he thought. Don’t want anyone suspecting I wasn’t really asleep.
He wondered what Amenirdis was doing right now. Was she thinking of him? He remembered the way her skin felt, and her scent, and the way she…
“Captain! Captain Sparrow!”
Someone was shaking him frantically and bellowing in his ear. “Hmm…wuzzat? Hmmmm?” Jack said, opening one eye. It was his lee helmsman, William Banks, who was shaking him. “Wake up, Captain Sparrow!”
Jack opened the other eye. “Take your hands off me, Mr. Banks,” he snapped. “That’s an order.”
Banks hastily let go, and sat back on his heels. “Captain Sparrow, thank the Lord! I thought everyone was dead!”
Jack sat up. “By Jove!” he said, putting just the right amount of surprise and dismay into his voice. “What the devil happened, Banks?”
“I don’t know, Cap’n!” Banks almost wailed. “I woke up and it looked like this!”
Other bodies were beginning to stir.
The next quarter of an hour was a repetition of that same scene, more or less, as the remainder of the crew woke up. Finally they were all standing on the weather deck, expostulating. Several sailors scurried off to search for Chamba and the passengers, then reported them missing.
Jack leaned against the mainmast and let them discover things for themselves, for the most part. Inevitably, someone discovered the missing longboat, the sacks of loot, and the letter. Since it was marked “Captain Sparrow” on the outside, they brought it to Jack to open and read.
He did so, first skimming it silently, then reading it aloud to the assembled men:
Dear Captain Sparrow,
This is not an easy letter to write. I will miss you, and my shipmates aboard the Wicked Wench, but I am sure I am doing the right thing. I have decided to accept Miss Ayisha’s invitation to go live with their tribe. They are good people, and she says I will be welcome and find a home there.
You see, I was once a slave, Captain. I ran away. The slavers burned my village, and took everyone. So I have nothing to go back to. Even for a sailor, it is hard to have no place you can call home. Sometimes I lie awake at night after dreaming they have caught me and are taking me back to be a slave again. It tires a man out to live afraid that he’ll lose his freedom.
By the time you read this, we will be gone. As I write this, you and all my shipmates are lying here, asleep. It was Miss Ayisha who did it. When she is this close to her home, she has powerful magic. Not long after you all fell asleep, a boat from an island where some of her people dwell came sailing through the fog, and hove-to beside us. People from the boat came aboard with this gold and silver. Miss Ayisha said it is to reward you and the crew for bringing them home.
Please read this letter to the crew, so my shipmates will know I said good-bye. I will miss them. Most of them can’t read or write, but they are good men all the same. I am real glad that Lucius and Etienne are friends now. We were all getting tired of hearing them go on at each other.
Wishing you calm seas and following winds,
Chamba
P.S. Miss Ayisha just told me to tell you not to try and follow us into the fog, Captain. Doing that would be very dangerous.
Jack finished reading the letter, then looked up. His crewmen were staring at him, shaking their heads and muttering. Featherstone and de Ver were bristling a bit at their shipmates.
“Listen up, mates,” Jack said, “I’m going to assign three men to divide up this reward, to ensure that each man gets his fair share. Judging by the size of this sack, I would advise all of you to put your share somewhere safe, so you can have it available to you when you’re too old to sail, or you get injured. Or perhaps you’ll want to make sure it’s available to your families if something should happen to you one of these days. We all know a seaman’s life is not an easy one. Not too many of us live to a ripe old age and die in our beds, lads.”
He looked around the assembled faces. “First Mate Greene, Second Mate Connery, and…Samuel Newton. Can you please handle the task of dividing up this reward?”
“Aye, Captain!” they all replied.
“Good. Now, lads…” Jack took a deep breath. “Far be it from me to advise any of my crew to be less than honest with our em
ployer. After all, the EITC pays us generous wages, does it not?”
The expected amount of grumbling negatives greeted this comment.
“So I’m just going to mention here, that, technically, it’s my duty to tell the EITC, in the person of Mr. Beckett, about this, er, windfall, here.” Jack gestured at the sacks lying at his feet. “However, Captain Jack Sparrow is not one to insist on niggling, unimportant technicalities of maritime regulations and contracts, when the welfare of his crew is at stake. So I intend to say nothing of this, lads.” He indicated the pile of gold. “What each man here chooses to do is up to him, and the dictates of his conscience.”
