Wild Waters

by Rob Kidd

  “About being betrayed?” Jack said. “Piffle.

  Who would betray someone as charming as me?”

  It was lucky for Barbossa that Jack couldn’t see the expression on his face at that moment.

  “Don’t do it!” Jean cried suddenly. His head popped up, and he nearly fell before Diego and Alex caught him. “Don’t do it, Jack! Don’t drink the last vial!”

  Jack sprinted back, clearing the tree trunk in a single bound, and clapped a hand over Jean’s mouth. He grinned wanly at Barbossa.

  “What is he on about?” Barbossa growled. “Drinking the vials of Shadow Gold? Who would do that?”

  “Good point, Hector,” Jack said, nodding vigorously. “No one would do that! Pretty, shiny Shadow Gold! Drink it—that’s crazy talk.”

  None of his crew members knew the truth: that Jack had to drink the Shadow Gold to cure his shadow-sickness. The rest of the pirates, including Barbossa, thought Jack was saving the Shadow Gold to sell at the end of their voyage, which would make them all fabulously wealthy. This seemed like a much better strategy to Jack than explaining to all of them that this whole trip was just to save his life. He was pretty sure they’d understand once he explained it to them at the end…or, failing that, he was pretty sure he could outrun them all.

  Jean fought free of Jack’s hand. “She’ll die!” he gasped hoarsely. “If you take the last vial…I see it—she dies. I see her hair, long and dark—and the blood—so much blood.…She dies trying to save you, Jack! On the Day of the Shadow!”

  Diego gasped. “He’s talking about Carolina!” He grabbed Jack’s shoulder and shook it. “He’s saying Carolina is going to die!”

  Carolina was speechless. Was it true? Was she destined to die fighting the Shadow Lord?

  “Well, you know how these prophecy thingies are,” Jack said, trying not to look worried. “All vague and cryptic and, uh…cryptic and vague.”

  “Ooooh, not all of them,” Grandmama chirped. Her black eyes sparked with malevolent glee at the anxious looks on all their faces. “Some prophecies are spot-on. Like the one Cousin Mabeltrude the Violent Visionary had about you nearly burning down my ship when you were eight. Lucky she predicted it, too, or we mightn’t have had the foresight to lock you in the brig where you couldn’t do too much damage.”

  “That wasn’t a vision,” Jack insisted balefully. “All eight-year-old boys like fire. Anyone could have guessed that.”

  “Skeletons in the moonlight!” Jean shrieked. “They look alive, but they’re not! Cursed, they’re all cursed! Even the monkey!” Suddenly he slumped again, losing consciousness against Diego’s shoulder.

  “See?” Jack said triumphantly. “Utter nonsense!”

  “Huh. That did sound pretty ridiculous,” Diego admitted.

  “Come on, let’s catch up to the others,” Jack said. They started forward again, dragging Jean carefully along with them.

  “Jack…watch out…he’s out there waiting…” Jean murmured.

  “The Shadow Lord?” Jack said quietly.

  “And the other one…thirteen years, Jack…and then he sends his pet. Beware, for the beastie brings your death.…”

  Diego looked at Jack quizzically.

  “More nonsense!” Jack said. “Ha-ha! Rambling! Makes no sense to anybody! Especially not to me! No, sir!” He patted his forehead with his kerchief and edged away from Jean, stumbling over fallen branches.

  Unfortunately, he knew exactly what that last comment was about, and who the dark character was that was waiting for him out in the world. And since nobody else knew about that…Jack had to wonder whether that meant Jean’s other words were going to come true as well.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The imposing stone fort of King Samuel, Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean, sat on a high cliff overlooking a bay, with views all the way to the ocean. Guards patrolled the ramparts day and night, keeping a sharp eye out for approaching ships.

  But they had never seen anything quite like the ship that was slowly limping into the bay at that moment. Pale gold and pink streaked the dawn sky with only a few thin clouds overhead, and because of the bluff the fort was built on, the sun was angled to rise almost directly behind the ship. Its drab, dirty sails were barely fluttering in the early morning breeze. The guards couldn’t see any movement on the deck—it almost looked like a ghost ship sailing forth without a crew.

