The Caribbean

by Rob Kidd

  Meanwhile, Barbossa was preparing a longboat to sail up the river. “This is madness, Jack,” he said, stacking flasks of fresh water in the boat. “You don’t even know where we’re going. Just upriver, you’ve said. What type of direction is that?”

  “Never fear, Hector,” Jack said expansively. “These things tend to work out in the end.”

  “Yes, for you and for nobody else,” Barbossa muttered.

  Jean reemerged, dragging Marcella behind him. “It’s all settled,” he said happily. “Marcella agrees that this will be a great opportunity for us.”

  If she did agree, you certainly couldn’t tell from the look on her face.

  “Er,” Jack said, “well then…welcome aboard…I suppose.”

  Barbossa scowled at Marcella. “Another woman?” he said. “I suppose our luck can’t get much worse.”

  Marcella turned up her nose at him. “I assure you, dirty man,” she said, “that it most certainly can.” She marched up the gangplank, her skirts flouncing.

  “Oh, dear,” Jean said, rubbing his head.

  “We’ll be off, then,” Jack said quickly. “You settle in and take care of…all that. We’ll be back in two shakes of a feather.” He jumped into the boat with Barbossa. “Never understood that phrase myself,” he said, settling down in the front of the boat and leaving the seat with the oars for his first mate. “Why would anyone be shaking feathers to tell time? It’s quite mysterious.” He stared at Barbossa’s feathered hat and raised an eyebrow.

  Barbossa, realizing that he was going to be rowing all the way upriver until they found Tia Dalma, looked as if he was going to say something rather angry. But he narrowed his eyes, held his tongue, and sat down to row. One day things would change. But now was not the time.

  The boat set off, weaving between the larger ships until it came to the wide, rushing waters of the Mississippi River. As they moved steadily upstream, Jack studied the banks from below the rim of his hat. His chest was beginning to ache again with the pain and weight of the shadow illness. He needed a cure as soon as possible.

  Tia Dalma was his only hope.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jack started awake and found himself surrounded by darkness. For a moment he could not remember where he was; he felt the bow of a small boat underneath him and the rocking of the water, and he had a strange feeling that his father was sitting nearby, watching him.

  Then he remembered the longboat and the river and the trip to see Tia Dalma. His sleep had been haunted by nightmares, dark dream creatures with long arms and slithering bodies pursuing him everywhere, trying to steal the Pearl and his freedom and his beloved hat. He sat up and saw Barbossa lighting a lantern. The oars lay still below his hands.

  “What’s happening?” Jack said. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” Barbossa said, and his voice was more subdued and less sarcastic than Jack had ever heard it. “These are wild and dangerous parts, Jack. I’m not even certain we’re on the Mississippi anymore. The boat—it just went where it wanted to. Almost like someone was calling it.”

  Jack peered into the murky darkness ahead of them. All he could see was the reflection of the lantern in the dark ripples of water right around the boat. From the sound of the waves lapping against land, he guessed that the shores were close on either side of them, but there was nothing to be seen in any direction. Either clouds were covering the night sky, or trees growing close overhead were blocking out the dim sunlight.

  Or something much stranger was going on.

  An eerie green light flared suddenly ahead and to the left, and the nose of the boat turned toward it. It even sped up a little, like a horse that knew it was returning home.

  “Really, boat?” Jack said, scrambling over Barbossa to the rudder. “Head toward the strange, creepy light? Is that the best idea?” He tried shoving the rudder from side to side a few times, but the trajectory of the boat stayed the same. Soon they could see that it was aiming for a small tumbledown pier, little more than a collection of boards and rocks sticking out into the river. The green light came from a lantern hung on a pole at the land end of the pier.

  The boat bumped gently against the half-rotten wooden planks and stopped.

  “Pardon my suspicious mind,” Jack said to the boat, “but I’m going to tie you up anyway.” He stepped gingerly out onto the pier, which creaked and groaned under him like a pirate whining about swabbing the deck. As the loudest noise in the whispering darkness, it was rather unsettling. No chance of sneaking up on anyone here. Jack lashed the boat’s rope to the sturdiest-looking post as Barbossa climbed out and hopped quickly onto land, not trusting the shifting planks of the old pier.

