Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  Suddenly a muffled boom off to port made them swing around, only to see a puff of smoke clouding one of Koldunya’s starboard gun ports. Borya’s sloop was now only about a mile away, and he’d opened fire. He didn’t have the range yet, and the shot fell harmlessly short. Jack watched the spout of water the ball splashed up.

  For a moment Jack wished he had more men so he could shoot back, but he needed every available crewman to handle the heavy anchor cable. He shrugged. Let Borya waste ammunition. Jack planned to conserve his, because he knew the rogue was bound to have more powder and shot than he did.

  Borya fired again, and again it fell short. The Russian continued to fire at intervals, trying to get the range, using his starboard cannons.

  Jack ignored the shots. It was time to check his position again. Heading forward, he stood on the port side of the bow, spyglass ready. He had to stand far forward, because his crewman were back up on the weather deck as they completed hauling the cable forward to the bow so it could be secured to the small bower anchor.

  His next landmark was Rocky Point on Great Abaco, a distinctive fishhook-shaped bit of land that lay only two miles east of their path north. He should be able to spot it easily—it was the easternmost land on Great Abaco.

  It wasn’t long before Jack saw the point approaching. He waited until they were opposite the tip of Rocky Point to use it as his mark, then he went back to the quarterdeck, checked the traverse board and the binnacle, and went back down to his cabin to check their position on his chart one last time.

  When he returned to the quarterdeck, he nodded at Chamba and Matthews. “We’re right on course, mates.”

  Robby Greene appeared, tired and grimy, to report that the anchor was rigged in accordance with Jack’s orders. Jack directed him to oversee the sail handlers, and to have Second Mate Connery supervise the dropping of the anchor as soon as the captain gave the order. Between them, they agreed on a visual signal to back up shouted orders, in case Borya fired just as Jack issued the orders.

  Jack’s landmark for actually entering the deepwater inlet was a sandbar that lay about two miles north of Rocky Point. At the Wicked Wench’s current speed, it would take them about fifteen more minutes to reach it. The sandbar was white, and it was low tide. It should be easily visible to the naked eye, off to starboard.

  The three on the quarterdeck stood in silence as Borya continued to fire at them. The sloop was still closing, now less than a mile away, and, inevitably, a three pounder finally hit the Wicked Wench, smashing through the portside railing as though it wasn’t there, then going over the starboard side, just missing the mainmast. Jack, Chamba, and Matthews looked at one another, but there was nothing to say.

  When Jack judged they were drawing near the inlet, he sent Chamba forward to the bow with orders to signal the quarterdeck as soon as the ship drew even with the sandbar. The sails blocked Jack’s and Matthews’s view forward; they could only see off to port or starboard.

  When Chamba was gone, Jack went over to the wheel. “I’ll take her for a moment, Mr. Matthews. We’re going to need to turn to starboard, but gradually, and not much.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  As Jack slid his hands around the spokes of the big wheel, he wondered whether this would be the last time he’d steer his ship. The waiting was getting to him. He knew that once the action started, he’d steady down and focus; until then, his palms were slippery with sweat. But it wouldn’t do to wipe them in front of Matthews.

  Another shot plunked into the water not ten feet from the Wicked Wench’s port side, amidships. Jack’s jaw tightened, but he remained focused, waiting for Chamba to appear.

  Finally, he spotted the lad bounding across the weather deck, waving and pointing off to starboard. Jack waited a minute or two until he glimpsed the whiteness of the sandbank himself, then he turned the wheel very slightly, delicately.

  Chamba came bounding up the ladder to the quarterdeck to resume his duties. Jack turned the wheel just a bit more. He couldn’t turn them much to the east, or they’d lose their forward momentum as the sails began to luff.

  The Wicked Wench’s bow drifted right a little, then a little more.

  After another minute or two, Jack stole a glance to starboard, and saw they were almost past the sandbar, and heading straight. They were in the trough. The water on either side of the ship remained deep blue, but when he squinted, he could see the color of the sea change, grow lighter in the distance. Because of the clouds, and the length of the sun’s rays in the west, it was difficult to make out the depth of the water, due to the reflection. It would probably take Borya a while before he realized that there were now shoals hemming him in on both sides of the trough.