  One thing it did have, though: cannons. Gun and cannon barrels poked out of every hole. The ship might not have looked like a threat otherwise, but the guards knew King Samuel would want to hear about those cannons.

  “Go sound the alarm,” said the head guard, squinting against the sun. “We’ll treat it as an attack.”

  “A rather pathetic attack,” snorted one of the other guards.

  “Hey,” said a third, “is that…smoke coming out of the portholes?”

  They all fell silent. Their eyes were dazzled by the rising sun, and it was hard to see. It did seem as if thin dark smoke were trickling from a few of the ship’s portholes.

  “They’re lighting their cannons already!” said the head guard. “Quick, get everyone to the ships! We must shoot it out of the water before it has a chance to shoot us!”

  Pandemonium erupted in the fort. Pirates ran in all directions, gathering their weapons. King Samuel strode out onto the highest rampart to see this mysterious ship for himself. His bald head gleamed like ebony in the sunlight, which sparkled off his large gold earrings. He swept his leopard-skin robe around him and lifted his chin regally.

  “It could be a trick,” his deep voice boomed. “Like a Trojan horse—anything could be inside. Approach with caution—do not get close enough to be boarded! Just shoot at the ship from afar!”

  He turned to his guests and smiled an insincerely toothy smile. “Nothing to worry about, my European friends. Foolish pirates often try to prove their strength by attacking King Samuel. And then they prove their mortality—by dying.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Benedict said noncommittally, shooting his wife a significant look. Barbara fluttered her Peacock fan in front of her face and sidled closer to King Samuel.

  “You must be very brave,” she said with a coy expression. “Getting attacked all the time! I can’t even imagine. When was the last time—and what did you do?”

  King Samuel loved to talk about himself (often in the third person), as Benedict and Barbara had learned painfully over dinner the night before. He loved showing off for visitors from all parts of the world, impressing them with tales of his manliness and strength, his cunning and power. The Huntingtons had suffered through an endless walk through Samuel’s trophy room, where he kept the heads of animals he’d killed and treasures from ships he’d sunk or pirates he’d robbed.

  Samuel’s favorite pastime—apart from betraying fellow pirates for large piles of gold—was hunting and trapping wild animals in Africa, then bringing them back alive on his ship. As a result, the fort was inhabited by a strange wandering menagerie. Barbara had not been pleased when an enormous tiger sauntered through her bedroom in the middle of the night, nor was she particularly fond of the parrots that fluttered through the rafters while they ate dinner. And she was fairly certain that a ridiculously tall spotted creature with a neck as long as a tree had poked its head in her window while she was dressing that morning. If you asked her, it was downright unsanitary.

  Now Samuel launched into an endless story about a wayward Arabic ship that had run into a storm and made the terrible mistake of seeking shelter in his bay. Riveted by Barbara’s hypnotic green eyes, he didn’t notice Benedict slinking away in search of the landward entrance to Samuel’s fort.

  For indeed there was one—a small wooden door in a large stone wall. Samuel’s men used it to get to the jungle when they needed food or building supplies. It was locked, but no one bothered to guard it. What self-respecting pirate would ever attack by land instead of by sea? Not only that, but the terrain for miles around was a tangle of forest and marsh where n
obody would want to live, or even travel.

  And yet…emerging from the trees at that very moment were the latest pirates to attempt an attack on King Samuel’s fort. Sarah led them up to the door, and they stood around it for a moment, catching their breath.

  They had spent a very unpleasant night in the rain forest, sleeping in mud and swarmed by mosquitoes. It also didn’t help that Jean kept sitting up suddenly with howls of: “The Day of the Shadow is coming!” or “Don’t take the gold! It’s cursed!” or “She’s going to die!” or “The monkey’s name is Jack!” (This last one caused Barbossa endless amusement, and he filed it away in his memory for future use.)

  Fortunately, when they finally arose to travel on a few hours before dawn, Jean had recovered. He was still woozy and pale, but his eyes were back to normal, and he couldn’t remember a thing about his visions. When Jack tried to ask him some pointed questions, Jean just blinked at him in confusion.