  An overgrown path led away from the river through the gnarled trees. Jack left the green lantern where it was and brought the brighter, warmer one from the boat. He led the way forward with Barbossa close behind. The tree branches wound together overhead and feathery vines hung down, brushing against their faces like cobwebs or fingers trying to read their features in the dark.

  Finally, after a few minutes of walking, ducking low branches, and stumbling over roots, they came to a small clearing in the trees. Odd, knobbly rocks stuck out of the ground in a strange, even pattern. Jack crouched down to look at one of the rocks. It was old and moss was starting to grow over it, but as he brought the lantern closer he realized that something was carved into the surface of the stone.

  He jumped up and leaped back. “It’s a grave,” he said. “This is a graveyard!” Barbossa took an uneasy step back into the trees. Neither of them wanted to walk on any graves—you never knew how the slumbering spirits below would react.

  “Always so clever, witty Jack,” Tia Dalma purred in her mesmerizing voice. “It has been too long since I saw you last.” The mystic was leaning against one of the trees across the cemetery. Jack wasn’t sure if she’d been there all along or if she’d just materialized. She had a way of doing that. She looked simultaneously beautiful and terrifying, as always, and the strange patterns tattooed upon her face almost seemed to dance in the shadows.

  Her large, uncanny eyes studied Jack, the flames flickering in their depths more than a reflection of the lantern’s light. “A shadow has been laid upon you, Jack.”

  “That part I know,” Jack said. “What I want to know is how to lay it off.”

  “Yes,” Tia Dalma breathed. She took a step forward, and the silver crab necklace around her neck gleamed in the moonlight. “This is a new enemy you be facing, Jack.”

  “A new one?” Jack said, outraged. “What’d I ever do to him? Um, her? Him? Do I owe them money? This doesn’t have anything to do with that bar wench in Port Royal, does it? Because I had no idea I’d already met her sister. She might have mentioned—”

  “Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss,” Tia Dalma hissed, staring into the distance and raising her hands as if she could see something floating in the air. Jack fell silent, squinting to try and see what she saw.

  “You be not so familiar with him, but him know you very well,” Tia Dalma said. She lowered her voice to an ominous whisper. “Him…the Shadow Lord.” As she said the last words, the clearing seemed to get darker and a chilly wind swept across the tombstones, trailing skeletal leaves, whsssh, whsssh, whsssh. Jack hoped he was only imagining the sound of thunder in the distance. A rainy trip back to New Orleans after a creepy mystical session wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend the night.

  “Oh? And what’s a Shadow Lord when he’s at home?” Jack asked.

  “A master of darkness and shadows,” Tia Dalma said.

  “All right,” Jack said, “I probably could have figured that bit out myself. What does he want with me?”

  “Him be looking…for this,” Tia Dalma said. Making a strange gesture, she revealed something small in her hand that glowed a pale, shimmering gold. Jack had no idea what it was, but he knew right away that he wanted it. It was beautiful.

  “What is it?” Barbossa asked intently. Jack jumped; he�
�d forgotten that his first mate was there.

  “Shadow Gold,” Tia Dalma whispered. “Made by the Shadow Lord.” She held it out, and Jack stepped carefully around the graves to get a closer look at it. The object in her hand was a small glass vial with a tiny cork keeping it closed. The golden glow came from the liquid inside. “Him a lord of alchemy,” Tia Dalma said, tilting the vial so the liquid slid slowly back and forth. “Him wish to be lord…no, king…of much more.”

  “Pretty,” Jack said casually. “I’d like a better look, though—” He reached for the vial and, quick as a wink, the mystic snapped it into her fist and held it out of his range.

  “The Shadow Lord is very angry,” she said in a husky voice. “Seven vials of Shadow Gold there be left in the world, and all of dem stolen from him not so long ago.” She gave Jack a searching look.

  “Wasn’t me, love,” Jack protested. “For once, I can say it wasn’t me. Definitely not. That I can recall. I’m pretty sure. Reasonably sure. More or less…”

  “I know,” Tia Dalma said calmly. “It was I who took dem.”

