The Caribbean

by Rob Kidd

  “Leave me alone!” Jack yelled, flailing wildly at the shadows and anything else he could see. “I don’t like cats! I don’t like anchors in my chest!

  I want none of any of this! Away with you!” He paused, breathing hard. Was that a sound?

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Ah. He threw open the door.

  The entire crew of the Pearl was gathered outside his cabin, staring at him. Billy, who had been the one knocking, took a step back when he saw Jack’s pale, furious face.

  “Er…you all right, Jack?” Billy asked.

  “Perfectly,” Jack said nonchalantly, straightening his hat. “You?”

  Billy leaned over and peeked past Jack at the cabin, which was now a huge mess, with chairs overturned and papers scattered in all directions. “Um…we just…heard some noise in here.”

  “Nothing at all,” Jack said airily. “Just your brave captain thinking hard.” He tapped his forehead knowingly. “Making plans. Piratical plans. As you do.”

  “Oh…sure,” Billy said.

  The rest of the crew exchanged glances. Well, Jack thought, all the best pirate captains are a little mad. It’ll be good for my reputation.

  Something tugged on one of the beads in his hair, and he whipped his head around, glaring. But, of course, there was nothing there. Now he could feel more tugging, on his coat and his boots and his sword, but wherever he looked, there was nothing.

  No. Captain Jack Sparrow might act mad, but he would never actually be mad. This was something foul and unnatural. This illness had not just happened.

  Someone had cursed him.

  He marched past the gaping pirates. “Back to work!” he called over his shoulder, and he heard the clump of their boots as they went.

  At the wheel, Barbossa beamed at him. “Strain of command too much for you, Jack? Maybe you need a rest. A long rest.”

  “No, no,” Jack said. “But we’re changing course.”

  “Oh?” Barbossa said.

  “Set sail for the Pantano River,” Jack said.

  There was one person who knew more about curses than anyone else. Of course, she was usually the one casting them…but hopefully that wasn’t the case this time. He had to hope that she’d know how to free him from this mysterious illness.

  He was going to see Tia Dalma.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jack was standing at the railing, looking out to sea and trying to breathe normally while ignoring all the shadows darting in the corners of his vision. He glanced sideways and saw Billy Turner come on deck. Billy looked up at the sun and frowned. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked it. Then he turned as if gauging the angle of the sun to figure out in which direction they were going. Pretty soon, he would discern that it was not in the direction of North Carolina.

  Jack hightailed it into the hold. Billy wouldn’t think to look for him down there. By the time he found the captain, they’d be well on their way to Tia Dalma’s shack.

  The cargo hold was vast and dark and unfortunately quite a bit emptier than Jack liked, what with not having any treasure chests or piles of gold in it. He’d forgotten to bring a light, but perhaps that was for the best. A candle would only create more shadows, moving and leaping. Now everything was one big, still shadow, and he could sit in the dark, brooding and hidden.

  The tugging on his hair and beard and clothes was still going on, but now that he’d decided it was supernatural and invisible, it was easier to ignore. He felt his way over to a pile of crates and perched on top with a sigh.

  Behind him, something moved in the dark.

  Something not so invisible…but Jack didn’t notice it. He rested his chin on his hand and wondered where this illness could have come from and who had cursed him. It seemed a bit unfair. He caused himself enough supernatural trouble without a mysterious someone adding to it.

  Jack, whispered a voice in his head. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Jack said forcefully. “It isn’t bad enough that I’m seeing things, I have to hear them, too? Enough muttering, shadows. Out of my head!”

  Witty Jack…I be not one of your shadows.…

  Jack frowned. Only one person called him “witty Jack.”

  “Tia Dalma?” he said.

  Clever, clever Jack…

  “Well, this is convenient,” Jack said. “You being in my head and all. I was just on my way to see you. Very obliging of you to turn up here instead. Go ahead and appear, if you like—you know you’re always welcome here. Er, within reason.”

  No, Jack. It is best, you coming to see me. I have t’ings to show you…t’ings you must see and do.…

  “Madam, I don’t do t’ings for anybody but myself,” Jack pointed out.