  “That’s all right, then,” Jack had said brightly. “Let’s all just forget it ever happened.” But the coming “Day of the Shadow” threat hung over them all, and for a couple of people in particular, the words that seemed to hint at Carolina’s death were even more terrifying. Jack wanted to forget it more than anyone. If Jean was right, then drinking the last vial of Shadow Gold would mean Carolina’s death. But not drinking it meant Jack would die—Tia Dalma had told him specifically that he needed all seven to be cured. So what was he going to do?

  “This is the door?” Jack said, shoving those thoughts aside. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure your fort has the best defenses in the world,” Sarah snapped. She was in a particularly bad mood this morning. Someone had dropped bitter tree bark into her soup the night before and then filled her hair with beetles while she was sleeping. Of course, almost everyone could guess exactly who that someone was, but Marcella protested innocence when Jean asked her about it, and Grandmama fended off any other interrogators by thumping them with her cane.

  The ancient pirate seemed to have taken a liking to Marcella, which didn’t surprise Jack at all. Naturally the two most irritating women he’d ever met would hit it off. They were probably plotting some new way to annoy him at this very moment.

  He narrowed his eyes at them, but Grandmama’s attention was fixed on the door. Her eyes were shining, and her sword was already out of its sheath. She was the only one who’d gotten a good night’s rest, and she was raring to leap into battle.

  Even from the outside, the pirates could hear shouting and crashes inside the fort.

  “The distraction is working,” Jocard said in a low, calm voice. “We must go now.”

  “The door will be locked,” Sarah said. “We’ll have to hack through the wood. I know a few of you brought axes; the rest can use their swords.”

  “Hang on,” Jack said. “Before we blunt our lovely steel on this impediment to our progress, how about we at least try the doorknob?” He sidled around Sarah, who put her hands on her hips and huffed impatiently.

  “Do what you like, but there’s no point!” she said. “I’ve been here before; I know this door is always locked.…” Her voice trailed off as the door swung smoothly open under Jack’s hand.

  “Funny,” Jack said. “Always locked, eh? All evidence to the contrary?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Sarah said, shoving him aside and storming through the door.

  “I was going to say ladies first,” Jack called after her.

  The other pirates bundled through the door en masse, drawing daggers, swords, and pistols in a swarm of red kerchiefs and rotten-toothed grins. Just inside the door was a small round vestibule and a long hallway leading to a set of stone stairs and two doors. Jack guessed that at least one of the doors probably led into the kitchen, which could often be found on this level in forts like this. For one thing, it made it easier to drag dead carcasses straight from the hunt to the cooks for cleaning and roasting.

  “Don’t forget!” Jocard called above the fray. “King Samuel is mine!”

  Jack bowed pleasantly as everyone tumbled past him. He was perfectly happy to let other people be the first ones into battle. Cleaning up afterward was more his line of work. Picking up any treasure that got accidentally dropped along the way, for example.

  He nipped inside after the last pirate had entered and turned to close the door behind him. The footsteps of his crew’s boots were pounding away down the hall as the door clicked shut.

  Suddenly he felt cold steel pressing into his neck, and he froze. “I’ve been waiting for you, Jack Sparrow,” said the voice of Benedict Huntington.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Waiting for me?” Jack said, looking down at the sword pointed nastily at his neck. “That’s terribly thoughtful, but you didn’t have to do that, mate.” He tried to take a step back in the cramped space, but Benedict pressed the sword more forcefully into his skin and Jack winced. He could feel a trickle of blood sliding down his shoulder. How very inconvenient. Bloodstains were horribly difficult to get out of shirts.

  “I’m not your mate,” Benedict snarled. “I am your death.”

  “Ah, but see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Jack said blithely. “Bad news, I’m afraid. I have it on good authority that the pet beastie is the one who’s going to kill me. So I’m afraid that if it’s going to kill me, then you can’t. Savvy?”

  “Stop blithering,” Benedict said. “I’m going to read you a list of your crimes before I execute you.” He fished a scroll out of his coat pocket with his free hand and unrolled it dramatically.

