The Caribbean

by Rob Kidd

  “Yes,” Diego said, still in Spanish. “I have heard that she took passage on a ship bound for Ireland. It left two days ago, but it was supposed to stop in New York, Boston, Maine, Canada, and Greenland along the way. If they want to find her, they should start by looking in all those places.”

  The soldier nodded, repeating the cities as he tried to memorize them. “Nueva York, Boston,” he said, “yes, yes, thank you, good sir. They will reward me well for this information!” His face fell. “That is, after they punish us for allowing the fort to be robbed in the first place.”

  Diego felt a twinge of guilt, but it was worth it to throw Carolina’s family off her trail. “Sorry, my friend,” he said. Gombo took the soldier aside, tied him up, and sat him gently down on the floor of another closet to await rescue.

  As they opened the door to the commander’s office, Gombo tilted his head at Diego. “I didn’t understand most of what you said to the man,” he said, “but you did something clever, didn’t you?”

  “I hope so,” Diego said fervently. “I would do anything to protect Carolina.” He didn’t notice Marcella’s face darken angrily.

  The office was small and square with only one window high up in the wall. There was a heavy oak desk, a pair of plain cabinets, a map of the Caribbean hanging on the wall, and one very large chest which looked very promising.

  Barbossa pushed past them and hurried to the chest. It wasn’t even locked—they really must have thought no one would find the fort out in the jungle. He flung open the top, and the crew was downright awed at the sight of the gleaming pile of coins inside. The whole room seemed to be lit up by them. Gombo peeked out into the passageway and closed the door.

  “Quickly now,” Barbossa said. “Let’s seize the gold and get out of here.” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “I wouldn’t like to be this commander when Villanueva arrives and finds he is not getting paid for his deceitful, black-hearted schemes.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so outraged by that,” Marcella said, plopping herself on the edge of the desk and swinging her feet. “I mean, he’s a pirate. Of course he’s deceitful and black-hearted. What did you expect? You’re all like that, aren’t you?”

  Barbossa drew himself up with proud fury. “Most certainly not,” he said. “Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.”

  “What code?” Marcella asked. Rummaging in one of the cabinets, Gombo found a couple of canvas sacks. He passed one to Diego, and they began to fill them with gold coins as Barbossa strode from one end of the office to the other, explaining intently.

  “The Code was set down by the Brethren Court many many years ago,” Barbossa said.

  “What’s a Brethren Court?” Marcella interrupted. She spotted a bowl of candy on the commander’s desk and seized it, stuffing some into her mouth.

  Barbossa took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “The Brethren Court is composed of the nine Pirate Lords, the greatest pirates in all the Seven Seas,” he said, then paused. “And also Jack.”

  “Jack’s a Pirate Lord?” Marcella mumbled around a mouthful of candy.

  “Somehow,” Barbossa muttered darkly. “Most likely through some typical Jack trickery—or luck, he has an uncommon amount of that, too. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

  Diego and Gombo exchanged glances, but the first mate didn’t notice.

  “At any rate,” Barbossa went on, “the second Brethren Court drew up the Pirate Code. Two of the Pirate Lords, Morgan and Bartholomew, figured it out and wrote it down, and that’s what we’ve all lived by ever since.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what the world is coming to, pirates siding with the army against other pirates. Have they no honor? Have they no pride? Can’t they just steal our treasure and raid our ships without kowtowing to Spanish commanders as they do it? It isn’t right, I say.”

  Marcella shrugged. “Still sounds all the same to me.”

  Barbossa seemed to realize who he was speaking to. “Lasses, always useless,” he muttered.

  “Never understand pirate ways. Well, gents, how’s it going?”

  “It’d be going faster if some people would help fill sacks instead of sitting around stuffing their faces…AS USUAL,” Gombo said pointedly.

  Marcella let out an offended squeak. “Shut up! I am not always stuffing my face! Diego, defend me!”

  “There is another sack in the cabinet,” Diego said diplomatically, “if you want to help.”