  This definitely be for yourself, witty Jack.

  “Ah,” Jack said, “well, in that case, not a problem. We’ll be there in a heartbeat. Some supernatural winds would be helpful, if you’d like to contribute.”

  I be not at the Pantano River bayou, witty Jack. The glittering city awaits you; go there and seek me upriver.

  “What?” Jack protested, irritated. “Why can’t you just be where I want to find you? Why do I have to solve a riddle to get there? Why can’t you just come here?”

  Jack…the world is not always arranged for your liking alone.

  “So what’s the glittering city, then?” Jack said. He thought for a moment. “Last glittering city I saw was New Orleans. ’Course, it was glittering because it was made of silver, which some may say was my fault. Which it was. A little. Well, a lot my fault. But I fixed it, so I don’t see what they’re going on about.”

  No response from the voice in his head.

  “New Orleans?” Jack guessed sheepishly.

  See you soon, witty Jack.…

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Jack said. The voice did not speak again. He shook his head, batting away the invisible creatures that were tugging at his hair and trying to steal his excellent hat. “I’ll have you know,” Jack said pointedly to his tormentors, “you dread fiends of the dark, that I am not afraid of you. Not even remotely. You see, unlike Tia Dalma, I know that you don’t really exist, so—”

  As he spoke, he reached behind him to see if there were any rum bottles in the cubbyholes along the wall. And then his hand hit something. Something warm. And alive.

  Something that said: “Madre de Dios!”

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!” Jack howled, launching himself to his feet.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!” shrieked the thing in the dark.

  “You are real!” Jack shouted, spinning and flailing at the darkness. “I knew it! Scoundrel! Cur! I’ll have your bones for earrings! Or, no, that would be rather disgusting and not at all attractive. Stand and fight!” He wrestled with his sword, but it was caught in one of the crates.

  “Please, señor! Please forgive me!” the other voice cried.

  Boots thundered down the stairs and several pirates charged into the hold, waving torches and lanterns. The bright glow of the light fell on a boy cowering in front of Jack.

  He was young—probably sixteen, about the age Jack had been when he set out on his first adventures aboard the Barnacle. His dark hair was disheveled and matted with straw, his eyes were brown, wide, and frightened, and his thin brown hands were clasped abjectly over his head.

  “What in the Seven Seas are you?” Jack said. “You don’t look like a dread beastie.”

  “A stowaway,” Barbossa sneered. “Throw him overboard.”

  “Lo siento! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, señor!” The boy threw his arms around one of Jack’s boots and pressed his head to Jack’s foot. “I needed help. No se—I didn’t know what else to do!”

  “Well, wrinkling my boots isn’t the best way to start,” Jack said, stepping back. The boy stayed crouched against the floor of the ship. “Aren’t you Spanish?” Jack asked. “You sound awfully Spanish.”

  “Si—yes, I am,” the boy said. “I am Diego de Leon. I re
cently escaped from the fort of San Augustin, in Florida.”

  “A runaway and a stowaway,” Barbossa spat.

  “Sounds like my kind of lad,” Jack observed. Barbossa scowled. “You’re not related to me, are you?” Jack asked the boy suspiciously.

  “No, señor. Please—por favor—please help me,” Diego said, holding out his hands to Jack. “My friend who escaped with me has been recaptured by the Spanish. I knew only a ship like this could catch them…and only a capitan like you could lead a successful rescue mission.”

  “Well,” Jack said, stroking his moustache and preening, “that is probably true.”

  “We’re pirates,” Barbossa reminded him acidly. “Not bleeding-heart-do-gooder-Robin-Hoodhero types. We don’t do rescues.”

  “That is true, too,” Jack said with a nod.

  “But she needs your help!” Diego pleaded.

  “She?” Jack questioned.

  “Carolina—she is only fifteen—they were going to marry her off to the governor, a very cruel old man.” Diego added a volley of colorful Spanish curses. “She had to run away, and I had to help her. Rescuing her from such a fate would be an act worthy of the noble Captain Jack Sparrow.”