  Jack looked pained. “Oh, dear. Couldn’t you please just kill me instead?”

  “For the crime of piracy on the high seas; humiliating a superior officer of the East India Trading Company—”

  “Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” Jack said. “I hear that a lot—Good God, what is that?” He stared off over Benedict’s shoulder with an astonished, horrified expression.

  Benedict snorted. “As if I would ever fall for a stupid trick like that.”

  Jack’s horrified expression didn’t change.

  “Sparrow, stop being a simpleton. I’m not a fool, you know.”

  Jack relaxed his face and shrugged. “Well, it was worth a try.”

  “Idiot,” Benedict growled, glancing back down at his list. “Destruction of royal propertyyyeeeeeeEEEEAAUUUUUGH!” Benedict’s chilly recitation turned into a high-pitched shriek as something lifted him off his feet and threw him down the narrow stone hallway.

  “Told you!” Jack said smugly, then he dodged as the “something” turned and came for him.

  It looked like some kind of man-beast with black fur and enormous, bulging arms. Its nose was large and flat and its brow hung heavily over its eyes. At first Jack had barely noticed it in the shadowy corner of the vestibule; he’d assumed it was a stuffed hunting prize or a statue. That was until it moved.

  Now it was moving again, and moving fast, with a rolling gait powered by its front knuckles. Jack sped off down the hall, his arms flapping wildly as he ran. He leaped gracefully over Benedict, who was still scrambling backward with terror written all over his face.

  “ARRRRR!” roared the beast, charging after Jack. There wasn’t time to get up the stairs so he whipped open the nearest door. As he’d expected: a kitchen, enormous and empty of people. Unfortunately it had no other exits—but Jack was out of options. He turned to slam the door behind him and found Benedict blocking the gap.

  “LET ME IN!” Benedict bellowed, trying to squeeze in as Jack tried to shove him back out again. “DON’T LET IT EAT ME!”

  They struggled back and forth for a moment, but the pale man’s desperation won out. Benedict squished his skeletal frame through the gap and stumbled onto the stone flagstones of the kitchen floor.

  Jack grabbed a chair and shoved it against the door handle just as a ferocious pounding started on the other side of the door. He jumped back and saw splinters of wood already flying loose.

 
; “Help me!” Jack shouted, seizing a small wooden table. Benedict scrambled over to grab the other end and together they braced it against the door.

  “That ought to hold the beast for a moment,” Jack said, turning with a pleased expression—which immediately dropped off his face as he saw Benedict drawing a second sword. His first was lying on the stones in the vestibule, but evidently this was a man who came prepared. His second sword was a whip-thin rapier, and it was already in motion toward Jack’s neck.

  “Just long enough for me to kill you,” Benedict snarled, but this time Jack had time to dodge out of reach. He drew his own sword and danced around the long, heavy table in the center of the room. Benedict followed with measured steps, his reptilian eyes focused unblinkingly on Jack.

  “Downright unsporting, that is,” Jack said in an injured voice. “I just saved your life.”

  “You tried to push me back into the hall!” Benedict shouted.

  “Well, but I didn’t succeed, did I?” Jack protested.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! went the beast’s fists against the door.

  Quick as lightning, Benedict lunged forward with his rapier, but Jack leaped to the side just in time. He hurled himself over the table, seized a copper pot, and threw it at Benedict’s head. It was rather a Grandmama-like move, but Jack couldn’t be choosy at this stage—and besides, Grandmama had won every fight she’d ever been in, so her methods were clearly nothing to sneeze at.

  The pot glanced off Benedict’s shoulder and he grunted angrily. Instead of diving over it as Jack had, Benedict ran up onto the table and jumped off, kicking out at Jack as he fell. The side of his boot connected with Jack’s ribs, and Jack nearly dropped his sword. Benedict hit the ground and spun upright again, just in time to get a pot lid in the face. He staggered back as Jack darted to the far end of the table.

  Panting with rage, Benedict chased him. A few strands of pale blond hair were sticking up from his usually smooth head and a small trickle of blood ran from his nose, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes flared with hatred.