Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  “Without a doubt,” Jack agreed.

  “So, can I buy ye and the lady a drink, Jack? I figure I owe ye, for helpin’ me gain vengeance for me poor little Polly.” Clearly, Barbossa had already been imbibing. His eyes were bright, and so was his nose. “Perhaps ye’d like something t’eat?”

  “I have to take Esmeralda back to Venganza,” Jack said. “But we can join you for just a moment, Hector.”

  Barbossa led the way to a full table, and stood before it. The five pirates there were drinking and talking animatedly, but, one by one, they noticed the scarred captain standing there. When all of them fell silent, staring at him, Barbossa gave a quick, sideways jerk of his thumb. Silently, they got up and left.

  Jack was impressed, but not terribly surprised. There were stories about Captain Barbossa…how tough he was, how wily, how deviously manipulative. All the accounts also agreed that he was one hell of a dirty fighter.

  The three of them took their seats. “What can I be orderin’ for ye?” Barbossa asked. “Food, wine…the two of ye did me a service today, and I’m mindful of it.” Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistled, and the pimply-faced serving lad appeared immediately.

  “Nothing for us, Hector,” Jack said. “We can’t stay that long. But what Steve had on the fire for dinner smelled good, I’ll tell you.”

  “A bottle of your best rum,” Barbossa said, and the lad vanished. “’Tis thirsty I am, not hungry, Jack. Had me supper not long ago with Cap’n Borya.”

  “You what?” Jack and Esmeralda stared at him in undisguised amazement.

  “Aye, I did. Seems he was entitled to a last request, as well as a last meal and drink. Borya requested that I be allowed to join him in his final repast. We shared a bottle of that awful clear swill he drinks. Vodka, he calls it,” Barbossa said. The serving lad reappeared and poured Barbossa and Jack a drink. Esmeralda shook her head when she was offered a glass. “Leave the bottle,” the captain ordered.

  “Why did Borya make seeing you his last request?” Esmeralda asked. “That seems so strange, after what he did.”

  “Aye, missy, it does, doesn’t it? Seems Borya had the sinking of me Cobra on his conscience, and he wanted me t’ know he was sorry for it. Apologized most sincerely, he did. Cap’n Teague was there, as witness, and he told him that if the Pirate Lords agreed, he thought Koldunya should be passed on to me, so I wouldn’t be a cap’n without a vessel. That’s like bein’ a fish with no water, he said.” Barbossa sighed. “We used to be good friends, once, I told you that, Jack.”

  “Yes, you did. But I’d never have expected Borya to apologize,” Jack said.

  “He did. He told me he truly regretted the greed he felt when he saw how me Cobra was ridin’ low in the water, her holds filled with booty. He was sorry he broke the Code, he said.”

  “Amazing!” Esmeralda exclaimed.

  “Bloody incredible,” Jack said.

  “’Tis true, I swear it.” Barbossa put a big, long-nailed hand over the leather strap of his baldric, in the approximate location of his heart. “I could hardly believe it meself. Oh, and he gave me this, said it was his most precious token. His mind must be addled, is all I can say.” Reaching into his coat, Barbossa fumbled for a moment, and brought out a small, square block of wood, about an inch and a half on the side.

  Jack looked at it, then looked sideways at Esmeralda. She was staring at it, wide-eyed. As she caught Jack’s gaze, she nodded, as if confirming his unspoken question.

  “Hector, does Captain Teague know Borya gave you this?” Jack asked.

  “No, he wasn’t in the cell at that moment, he’d stepped outside.”

  “You need to be careful of that little token,” Jack said. “Don’t lose it. Show it to Captain Teague as soon as you can. He’ll tell you what it is.”

  Barbossa turned the little block over in his fingers. “You say this is important? Looks like junk.”

  “It is important, Hector. Unless I’m much mistaken, that is one of the Nine Pieces of Eight.”

  Barbossa frowned. “And what might those be, Jack?”

  “They’re important,” Jack assured him. “Teague will explain.”

  “Very well,” Barbossa said. Curiosity flared in his eyes, but he stowed the little bit of wood away. “Been an eventful day, hasn’t it, Jack?”

  Jack nodded. “It has.”