  “Well, since you asked nicely,” Marcella said, jumping off the desk and flouncing over. Her dress caught on some papers on top of the desk, and they fluttered to the floor beside Diego. A strange signature on one of them caught his eye, and he set down his sack to pick up the letter. Reading it slowly, he moved over to the desk as Barbossa and Marcella joined Gombo at the chest. Marcella jostled Gombo aside and he jostled her back, and soon they were spending as much time poking each other with their elbows as they were scooping up gold coins.

  Diego scanned the letter. It was written in English, but it was addressed to the admiral of the Spanish navy; evidently this had been sent on to the commander here.

  Dear Admiral,

  I believe we can be of great use to each other, if you are interested in forming a far more lucrative partnership than the one you have now with the Pirate Lord, Captain Villanueva. I know that you, as I do, wish to eradicate pirates from the face of the globe, leaving the seas free to be ruled by powerful, eminent figures such as yourself. The destruction of the Pirate Lords is my dearest wish, and I believe that working together, we could make this happen soon…very soon.

  You see, I have an army…the strongest army any man has ever seen. It can be summoned at a moment’s notice. It does not need food, nor water, nor barracks, nor pay. It lives only to destroy. I call it my Shadow Army.

  If you have any doubt of this army’s power, perhaps you should pay a visit to a certain town along the Caribbean coast in Panama. Then you will know how much power I have at my fingertips.

  All this power could be at your disposal. I only ask one thing: I need a ship. Do not laugh! Oh, I can hear your scoffing already. But be careful where you direct your scorn, sir. If you do not help me, then you are most certainly my enemy…and you do not want to be my enemy.

  I am in an excellent position to betray one of the Pirate Lords right now. When I do this, I want your assurance that I may keep his ship and his crew, and that you will leave me in peace as my plan comes to fruition. When it does, I assure you that in return the seas will soon be cleansed of pirates…forever.

  I await your response most eagerly,

  The Shadow Lord

  The ink in the signature was blotchy and dark, as if the writer had pressed the pen so forcefully against the page that the ink had pooled and splattered in all directions, like a spray of blood. The handwriting was spidery and vigorous, racing wildly across the page and cramming into corners, with thin black veins skittering out from each letter. The impression was of a man quite mad. If Diego hadn’t seen the devastation wrought by the Shadow Army with his own eyes, he would have dismissed the letter as the ravings of a crazed, power-hungry lunatic.

  Perhaps the Spanish felt the same way—until they saw the ruins of the town. Now they must be taking this seriously. Diego wondered what their response had been. He picked up the other papers on the floor and searched the desk, but he could find nothing else that seemed related to the Shadow Lord’s letter.

  Still, this was important, useful information. Jack certainly ought to know about it. But if Diego took the letter, the soldiers would know that the pirates were aware of it. Perhaps it would be smarter to let them think he’d missed it. He quickly read it again and then slid the letter under a pile of other papers on the desk.

  “Diego,” Marcella whined. She went back to the desk, sat down in the commander’s chair, and, with a pout on her face, rubbed her arms.

  “My s
ack is too heavy. I think mine is heavier than Gombo’s. It’s not fair. I can’t carry it. It makes my arms hurt.”

  “We’re not leaving any of this behind,” Barbossa said, “and you wanted to come, so now you can pull your own weight.”

  “Diieeeeeego,” Marcella whined some more. He hurried over and lifted the sack she had filled, which was barely half as heavy as the other three. Wistfully, he thought of how Carolina would have carried any of these without complaining—probably all four of them, just to prove that she was strong enough.

  “I can take these two,” he said, lifting her sack along with his. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Agreed,” Gombo said, standing up.

  “Thank you, Diego,” Marcella said sweetly, leaning her elbows on the desk, and he realized that he was only making her infatuation worse. But he didn’t have much choice—they needed to get out of there quickly. Especially if there was any chance of the Shadow Lord showing up to discuss his letter.

  One by one, they hefted their sacks of gold and gathered around the door. Barbossa peeked into the passageway outside.

  “All clear,” he whispered.

