by Rob Kidd
Across the square, Mistress Ching and Sao Feng were bowing to each other. It was only the combined strength of their pirate forces that had defeated the East India Trading Company agents. They had to hope that the combined power of their fleets would be able to do the same thing on the sea.
But if Jack knew pirates—and he knew quite a lot of pirates—this “alliance” wouldn’t last very long. One of them would quickly betray the other.
Luckily he would be long gone by then.
“Jean!” Jack called, seeing his friend emerge from a doorway, supporting Billy, who was limping a little. “Billy! Come on—it’s time to say tallyho.”
Jack couldn’t wait to get back to the Pearl. He was glad that Benedict Huntington was Sao Feng’s problem, not his. He would feel much better once there was a vast ocean between him and that creepy, pale man.
“Where are we going next, Jack?” Diego asked as Jean and Billy joined them.
Jack held up the vial of Shadow Gold so the others could admire how it glinted, even in the gloomy gray light.
“Well,” he said, “it’s not hard to guess, really.”
“North Carolina?” Billy offered sarcastically.
“Where’s the next Pirate Lord?” Jean said, scratching his head. “Isn’t there another one in this part of the world?”
“Why, yes there is,” Jack said as if Jean had just suggested something marvelous.
“Oh, good,” Billy said. “How fortunate for us.”
“Who is it?” Carolina asked.
“His name is Sri Sumbhajee,” Jack said, beckoning the others to follow him in the direction of the dock. “To the Pearl and away, my pirate friends. We’re off—to India!”
As they set off down the streets—Billy with a sigh, Carolina and Diego asking eager questions, Jean joking about Indian food—none of them noticed the pale figure spying on them from a nearby doorway.
Strange things happened inside the mind of Benedict Huntington. Behind those calculating eyes, dangerous thoughts were brewing…thoughts that blamed Jack Sparrow for his defeat today…thoughts that vowed revenge.
“India,” he whispered to himself. “Very well. I will see you there, Jack Sparrow.”
EPILOGUE
Another darkened hold. The shapes of barrels and boxes loomed in the semidarkness, ropes creaking and groaning as the ship swayed over the waves. A single candle guttered in a hidden corner, shielded from view by stacks of cargo arranged to create a secret den.
Footsteps tiptoed down the ladder from the upper decks. A girl slipped into the shadows, carrying a tin plate of food and a mug of ale.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “The food here is awful. I brought you the best I could get.” She squinted at the candle. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if someone catches you?”
“I’m not going to sit here in the dark,” said the stowaway, taking the plate. “Thank you, Marcella.”
Marcella crouched beside the secret den, wrapping her skinny arms around her knees. Her yellow-brown eyes reflected the candlelight strangely. The enormous grin on her face was even stranger—certainly no one on board the Black Pearl had ever seen this particular look on Marcella before. It was almost…happy.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “You have no idea how horrid this ship is. It’s full of horrid, nasty, smelly men who all boss me around. I haven’t talked to anyone civilized in forever. The worst was our cook, Gombo—he was really tall—although at least he smelled like food, not like the awful stink of some of these horrible pirates. But he’s gone now, which is why this food is so bad. Ick, I don’t even know how you can eat it.”
“I need my strength,” said the stowaway. “Where did you say we’re going again?”
“India,” Marcella said, rolling her eyes. “I hear they let cows just wander through their houses there. Can you imagine? I hate cows.”
“You should go back up,” the stowaway said, handing the empty plate back to Marcella. “They might notice you’re missing.”
“Oh, no one notices anything around here. And they sure don’t notice anything I do,” Marcella said, pouting. “Diego would, but that witch Carolina is always distracting him with stupid things like ‘practicing sword fighting’ and ‘sailing the ship,’ blah blah blah.”
“Come back soon,” the stowaway said. “I do so love our talks. I’m glad I’m here, too, Marcella. If it weren’t for you, I would have nowhere to go. Thank you for taking me into your care. Thank you for sneaking me aboard.”
“Like that was hard!” Marcella snorted. “These drunken louts wouldn’t notice if an elephant came aboard the ship. Which might actually happen in India; with Jack as captain, you never know. Okay, I’ll go back up—but I promise I’ll be back soon. Let me know if you need anything, ma’am.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” said the woman in the shadows, leaning back on the pillows Marcella had stolen from Jack’s cabin. Her red hair shone in the candlelight. “And Marcella, remember—call me Barbara.”
The quest for the Shadow Gold continues! Jack and the crew of the Black Pearl find themselves in India—at the mercy of Pirate Lord Sri Sumbhajee. But the crew has an even deadlier threat to contend with—aboard their own ship! You won’t want to miss it!
A dim moon rose over the ocean as the wind blew thickening clouds across the sky. Faint shadows were cast up on the island below: huge, black sailing ships, sea monsters, and other things that haunted the midnight waters seemed to cascade over the hills. Few stars were strong enough to twinkle through the stormy haze. The white sands of the beach were swept into little whirlwinds, shifting the patterns on the sand dunes.
A bad night for sailing.
The few respectable citizens of Tortuga stayed snug in their well-guarded houses. Everyone else—buccaneers, swashbucklers, and cutthroats all—was down at the Faithful Bride, drinking ale and rum.
Between gusts of wind from the gathering storm, the noise from the tavern could be heard a half mile away. Laughing, shouting, and the occasional burst of gunfire echoed through the night as drinkers took up a chanty they all knew.