  “I’ll tell ye, I never thought Borya was the type to turn songbird and out all his secrets, without even a touch of the brand or the rack,” Barbossa said, thoughtfully. “And I was knocked for six when I found out who the second rogue was. Never spent any time with the fellow, but he’d seemed a decent sort…for a Frenchman. Who’d have thought he’d have murdered poor old Tommy?”

  Jack’s heart seemed to halt for a moment, then stutter rapidly. He found he was holding on to the table, and it was hard to breathe. “Borya gave up the second rogue that Davy Jones spoke of ? The one he said was here in Shipwreck Cove? Who…who was it?”

  Barbossa’s weather-beaten countenance was full of cheerful malice. He chortled. “Turns out it was that popinjay, styles himself de Rapièr. That foppish dandy must’ve twigged that the Little Butcher might sing, ’cause he was caught with his longboats out, towing his brigantine, tryin’ to make it to the tunnel and clean away. But Teague’s men blocked him, and took him into custody. Searched his vessel. They found that turquoise coat me man Ragetti was talkin’ about hidden in his cabin, too.” Barbossa filled his glass and sipped. “That was enough for Teague. He condemned him to swing with Borya.”

  “Oh…” Jack managed. Turning away from Barbossa, his eyes met Esmeralda’s. He gave a quick, sideways jerk of his head, and she nodded slightly.

  “You’re sure you won’t have another round with me? If it hadn’t been for you two, they’d never have been caught,” Barbossa proposed.

  Jack stood up, managing a semblance of a smile as he offered his hand to Esmeralda to help her rise. His face felt frozen. “Thank you very much, Hector, but I fear I must get my lady back to her grandfather. Perhaps another time?”

  Barbossa grinned. “Any time, Jack!” He winked at them. “You lovebirds run along and have a good time. You’re only young once, remember that.” He took another swig of rum, then beckoned the serving boy. “Lad! Bring me a couple of nice crisp apples, if you’ve got any!”

  Jack and Esmeralda hastened out of The Drunken Lady and stood outside in the narrow hallway, staring at each other speechlessly. Esmeralda was pale with shock.

  “Jack, this is terrible,” she said, finally, breaking the silence. “I know that I said I didn’t want to spend time with Christophe anymore, but still…the thought of tomorrow, at dawn…” She shook her head.

  “I can’t believe he’s guilty,” Jack said. “It’s not as though Davy Jones identified him. And Borya…after seeing Borya during the inquiry, I wouldn’t trust him to empty a chamber pot. He did nothing but lie!”

  “Borya lied, yes,” Esmeralda agreed. “Jack, it is not as though I would ever speak to Christophe again, after hearing what he did to Marie…but this…this is just not right.”

  “Speaking of Marie,” Jack said, “what was going on in there? You two were laughing, then you were crying…” He spread his hands and shrugged.

  Esmeralda’s expression lightened. “Oh, Jack…you really didn’t understand?”

  “No, I bloody well did not,” Jack said, nettled. “I’d appreciate being enlightened.”

  Esmeralda smiled slightly. “Marie is with child. It is no wonder she goes from laughter to tears by the moment. From what I have heard, that often happens.”

  Jack blinked. “She’s going to have a baby?”

  “Yes, isn’t that wonderful? Steve will be so happy when he finds out.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “She will tell him when the time is right.”

  Jack tried to imagine hearing such news with joy, and failed. It sounded like a disaster. All he knew of childbirth was that it was dan
gerous, messy, and it took away one’s freedom. Something that any sane person would avoid at all costs. But Esmeralda was clearly happy for her friend, so he decided discretion was the better part of valor, and returned to the subject at hand. “I want to talk to Christophe. Maybe he can explain why Borya would say he’s the second rogue.”

  “I agree. Christophe should be given the right to explain himself. It’s not right for Captain Teague to sentence him to hang, based on just the word of a condemned man who gave him up rather than be tortured.”

  Jack leaned against the ancient wood of the old galleon that made up part of The Drunken Lady. From inside, he could hear the sounds of inebriated revelry. “It’s completely unfair!” he burst out, after a moment. “So typical of Teague!” He heard the bitterness in his own voice, but for once, didn’t try to hide it. “Esmeralda, I can’t count the number of times he’s condemned me, when I wasn’t to blame. And this time it means a man’s life.”