  Glancing furtively around, the four of them hurried out of the fort, each feeling quite satisfied at what a surprisingly successful mission it had been.

  Most satisfied of all was Marcella, although none of the others knew it.

  Because back on the desk in the commander’s office, a note had been secretly and hurriedly scribbled on a spare sheet of paper.

  It said: I know where you can find your precious Princess Carolina. She is on the Black Pearl. Come and get her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jack edged closer to his shipmates, trying to put Jean and Carolina between him and the rather angry-looking Incan priest who was striding briskly toward them brandishing his spear. The other Incas were murmuring and pointing, and most of them were producing menacing weapons of their own. From the altar, a llama bleated nervously. Jack knew how it felt.

  “How dare you interrupt the sun ceremony?” the man demanded. It was astonishing how quickly he leaped down the large stone stairs to confront them, especially since he looked to be about a hundred years old, judging by the vast system of wrinkles covering his face and his mane of silver hair. “Who are you? How did you get here?” His sharp brown eyes, bulging from under his unusually high forehead, darted among them.

  “You speak English!” Jack said, surprised. “That worked out rather well, then—apart from the spear, which we would rather you pointed in a different direction.”

  “I’m not speaking English,” the priest said. “You’re speaking Quechua.”

  “Look, mate, I think I would know if I were—” Jack started, then looked down at the quipu in his hand. “Oh. Are you doing that, too?”

  The ancient Inca’s face softened when he saw the quipu. “Ah,” he said, “I see.” He leaned his golden spear against the closest stone wall and took the string reverently from Jack, running the knots through his fingers. With a smile, he said, “Tia Dalma, my old friend. Then you must be here for the Shadow Gold.”

  Jack was delighted. “I am indeed,” he said. “I am the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow—I assume you’ve heard of me?”

  “No,” the Inca said. “But Tia Dalma’s servant asked us to safeguard the gold until she sent us one who would need it. And I can see from the thick cover of shadow around you that you are he.”

  Jack shrugged, trying to hide his uneasiness. Was it really so obvious? “Well, thanks for looking after it,” he said. “Lovely of you. I hope they’re all this easy.”

  “I don’t know if I would say easy,” the priest said. “It’s up there.” He turned and pointed to a tiny mountain that rose up at the far end of the city, climbing into the clouds above the mountain peaks that surrounded it. When Jack squinted, he could see a set of horrifyingly steep stone steps carved into the side of the mountain, leading all the way to a small temple right at the very top.

  “Why am I not surprised?” he said. “Of course there would be climbing.” He clapped Jean on the back. “Looks like an excellent job for you, Jean. Good luck and all that. Hurry back.”

  “Figures,” Jean said ruefully.

  “I’ll get it!” Carolina jumped in. “Let me—I’ll run right up to the top—I swear I can!”

  “No,” the Incan said, shaking his head. “You must retrieve it yourself, Captain. That is Tia Dalma’s instruction.”

  “Bossy wench,” Jack said indignantly. Then he sighed. Well, at least he’d have a chance to drink the Shadow Gold before anyone could stop him.

  The other inhabitants of the city followed Jack and his crew to the base of the mountain where the steps began. The wind was stronger there, and it would certainly be stronger still at the top where the temple was. Jack took off his hat and handed it reverently to Carolina.

  “Do you solemnly swear to take very good care of this hat?” he asked her.

  “I will,” she said earnestly.

  “Or else I will leave you here when the ship sails,” he said. “And who knows what might happen then—that llama looks mighty hungry,” he said, gesturing to the animal slumped droopily over the altar.

  “Trust me,” she said, holding onto the hat tightly. “I will not let anything happen to it.”

  “Good,” Jack said. He shook Jean’s hand. “Back in a moment. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

  Jack resolutely started up the steps. At first, they slanted up like a normal staircase, but before long they became narrower and shorter and steeper, and soon he felt as if he were climbing straight up a vertical wall—as if he would fall right off the mountain if he only tipped backward a little bit.