  “Ooooh,” Jack said. “The noble Captain Jack Sparrow. I like that.” He shook his head. “But my first mate is right, lad. We’re pirates, not a rescue party. And we have places to be.”

  “Yes, about that—” Billy Turner interjected.

  “But tell you what,” Jack went on quickly, “we’ll drop you at the next island, and per’aps someone there can help you, what do you say?”

  Diego buried his head in his hands despairingly. “It will be too late,” he said. “Carolina will be lost forever.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Jack said, patting the boy’s head awkwardly. “Maybe this cruel old governor won’t want her anymore, after she ran away like that. Not exactly an auspicious start to the marriage, after all. Maybe they’ll just lock her in a nice cell instead.”

  Diego sighed. “No, her family will make sure the marriage happens. That’s what they’re carrying all that gold for.”

  There was a breathless pause as every pirate in the hold perked up his ears.

  “Gold?” Jack said casually.

  “Si,” Diego said without looking up. “Chests and chests of Spanish doubloons, jewels, handcrafted swords—whatever it takes. They are determined to marry her off and get her out of the family’s way so she won’t be any more trouble to them.” He muttered something else in Spanish.

  “Hmmm,” Jack said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Diego, I believe I’ve just had a change of heart.”

  Diego raised his tear-streaked face, looking hopeful.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “You’re right, the noble Captain Jack Sparrow can’t just sit idly by and let gold—I mean, this fine young lady—sail off to her doom. Clearly, we must go after the go—I mean, the young lady.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, grinning. “It’s only right and proper. Crew! Trim the jib! Man the helm!

  “We’ve got some rescuing to do!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Oh, captain, my captain,” Billy said sardonically as they came on deck.

  “Sarcasm is very unbecoming from you,” Jack pointed out, striding to the bow. He pulled out his spyglass and studied the ocean ahead.

  “I was just wondering,” Billy said, “why is it that we are no longer pointed in the direction of North Carolina. As you said we would be?”

  “Why, Billy,” Jack said in an injured tone, “you heard the lad. There’s a damsel in distress who needs our help!”

  Billy folded his arms. “Jack, I know perfectly well that we weren’t heading for North Carolina even before you found the stowaway.”

  “Really?” Jack said, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon. “How odd. Must have words with that first mate of mine. Bit of a loose cannon, he is. It’s probably all those feathers on his hat, distracting him. You agree my hat is finer than his, don’t you?”

  “So you will be taking me home after this…rescue operation?” Billy asked.

  Jack lowered the spyglass and clapped Billy on the shoulder. “Of course!” he said in his usual unconvincing way. Then he strode off to confer with Barbossa.

  Billy sighed.

  Diego emerged from the hold, blinking in the bright sunlight. He shaded his eyes and climbed up to where Jack was standing.

  “Take a look through here,” Jack said, handing him the spyglass. “Tell me if you think that red sail off in the distance might be the one we’re looking for.”

  “Rojo!” Diego exclaimed. “Yes, red! It must be!” He peered eagerly through the lens.

  “Then never fear!” Jack declared. “We will be upon those Spaniards before the sun sets!”

  The sky was dark and starless, full of clouds that hid the full moon.

  “I’ve always said that night attacks are best, really. You know, mate, that ship is going awfully quickly for being laden with as much gold as you say,” Jack observed.

  “They are rushing home so the wedding will not be delayed,” Diego said bitterly. “They cannot wait to be rid of her.”

  “How shall we do this?” Barbossa said, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Rush in with guns a-blazing, eh? Load the cannons, fire at will? A hand-to-hand-combat free-for-all?”

  Jack looked down at his ragtag crew dubiously. Most of them looked sleepy. Their hats were askew and their holsters sagged, and they shuffled in place as if they were wondering when the next barrel of ale would be coming out. Catastrophe Shane was the only one who looked awake, and that was because he’d already been sick with terror twice since he found out they were attacking a ship. His knees shook so hard it seemed they were causing the whole boat to quake. He kept asking for a weapon, but no one wanted to give him one.