  Jack almost spat in disgust, but resisted because it was vulgar, and because Esmeralda was there. “To hang a man because he’s accused by a known liar, captains a brigantine, and owns a turquoise coat—that’s no kind of justice.”

  “When you say it like that, it does sound…” Esmeralda hesitated, “what is your English word? Ah, yes. Circumstantial, that is the word.”

  Jack nodded. “Christophe should be allowed to face his accusers. Even Davy Jones, if necessary. Give him the chance to defend himself. Condemning him to hang without an inquiry isn’t right.”

  Jack began pacing up and down the corridor, thinking hard. Could he go to Don Rafael and the other Pirate Lords and ask them to hold a Board of Inquiry? He had a feeling that none of them would agree to summon Davy Jones again, which was probably the only way Christophe could be cleared of the charges. The Frenchman had been with him and Esmeralda for the first part of the night that Old Tommy had been murdered. Perhaps he’d been with other friends after that, and they could swear to it? Then Christophe would have a…what was it called? An alibi. But that was for the future. What Jack had to do now was make sure Christophe wasn’t in his cell when they came for him at dawn—otherwise any alibi Jack could produce would come too late.

  “I’m going down to the dungeons to see Christophe,” Jack said. “I want to hear his side of things.”

  “Do you think they’ll let you see him?”

  “They let Barbossa in to see Borya. Teague’s men serve as the guards down there. They know me.”

  Even as he answered Esmeralda’s question, Jack’s mind was racing. But even if you can get in to see him, and it turns out he can explain everything, and has an alibi, what good would that do, without the key to the cell?

  He knew where the ring of keys was—in the prison dog’s mouth. And he, Jack Sparrow, was one of two people in the world that Teague’s cur would accept food and drink from. He’d fed the dog many times. What if he fed the dog tonight? And got the keys?

  Jack’s mouth went dry at the thought of going against the Code, and the Keeper of the Code. But, dammit, Christophe was his friend, and he was trapped in a web of lies, condemned without a chance to be heard. He had to do something to help him.

  I’ll go there prepared, Jack decided. I’ll talk to Christophe, see what his story is. I’m a good judge of people. I’ll be able to tell if he’s telling the truth or lying. And if he’s innocent, I’ll help him. Can’t let him face that noose at dawn.

  Jack turned to Esmeralda, who had been standing there, watching him. “I hate to have to ask you this, darlin’,” he said, “but it’s not for me, it’s for Christophe. Can I borrow some money?”

  “Of course!” Esmeralda turned her back to him, and, a moment later, turned back with a small silk bag in her hand. It clinked softly, and was obviously heavy for its size. “How much do you need?”

  “What coins do you have?”

  “I have eight pesos,” she said, spilling them into her hand. “How many do you need?”

  Jack gaped. The peso, also known as the ocho reales, or piece of eight, was a heavy silver coin, and, except for the doubloon, the most valuable currency in the New World. The reason they were called “pieces of eight” was that their faces were marked with lines, so they could be cut into eight roughly equal pieces. Eight pesos was a lot of money—enough to buy two bulls, or an unbroken horse. “Neptune’s nightgown, love! You can’t go flashing that much money here! This is Shipwreck City! Are you mad?”

  She shrugged. “Anyone loco enough to put his hand where I carry this purse would draw back naught but a stump, Jack,” she said, coolly. “Money is not the only thing I conceal beneath my clothes.”

  Jack had no trouble believing that. “Still, that’s too much money to be carrying around here,” he cautioned. “Put them away, quick. I’ll only need one of those.”

  She handed him two coins. “Take these,” she said. “You might need an extra.”

  “All right, love,” Jack said. “You wait here, and I’ll be right back.” Turning, he opened the door to The Drunken Lady, and vanished into the roistering throng.

  He returned only minutes later, carrying a bottle, and a smallish packet of oiled paper. “All set, love,” he said. “Now we need to head for Troubadour.”

  They hurried through the twilight, along the docks, until they reached Teague’s vessel. Jack offered Esmeralda his arm, and they mounted the gangplank. He smiled at the man on watch. “Good evening, Rufus. Just going to give Don Rafael’s granddaughter a little tour.”

  Rufus nodded, and politely tipped his hat. “Good evening, Lady Esmeralda.”