  Jack stared at her, openmouthed. “Well, that’s not fair, is it? Why’s he after me, then? Why isn’t it you who’s got the nightmares and the tugging and the nasty beastie-thingies slithering about in the shadows?”

  “Him not know of me,” Tia Dalma said. “Dat be why we meet here, where him cannot see.” She indicated the graveyard with her free hand. “And it is not only you he hunts; it is all the Pirate Lords.”

  “Oh,” Jack said, somewhat mollified. “Well, as long as they’re all suffering…”

  “So far, only you,” Tia Dalma said. “He is biding him time. Raising him Shadow Army.”

  “Couldn’t him bide him time without cursing me?” Jack objected. He paused. “And please tell me you didn’t just say Shadow Army.”

  “An army that rises from darkness and returns to darkness,” Tia Dalma said in a voice like a building storm. “An army that cannot be fought, cannot be stopped, cannot show mercy. An army unlike any ever seen before.”

  “Well, then,” Jack said, “perhaps I’ll just pop back to the Pearl, find a quiet corner of the world this Shadow Lord isn’t interested in, and stay there until he’s quite finished.”

  “Nowhere is safe,” Tia Dalma said, shaking her head. “The Shadow Lord will not rest until all the Seven Seas belong to him—and all the Pirate Lords be dead.”

  Jack blanched. “Well, that’s a bit extreme,” he said. “Why’s he got such a problem with the Pirate Lords?”

  “An old, old hatred,” Tia Dalma said. “And only you can stop him, witty Jack.”

  “Ah,” Jack said, backing away, “no, thanks. Lovely offer, but you may have noticed I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather lately, so, if it’s all the same to you—”

  Tia Dalma held up the vial of Shadow Gold again. “Here is your cure, witty Jack. Only the Shadow Gold can chase away your darkness.” She closed it in her fist again. “But one is not enough. If you want to live, you must find all seven vials of Shadow Gold.”

  “That should be easy enough,” Jack said, “since you’re the one who took them, eh?”

  Tia Dalma smiled—a smile that was amused and sinister and displeased all at once. “Not exactly I,” she said, nodding at something behind Jack.

  A horrible scratching noise was coming from the ground near one of the graves. Jack turned slowly to stare at it. He watched as a decomposing hand emerged from beneath the stone cover of a mausoleum. The hand, attached to a similarly decomposing body, pushed the stone aside and brushed dirt and dust from its clothes. Then the body sat up and climbed to its feet and out of the tomb with awful determination.

  Barbossa let out a gasp of terror and fled back down the path to the boat.

  Jack would have happily done the same, only the new…thing…was standing between Jack and his escape.

  It was shaped like a man, but it looked like no man Jack had ever seen before—and he’d seen some pretty strange fellows in his time. This one swayed slightly from side to side as he shuffled forward. His eyes might have been brown once, but now they were filmy and clouded, staring fixedly into space. Worst of all, bits of skin and flesh seemed to be dropping off him whenever he moved.

  “Witty Jack, meet Alex,” Tia Dalma said softly. “My zombie.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You’ve got a zombie?” Jack echoed. “All the rage among mystics these days, are they?’

  “Alex, him once sail with the Shadow Lord,” Tia Dalma said, ignoring Jack’s flippancy. She was watching Alex with a hint of pride. “Him know more about the Shadow Lord than any man alive.”

  “Well, semi-alive,” Jack observed, edging away from the zombie as it shuffled closer.

  “So I wakened him,” Tia Dalma said, “and sent him forth to steal me the Shadow Gold. The last vials must be kep’ away from the Shadow Lord, else he find more horrible t’ings to do with them.”

  “And what happened to them?” Jack asked. “Where are they now?”

  Tia Dalma frowned at Alex. “Zombies, dey be very obedient, but, I’m afraid, not so clever. I kept one vial, and I tol’ him, take the other six vials to the strongest Pirate Lord. I thought the strongest could protect the vials from the Shadow Lord.”

  Jack searched his pockets, then raised his shoulders quizzically. “He must have gotten lost on the way, because I never received them,” he said.

  Tia Dalma stared at him and smiled. “Jack be witty, Jack be quick—but Jack be strong? I am t’inking not.”