There was a relieved murmur.
“Oh, and Mr. Greene, Mr. Connery, and Mr. Newton?”
“Aye, Captain?”
“The money should be divided equally among you, except that I’ll take a half-share, please. The other half of my share should be divided four ways, one-quarter to George Perkins,” he said, naming the topman whose broken leg had been amputated by Doctor Martinez, “and one-quarter each to the families of Micah Wilson, Sam Hopkins, and Nathan Bolton. I feel that is only fair,” Jack concluded.
His crew spontaneously broke into cheers. “Huzzah for Captain Sparrow!” Samuel Newton cheered as loudly as any of them.
George Perkins, leaning on his crutch, had tears running down his cheeks. Jack smiled graciously, waving aside the topman’s efforts to thank him.
Jack raised a hand for quiet. “Now, lads, there’s just one more thing. Mr. Beckett assigned me to find the bearings for this island Chamba mentions. Apparently some of Prince Shabako’s and Miss Ayisha’s people live on this island. Mr Beckett read about the island in a book, and told me to bring back the bearings. I think the island lies over there, inside that fogbank.” He pointed, and the crew looked over at the smudge on the western horizon. “So, mates, let’s get some canvas on the old girl. We’re following where Chamba and our passengers went!”
Jack heard murmurs from the crew, whispers that included the word “danger,” but there were no actual protests.
“Mr. Greene, Mr. Connery, lock these sacks up in the arms locker for now. Mr. Trafford, I’ll want you on our helm. Let’s make sail and get the bearings for this island for Mr. Beckett!” His crew scattered.
“Jack,” Robby said, half an hour later, as they stood together on the bow, and the Wicked Wench plunged toward the looming fogbank, “I don’t like the looks of this at all.” He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “You told me that Kerma had powerful spells guarding it. This looks…uncanny.”
“It does,” Jack said. “Nevertheless, Robby, Mr. Beckett gave us our orders. I’m to personally verify that the island exists, so I can give him the bearings.”
Once more, Jack was on the quarterdeck as the Wench plunged into the illusion-fog. The captain had no intention of going all the way through it, of course. He just wanted his crew to experience a bit of what it was like to go in there so they’d know it was unpleasant, and then he’d order them to reverse their course.
The fog surrounded them, engulfing them in the blink of an eye, just as it had before. Jack staggered, and so did Lee Trafford. He looked down at the binnacle to see their course, only to find the compass needle spinning like a top. That hadn’t happened before!
Screams erupted as sailors cowered, hands over their heads, batting at things that no one but they could see.
Jack gasped for air, feeling as though it had all been sucked from his lungs. This was ten times—nay, a hundred times—worse than it had been when they’d gone in with Amenirdis standing beside the steering wheel.
If we go any farther in, Jack realized, we’ll never get out! On the heels of this thought followed a grim determination to save his ship. I have to get us out!
“Mr. Trafford!” Jack grabbed the helmsman and shook him until the man’s eyes focused. “Come about! Reverse course! That’s an order!”
Trafford locked his teeth in his lower lip and then managed to nod. “Coming about, Cap’n!”
Jack nodded and, ignoring the sights and sounds that were assaulting his senses, he staggered down the ladder and screamed, “Hands wear ship! Now! Let’s get out of here! Hands wear ship! ”
One or two men lifted their heads and began staggering toward him. Jack grabbed for lines and began working alongside them. Maybe it will get better once we turn back, he thought, remembering that sailing out of the illusion-fog had presented no real problem.
“Come on, mates! Hands wear ship! Lively! Lively, now! Move, you verminous cowherds! Move!”
Jack saw Frank and Robby come staggering over to help with the sails.
Slowly, the Wicked Wench turned and came about. The wind began to push against her sails. Jack realized that if they’d waited too long, the ship might well have wound up sailing in circles, unable to find her way back out.
But there, before him, he saw a patch of blue.
“Yes!” he shouted, as the bow of his ship nosed back out into safety and sanity. “Thank you!” Jack yelled, to any god that might be listening.
Jack kept after his hands until they’d sailed at least a league away, maybe a bit more. He couldn’t tell, exactly, because no one was turning the hourglass or marking the traverse board. Too many men were still huddled on the deck, sweating, pale, and trembling.
When the grayish fog was nothing more than a thick line on the horizon, Jack ordered the Wench hove-to. “We’ll get a fresh start in the morning, lads,” he said. “Let’s get the ship set to rights. Then we’ll all have a bite to eat and our ration of rum, eh?”