  Koldunya followed them into the trough. She was now about three-quarters of a mile away, behind them, still on their port side. The sloop’s next shot came from her bow chaser, aimed at the Wench’s stern. It missed, plunking into the water, but the next one hit them. Jack didn’t think it had struck below the waterline, but it was hard to tell.

  Jack gave the wheel back to Matthews, and went forward, watching the water as it slid past the bow. He was sweating, but not due to the heat. He could see Gorda Cay without his spyglass, coming up to port. It wasn’t a very big island—not even half a mile long.

  They hadn’t been in the deepwater trough long—perhaps five minutes. In fifteen more minutes, give or take, the Wench would reach the end of the trough, and run into the shoal. Before that happened, Jack had to trick Borya into running aground. He knew just where he had to do it, and they were not there yet, but the waiting was torture.

  Jack peered back at Borya’s sloop. He knew the Russian captain must be itching to come up on his port side again so he could fire a broadside instead of just lobbing shots at them with the single bow chaser. Koldunya was barely half a mile away.

  Ten more minutes crawled by, and finally—finally!—it was time for Jack to make his move. He raced up the ladder to the quarterdeck. Koldunya was right behind the Wench now, less than a thousand yards astern, still gaining steadily.

  “Matthews, change course to northwest,” Jack ordered. As the helmsman turned the wheel, Jack waved at Robby to stand by, indicating that he was about to issue those orders. Robby waved back, acknowledging the signal, then, in his turn, signaled Connery, who was standing ready to release the anchor.

  The Wicked Wench swung to port.

  As Jack had anticipated, Borya immediately did the same. The Wench’s turn closed the distance between them, and Koldunya was now only three hundred yards away—within broadside range.

  Jack held his breath. Surely by now the Russian captain had noticed there were shoals on either side! But the sloop plunged ahead, doing exactly what Jack wanted. Borya’s sloop had a much shallower draft than the Wicked Wench. The Little Butcher must have figured the Wench was following yet another deepwater channel.

  Come on, run aground, run aground, run aground now, come on! Jack thought, balling his fists. Would Borya be able to hit the Wench with a broadside before his sloop hit the shoal? If he didn’t hit it soon, the Wench would run aground! They were barely two hundred yards from the end of the inlet!

  The sloop’s bow suddenly thrust upward as she came to a crashing halt. Jack watched as her topmast snapped off and crashed to the deck.

  Jack gasped with relief. It had worked! “YES!” he yelled. “YES!”

  He heard his crew yelling in celebration. It was hard to tear his eyes away from the sight of the sloop, helplessly aground, but Jack turned, and waved to Robby. “Drop anchor!” he bellowed.

  Robby signed to Connery, repeating the order, in case the second mate hadn’t heard the captain over the cheering crewmen. Immediately Jack cupped his hands around his mouth, grabbed a breath, and yelled, “Let fly all sheets! Scandalize her!”

  The “sheets” were the ropes that kept the sails taut, and “to scandalize” meant to spill all wind from the sails. Jack waited tensely as the crewmen worked feverishly t
o halt the ship.

  Without warning, the Wicked Wench’s bow lifted, then she halted so abruptly Jack was flung into the air. The top of his head whacked the railing of the quarterdeck, and he nearly catapulted right down the ladder—but some instinct made him grab the railing just in time to save himself. Stars and pinwheels spiraled past his vision; he struggled against blacking out.

  Moments later, Jack slowly sat up, then he climbed to his feet, shaking his head, still stunned from the fall. The sails hung loose, as ordered. He knew the anchor had been let go.

  But the anchor wasn’t what had stopped them. Not that fast, not that hard.

  Jack realized the Wicked Wench had run aground, too. Looking over to port, Jack could see Koldunya, three hundred yards distant, her starboard side facing them.

  The ships were within cannon range of each other. It wasn’t particularly close range, but shots would be able to reach.

  Jack stumbled down the ladder, his steps dragging. He was having trouble focusing…his vision seemed blurred.

  Now what? he wondered. He tried to think, to plan, but his head was still spinning from the fall. He felt sick as he realized that he’d failed.

  Outsmarted yourself, Jacky Boy, didn’t you?

  Not even realizing that he was speaking aloud, Jack told Teague what he could do with himself.