  “Hey,” Jack said, ruffled. “I am under a curse here, and am I not still defeating Spanish galleons and finding you in creepy graveyards? You don’t see me crawling into a hole and giving up, do you?”

  “True,” Tia Dalma said with a calculating expression. “Perhaps there be more to witty Jack. But the world will never know unless you find the vials.”

  “So who’d he give them to, then?” Jack asked indignantly. “Was it Mistress Ching? She scares me a little. Or maybe Sri Sumbhajee, out in India? I doubt it; I hear he has the voice of a four-and-a-half-year-old girl. Oh, tell me it’s not Villanueva! That blackguard!”

  “No,” Tia Dalma said. “Alex, him misunderstand somewhat. Him give the vials to more dan one Pirate Lord.”

  “Come again?” Jack said worriedly.

  “Your compatriots know not what dey have,” Tia Dalma said. “I will use de powers of de seas for this, until one Pirate Lord can bring dem all together. Whoever drinks all the vials—every one of dem, Jack—him will be as strong as the Shadow Lord.”

  “Really,” Jack said, interested now. “I like the sound of that.”

  “If you drink this Shadow Gold, Jack,” Tia Dalma said, waving the vial in her hand, “you be healthy again…for a time. But you must drink them all if you want to live.”

  “All right,” Jack said impatiently, holding out his hand. “Hand over the shiny lovely, then.”

  Tia Dalma studied him for another long moment, and then she carefully placed the vial in Jack’s outstretched palm. He was surprised at how cold it was. It lay like bottled moonlight in his hand. Was this a wise decision? He didn’t really have a choice. With extreme caution, he pried out the cork. Of course he wanted to live. Besides…it was pretty.

  He tipped back the vial and poured the Shadow Gold down his throat.

  As the cold trickle of the alchemical metal spread through his body, he felt himself becoming more alive than he’d ever been before. The weight in his chest melted away, the darkness in his vision vanished, and the air around him was suddenly still instead of plagued by moving shadows. He felt a wild energy surge through him. It was like the first time he stood at the bow of the Pearl, captain of his own ship, free as the wind. He felt as if he could run on water, leap off mountains, battle any sea monster.

  Yes, he would definitely search for the other vials. He wanted this feeling to last forever.

  He blinked and realized that there was another change: he
could see in the dark. The forest around the graveyard, previously full of shifting shadows and dangerous unknowns, was now clear as day to him. The gleaming eyes belonged to small night mammals, not ferocious beasts. Nothing was lurking to pop out at him.

  Nothing but Alex, of course. But even he didn’t look so terrifying through Jack’s new eyes. Upon closer inspection, the look on his decomposing face was actually a bit goofy.

  Not that Jack was getting any closer, of course. The zombie exuded a rather strong smell.

  “One question,” he said to Tia Dalma. “If you’re such an all-fired powerful mystic, why can’t you just summon the vials back here right now?” He waggled his hand in the air. “You know—poof and all that?”

  “If I could do that,” Tia Dalma said, “I’d never have to leave my shack, would I, witty Jack?”

  “A nifty power, eh?” Jack mused.

  “But not one I possess at the moment,” Tia Dalma said with an ominous glint in her eye.

  “All right, so where are these magical, lifesaving vials, then?” Jack asked.

  “Dat would be tellin’,” Tia Dalma responded with a coquettish smile.

  “Why, yes, it would be telling,” Jack said, nodding in agreement. “It would be very useful telling. We’d quite like that much telling, instead of all this not telling and mysterious gobbledygook, madam.”

  “I t’ink you have all the knowledge you need, witty Jack,” Tia Dalma said. “But I will tell you one t’ing more. There was a vial going to Villanueva, but I stopped Alex in time. This Shadow Gold was sidetracked into safer hands. You might start by looking for it in South America.”

  “South America?” Jack said. “What, the whole continent? Care to narrow that down for me?”

  Tia Dalma shook her head, looking mysterious, as usual. “This might help,” she said, reaching into a side pocket and pulling out a handful of knotted string. Jack took it from her and peered at it, holding it at different angles to see if it would turn into something informative. Nope. Still just a bunch of knotted string.