As the sun lowered toward the west, Jack’s crew slowly pulled themselves together. Hands began cleaning the decks where experienced sailors who hadn’t been seasick in decades had spewed. Others began checking the lines, and setting the quarterdeck to rights.
Jack, Robby, and Frank made sure that the hands most affected would be able to skip their night watch. When the ship was hove-to, not many men were required to be on duty.
Finally, shortly after sunset, all was quiet. The hands who had any appetite had eaten their evening meal. Jack was surprised to find himself hungry, so he and Robby sat down to eat in his cabin.
Robby still looked pale and shaken, but he appeared to have pulled himself together. “By the way,” he said, “I heard what you yelled at us. ‘Verminous cowherds!’ That was uncalled for, Jack! I used to herd my dad’s cattle.”
“I didn’t mean it personally, Robby,” Jack said. Then he realized, from Robby’s expression, that his first mate was doing his best to make a feeble joke. He grinned at him. “Sorry, mate.”
As the last faint paleness was leaving the western horizon, Jack took one more tour around the ship, checking that everything was shipshape. The moon, two days from full, shone down on the weather deck, turning the freshly scrubbed surface silver. Then he headed for his cabin. He puttered around for a few minutes, hanging up his hat, coat, and waistcoat, then he sat down on the edge of his bunk to pull off his shoes and stockings.
He thought about pouring himself a drink, but, just in case anything were to happen in the night, some aftereffect of what the crew had been through, he decided he’d better keep his head clear.
His stern windows were wide open, letting in a pleasant breeze—
—and a sound. A soft, muted sound. A faint, regular sploop, then swoosh. The noise was muted, but he recognized it. It was the sound of someone rowing with muffled oars.
Jack frowned, telling himself that he must be imagining it.
How could anyone be out here, in the Atlantic, hundreds of miles off the African coast, in a rowboat?
Was he having some kind of delayed reaction to the illusion-fog?
Jack scowled. He’d never be able to sleep until he’d verified for himself that there was nothing out there but water. Standing up, he automatically grabbed for his baldric and cutlass, slinging it on over his loose-sleeved shirt, even as he opened the door to his cabin and strode o
ut onto the weather deck.
He stood there, listening, listening…and heard nothing. That bloody magical fog has gotten you spooked, hasn’t it, Jacky boy? Now you’re jumping at shadows.
Jack heard a faint thump against the side of the Wicked Wench’s hull.
You’re wrong, Teague. I’m right, and you’re wrong. Not for the first bloody time, either. There is something out there…and it’s trying to climb aboard my ship.
He began moving forward, toward the portside amidships ladder, silent on bare feet. As he moved, he drew his cutlass, careful to ease it out soundlessly. He was only halfway there when a fancy hat came into view, then shoulders and a torso. Then someone slung a long leg over the rail and stepped onto the deck.
Jack caught his breath. Damn! Why didn’t I bring my pistol, too?
He’d only made a tiny sound, but the intruder had a fighting man’s instincts, and his own sword, a colichemarde with a gold and silver hilt and a Toledo steel blade, was in his hand in a movement too fast to follow.
“Get off my ship, Christophe,” Jack said, his voice quiet and deadly, with none of the lightness he usually had in his tone. “If you climb down right now, I won’t yell for help and have you shot. It’s the best offer you’ll get tonight. I’d take it if I were you.”
The moonlight was so bright Jack had no trouble seeing the rogue pirate’s expression. He flashed his old charming grin. “Jacques! I am so glad to see you, mon ami!”
“No, you’re not. Not if you still have anything resembling a brain in your wine-sodden head,” Jack said. “We had an agreement, Christophe. Remember? You aren’t welcome aboard the Wicked Wench. Not you, and not your crew.”
Jack flicked a glance to the north, presumably where Christophe had come from, but there was no trace of La Vipère. “Where is your ship?” he demanded.
“La Vipère? And my crew?” Christophe shrugged elaborately. “Jacques, they were ridiculous. It was all a misunderstanding!”
“What was?” Jack casually stepped a foot to his left, so he was directly between the rogue pirate and the expanse of the weather deck. He did it by leading with his right foot, and when he stopped, his right foot was in front and his left foot was behind him, toes turned out, ninety degrees.
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 65