From outside, the Faithful Bride looked like nothing more than an oversize shack. It wasn’t even built out of proper wood, but from the timbers of wrecked boats. It smelled like a boat, too: tar and salt and seaweed and fish. When a light rain finally began to fall, the roof leaked in a dozen places.
Inside, no one seemed to care about the puddles on the floor. Tankards were clashed together for toasts, clapped on the table for refills, and occasionally thrown at someone’s head.
It was crowded tonight, every last shoddy chair filled in the candle-lit tavern. I reckon we have enough old salts here to crew every ship in Port Royal, the Faithful Bride’s young barmaid, Arabella, thought. She was clearing empty mugs off a table surrounded by men who were all hooting at a story. Like everyone in the pub, they were dressed in the tattered, mismatched garb common to all the “sailors” of the area: ragged breeches, faded waistcoats, stubbly beards, and the odd sash or belt.
One of them tugged on her skirt, grinning toothlessly.
Arabella rolled her eyes and sighed. “Let me guess,” she said, tossing aside her tangled auburn locks. “Ale, ale, ale and…oh, probably another ale?”
The sailor howled with laughter. “That’s my lass!”
Arabella took a deep breath and moved on to the other tables.
“There’s no Spanish treasure left but inland, ye daft sprog,” a sailor swore.
“I’m not talkin’ about Spanish treasure,” his friend, the second-rate pirate Handsome Todd said, lowering his voice. There was a gleam in his eye, not yet dulled by drink. “I’m talkin’ about Aztec Gold, from a whole lost kingdom.…”
Arabella paused and listened in, pretending to pick a mug up off the floor.
“Yer not talking about Stone-Eyed Sam and Isla Esquelética?” the sailor replied, skepticallly. “Legend says Sam ’e had the Sword of Cortés, and ’e cursed the whole isl
and. Aye, I agree with only one part of that story—that it’s legend. Legend, mate. ‘A neat little city of stone and marble—just like them there Romans built,’ they say. Bah! Rubbish! Aren’t nothing like that in the Caribbean, I can tell you!”
“Forget the blasted kingdom and the sword, it’s his gold I’m talking about,” Handsome Todd spat out. “And I can tell you, I know it’s real. Seen it with my own eyes, I have. It changes hands often, like it’s got legs all its own. But there are ways of finding it.”
“Ye got a ship, then?” the first sailor said with a leery look in his eyes.
“Aye, a fine little boat, perfect for slipping in and out of port unseen…” Handsome Todd began. But then he noticed Arabella, who was pretending to wipe something from the floor with her apron.
She looked up and gave him a weak smile.
She looked again at the floor and rubbed fiercely with the edge of her apron. “Blasted men, spillin’ their ale,” she said.
Handsome Todd relaxed. But he looked around suspiciously as if the other buccaneers, the walls, or the King himself were listening. “Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter, then, shall we? As they say, dead men tell no tales.”
Arabella cursed and moved away. Usually, no one cared—no one noticed if she were there or not. To the patrons of the Bride, she was just the girl who filled the tankards. She had heard hundreds of stories and legends over the years. Each story was almost like being on an adventure.
Almost.
Still, she decided, not a bad night, considering. It could have been far worse. A storm often seemed to bring out the worst in an already bad lot of men.
And then, suddenly, the door blew open with gale force.
A crash of lightning illuminated the person in the doorway. It was a stranger, wet to the bone. Shaggy black hair was plastered against his head, and the lightning glinted in his eyes. Arabella held her breath—she had never seen anyone like him before.
Then the door slammed shut, and the candlelight revealed an angry, dripping, young man—no older than Arabella. There was silence for a moment. Then the patrons shrugged andreturned to their drinks.
The stranger began to make his way through the crowd, eyes darting left and right, up and down like a crow’s. He was obviously looking for someone, or something. His jaw was set in anger.
His hazel eyes lit up for a moment: he must have found what he was looking for. He bent down behind a chair, and reached for something. Arabella stood on her tiptoes to see—it just looked like an old sack. Not at all worth stealing from the infamous pirate who was guarding it.
“Oh, no…” Arabella whispered.
The stranger bit his lip in concentration. He stretched his fingers as long and narrow as possible, discretely trying to reach between the legs of the chair.
Without warning—and without taking the drink from his lips—the man who sat in the chair rose up, all seven feet and several hundred pounds of him. His eyes were the color of a storm, and they sparked with anger.
The stranger pressed his palms together and gave a quick bow.
“Begging your pardon, Sir, just admiring my…I mean your fine satchel there,” he said, extremely politely.
The pirate roared and brought his heavy tankard down, aiming for the stranger’s head.
The stranger grabbed the sack and sidestepped just in time. The mug whistled past his ear…
…and hit another pirate behind him!
This other pirate wasn’t as big, but he was just as irritable. And armed. And he thought the stranger was the one who had just hit him in the head with a tankard! The pirate drew a rapier and lunged for the stranger.
It didn’t take much to start a barroom brawl in Tortuga.
The Faithful Bride exploded with the sounds of punches, groans, screams, yells and hollers, the clash of cutlasses striking rapiers, and the snap of wood as chairs were broken over heads. All this, in addition to the sound of the crashing thunder and the leaking ceiling that began to pour down on the brawling patrons.
With the giant now otherwise engaged, the stranger hoisted the sack onto his shoulder, turned around and surveyed the scene behind him. What was—for pirates—a fairly quiet night of drinking, had turned into yet another bloody and violent brawl like the others he’d seen in his day. He couldn’t resist grinning.
“Huh. Not a single bruise on me,” he said out loud. “Not one blasted scratch on Jack Sparrow.”