  Jack escorted Esmeralda around the weather deck for a few minutes, playing tour guide, then they descended the ladder to the main deck. Teague’s captain’s cabin was at the stern on this deck. Keeping a weather eye out for crewmen who might be present, Jack conducted his “tour,” until he reached the door of the Keeper of the Code’s cabin. Falling silent, he put his finger over his lips.

  Teague kept a spare key to his cabin, and Jack knew where to retrieve it. Moving silently, he did so, then paused and whispered to Esmeralda, “I’ll be a few minutes, love. Please go over to the ladder and listen for Teague to come back, so you can warn me. Four knocks on the door.”

  She nodded. Taking off her light-colored shawl, she bundled it up so she wouldn’t be visible in the gloom, and headed back for the ladder leading up to the weather deck.

  Jack unlocked Teague’s cabin, feeling a trickle of cold sweat course down his back. Aiding a condemned man’s escape was a violation of the Code. He’d face the noose himself if his role were ever discovered. Slipping inside, he relocked the door.

  Teague’s cabin was spacious. Troubadour was wide-beamed, and the cabin was almost as wide as it was long. There was still enough light coming in from the big stern windows so Jack could make his way confidently. He glanced around, seeing it was still the same as he remembered from his last visit, almost a year ago. The Keeper had furnished it with unusual objects from around the world, especially those that reflected his love of music. His beloved guitar was secured to the bulkhead by sturdy brackets, so it couldn’t fall when the ship rolled.

  Teague’s cabin also boasted an unusually large captain’s pantry. There was enough room for a man to step inside and close the door. Jack had hidden in the pantry more than once as a lad, eavesdropping on the Keeper’s conversations. He still wasn’t sure whether Teague had ever realized he was in there.

  Jack’s quarry lay on an expensive wool rug from Turkey, eyeing him. The gray mongrel had raised his head as Jack entered the cabin, and was now looking at him alertly. The ring of keys dangled from his mouth, jingling slightly. As Jack approached, his tail thumped faintly on the rug. Good. He still knows me, Jack thought.

  “Hey, doggy!” he murmured. “How you doing, boy? Been a while, hasn’t it?” The dog’s tail thumped harder.

  Squatting down beside the dog, Jack stroked his head. He wagged his tail as Jack scratched his ears, grinning with doggy plea
sure. Maybe, Jack thought, I won’t need the bottle.

  “Well, aren’t you the best doggy!” Jack cooed, still petting. “Remember when we used to go for walks together?”

  Of course Jack didn’t really believe that this was the same dog as the one he’d petted, fed, and taken on boyish expeditions when he was a little shaver. Of course not. But it was odd. Wherever Teague got his dogs, there must be a breed of them, because this mutt looked exactly like the one Jack had played with when he was six, and eight, and ten, and twelve.…

  Jack shrugged. The prison dog was yet another of the many mysteries of life with the Keeper of the Code. He’d learned long ago not to ask questions, because Teague’s reply was invariably the same: “Sea turtles, mate!”

  Experimentally, Jack let his hand drift down toward the ring of keys. Before he could even touch the metal, the dog’s lip lifted to reveal good-sized teeth, and an emphatic growl warned him off.

  “Fine,” Jack said. “We’ll play it your way, doggy. Good thing I came prepared. How about some dinner, eh, boy?”

  He stood up and went over to the dog’s water bowl and food dish. There was water in the bowl, but the dish was empty. “Look what I brought for you!” he said, taking out the parcel. “Some of Steve Seymour’s best beef ragout. His wife is French, you know. Cooks everything with cream and wine.” Opening the oiled parchment, he dumped the food into the bowl. It smelled so good that Jack’s stomach growled. The prison dog’s ears pricked up, but he didn’t drop the keys. Jack knew he wouldn’t do that while a human other than Teague was within grabbing distance.

  “And guess what else I brought you?” Jack said. “Your favorite. Rum. The really good stuff.” Uncorking the bottle, releasing the heady scent, Jack poured a splash of rum over the dog’s dinner, then added an extra dollop, to make sure. “See how you like that!”

  Rising to his feet, Jack backed away, until he was leaning against the cabin door. Cautiously, he took a sip of the rum himself, knowing that it was extremely potent and he had nothing in his stomach. It tasted delicious, and he was tempted to take another sip, but he reminded himself that he needed a clear head.