  Beside the steps were patches of grass and rocks occasionally broken by an odd statue or a flash of fur that might have been a chinchilla or an alpaca bounding away. Jack tried not to look around too much after one very unwise glance downward. He was lucky the clouds hid the ground far below, but just the fact that they were so far below him was unsettling enough.

  He clambered quickly, and the air turned chilly. He was glad he had his long coat on. He began to use his arms as well as his legs to pull himself up, although everything soon began to ache. He tried to tell himself that this was not so different from ascending up to the crow’s nest, and he reminded himself of all the years he had spent clambering up ratlines and scampering up masts while dreaming of captaining his own ship.

  After a long while, his hands suddenly touched open air, and he looked up, realizing that he had reached the top. The temple stood before him, open to the sky. He pulled himself up and collapsed on the cold floor slabs, catching his breath. At one end of the temple stood a curved stone altar with hollows carved in it. Resting in a hollow at the top, exactly in the path of the rising sun so that rays of light shone directly on it, was the shimmering vial of Shadow Gold.

  His heart pounding with excitement, Jack scrambled to his feet and hurried over to it. He reached out to take it…and a sword came down, barely missing his hand and ricocheting off the stone altar with a ringing metallic sound.

  Startled, Jack leaped back and beheld his attacker.

  It was the Pirate Lord Villanueva.

  “I see you’re after my gold,” he said in a menacing voice.

  Jack blinked at him. “Hang on. How did you get up here?” he asked.

  “I have my ways,” Villanueva said mysteriously.

  Jack looked around at the temple, the isolated mountaintop, and the long stretch of steep stone stairs behind him.

  “No, seriously,” he said, “how did you get up here?”

  Villanueva looked irritated. “There’s an easier path on that side,” he said, waving his sword toward the far side of the mountain. “A llama brought me up.”

  “Well, that is unjust,” Jack said. “Someone might have mentioned this easier path to me. I think I’ll blame Marcella. Been looking for a reason to toss her off the crew.”

  “The poin
t is,” Villanueva said firmly, determined to get back to sounding menacing, “that you are trying to steal my gold.”

  “Your gold?” Jack echoed. “And what makes it yours, mate? Looks like it’s just sitting there for me to take.” He lunged for the vial and Villanueva brought his sword up sharply, stopping him. Jack drew his own sword and stepped back, balancing lightly on his feet.

  “I know it was meant for me,” Villanueva said. “My old rival, Chevalle, said that Mistress Ching has one of these vials, and I suspect he has one as well. He was gloating about it—said the best Pirate Lords have them. Which means this one must have been intended for me before it went astray.”

  “Perhaps it was meant for me,” Jack suggested.

  Villanueva sneered. “I doubt that very much.” He took a step toward the altar, and Jack deftly parried, striking the older man’s sword aside and driving him back.

  “You don’t even know what it is,” Jack said, lunging and slashing. “It’s just some old shiny stuff. Probably cursed. I’d be doing you a favor, taking it off your hands.” Villanueva dodged and slashed back. The crash and clang of swords echoed across the mountains.

  “No one knows what it is,” Villanueva said with a spinning sideswipe. “We only know that it is beautiful, and we want it.” Despite his short stature and hefty bulk, the Spanish pirate was a very accomplished swordsman, nearly as skilled as Jack himself.

  “Ah. That’s logical,” Jack said, darting aside.

  “That’s pirates,” Villanueva responded with a shrug, and Jack certainly couldn’t argue with that. He jumped back from a sharp thrust and found himself teetering at the edge of the cliff.

  Windmilling his arms frantically, he was able to regain his balance—but Villanueva was already striding toward the vial.

  “No!” Jack cried. “My shiny stuff !” He sprang forward, somersaulting through the air, and landed on the altar as Villanueva reached it. Quickly, Jack grabbed the vial, but Villanueva’s hand wrapped around his before he could open it. Their hands locked together, they pulled, yanking the vial back and forth with furious force. Jack nearly fell off the altar, but finally he kicked Villanueva in the gut. With a grunt of pain, the Spanish Pirate Lord let go and staggered back, clutching his stomach.