  Jack shook his head. “Typical Barbossa. Always trying to use blunt force when a little cunning and stealth would do the trick.” He turned to Billy. “Tell the crew to douse all the candles and all the lanterns. Not a flicker of light is to be seen. And not a whisper of a sound.

  Total silence and total darkness.”

  Billy nodded and hurried off to instruct the crew.

  Soon the Pearl was plunged into darkness. With her black sails and black hull, she faded into the night like a shadow. She skimmed lightly across the ocean, sneaking closer and closer to the bright Spanish galleon. Soon they could hear carousing and singing, the sound of tankards clanking and voices raised in what sounded, to Jack, rather like gibberish.

  “What are they saying?” he whispered to Diego. The boy listened for a moment and then shook his head angrily.

  “They are talking about the grand feasting and gorgeous women there will be at the wedding.” He listened again. “And now one of them is shouting about how every day will be a grand feast when the Spanish plan succeeds and they control the whole Caribbean.”

  “Come again?” Jack said sharply.

  “And now one of them is shouting about…”

  “Yes, yes,” Jack said, “I’ve got that part, thank you. But what about this ‘plan’?”

  Diego shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Jack muttered.

  “We’re almost upon them, Jack,” Billy whispered from below.

  “All right,” Jack whispered back. “We’ll pull alongside and swarm over the rails before they even know we’re here. Make sure everyone is armed and ready to go.”

  “Aye-aye,” Billy said.

  A moment passed. The Spanish galleon slid closer and closer. Diego could almost smell the ale on the kidnappers’ breath. Jack drew his sword and studied its gleaming point. Suddenly a thought struck him.

  “Billy!” he called in a loud whisper. “Wait!

  When I said ‘make sure everyone is armed’ I didn’t mean—”

  BLAM!

  All the crew members on both ships threw themselves to the deck and covered th
eir heads with their arms.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  “Get that pistol away from Catastrophe Shane!” Jack shouted. Billy bravely ran over and tackled the hapless pirate, whose hat—which he had placed back on his head hours after Jack had asked him to remove it—had fallen over his eyes so he was firing wildly into the night sky. Shane thudded to the deck, and the pistol skidded away across the boards.

  The Spanish soldiers were all staring in shock at the ship that had appeared mysteriously next to them and then announced itself in such an odd way. But Jack could see that a few of them were already reaching for their swords.

  “To arms, men!” Jack yelled. He seized a long hanging rope and ran forward, swinging over to the other ship. For a long moment he hung in the air, the dark ocean yawning endlessly below him, and then he let go of the rope, flew the last few feet, and came crashing down on top of one of the bigger, nastier-looking soldiers, knocking him out cold.

  “That was lucky,” Jack said, dusting off his hands. “I mean, er, well planned.”

  “PIRATES!” bellowed one of the Spanish guards.

  “Well, obviously,” Jack said with a bow and a flourish. “A bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we, mate?”

  Three of them rushed at him, waving their swords, but he parried their blows with graceful ease. He leaped up onto one of the ale barrels, disarmed one man with a flick of his sword, and casually planted a boot on another’s forehead, kicking him to the deck.

  Grappling hooks were flying across from the Pearl to the galleon as his crew drew the Spanish ship closer and began scrambling across. In the flurry of battle, Diego darted across to Shane’s fallen pistol, grabbed it, and hurled himself onto the galleon.

  “Carolina!” he cried. “Carolina, donde estas?” A Spanish soldier ran at him with his arms outstretched. Diego sidestepped him at the last minute and shoved him overboard. “Carolina!” he called again, rushing to the hatch.

  “Ay, Diego,” a musical voice said from below. But at first the only person Diego could see coming up the stairs was the scowling, bearded captain who had captured Carolina in Tortuga. Then Diego realized that the captain’s hands were tied behind his back and a small, suspiciously attractive pirate was escorting him up the steps with a pistol jabbed into his ribs.