  “Jack?” a voice reached him. He turned to find Robby beside him, staring at him intently. “Jack, are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. He rubbed the top of his head, feeling a lump rising. “Nearly took a purler down the ladder. But I’m all right.”

  “You’re staggering,” Robby said, worriedly.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jack said. His vision seemed to be clearing, and so was his thinking. “Robby, we need to order the port gun crew to open fire. All we can do now is hope to hit him before he pulls himself together enough to fire at us.”

  “Right, Jack,” Robby said. Turning he darted off in the direction of the main deck.

  Jack stood there, still unsteady on his feet. Heading over to the mainmast, he braced one hand against it. The westering sun touched his face, making him squint. I’ve lost me bloody hat, he thought, grumpily.

  Then he spoke aloud, because the sound of his own voice seemed to anchor him to reality. “First thing, shoot Borya with cannon broadsides,” he said. “Check. Second thing, ah, yes…assess how much damage we’ve sustained. Right.”

  Moving a bit more steadily, Jack headed across the weather deck to find Frank Connery. Suddenly the Wicked Wench lurched again, beneath his feet, and he heard the thunder of her cannons. Even from up here on the weather deck, the sound hit his ears with nearly physical force. Smoke stung his eyes, and he smelled burned powder.

  The battle had begun.

  When the ship lurched, Ayisha, Tarek, and Shabako all tumbled forward. But since they’d been sitting on the deck in the first place, they didn’t have far to fall. The three Zerzurans picked themselves up and stood there, listening. The ship was still. Even the normal rocking motion had ceased.

  “This isn’t right,” Ayisha said, nervously. “Something has happened. Something bad. I think I should go up and see what’s going on.”

  “Captain Sparrow told us to stay right here,” Shabako said. “As he pointed out, the crew needs to give all their attention to the ship. They can’t take time to answer questions, or deal with us. We’ll just have to wait.”

  “The Hemef is right,” Tarek said. “We need to stay here.”

  The princess glared at her bodyguard. Her memory of how he’d carried her down here to the hold was still vivid, and embarrassing. She stroked her bracelet. “You know, I might be able to help,” she pointed out. “Perhaps I could cast an illusion that would help the crew against the enemy vessel.”

  Tarek shook his head obdurately. “Captain Sparrow said…”

  Ayisha took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She wasn’t sure what was impelling her to leave the hold, but it was strong. Her fingers crept to the scrap of fabric that was her wristlet, gently rubbing the raised bumps of the embroidery. All her instincts were telling her to leave the hold, to go up to the main deck and see what was happening. Was she just curious, or spoiled, accustomed to getting her way? Not after more than six months of slavery.

  She wet her lips, eyeing Tarek, knowing he could—and would—physically stop her, unless she could convince him. “Tarek, I have to go up there. There is something I have to do. I feel…” She turned to her brother. “Shabako, I must go. Please. Order Tarek to let me leave here.”

  Her brother gazed at her, then his eyes fastened on her wristlet, which she was still rubbing. “Amenirdis, be honest with me. Do you feel that you are receiving some kind of…sacred command…to go?”

  Ayisha bit her lip. She couldn’t lie to her brother. “I cannot be certain. But I think that my own wishes could not push me so strongly. I do feel some kind of…guidance…at work. This I swear to you, I, who have served as Apedemak’s handmaiden in his temple.”

  Shabako nodded, then faced Tarek. “Tarek, I give my sister permission to go, and I ask you to go with her to guard her. This is my royal will.”

  Tarek bowed his head. “As you say, so shall it be, Hemef,” he replied, using the term in their language for pharaoh. “But first, give me your word that you will remain here, in as much safety as possible, given our circumstances.”

  Shabako nodded. “You have Our royal word,” he said, formally.

  Ayisha stepped forward and hugged her brother. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” she whispered.

  Impatience quickened her steps as she headed for the ladder leading up from the cargo hold. Ayisha could feel something driving her onward. Was it simply curiosity? Or boredom and frustration from being shut up like a mouse in a barley bin? Or might it be her concern for Jack Sparrow, who had come to mean more to her than she could easily admit, even to herself ?

  She didn’t know. Ayisha simply knew that what she was feeling was real. She had to leave the hold, find out what was happening, and see if there was some way she could help.

  Just as she lifted her foot to place it on the next step of the ladder leading up to the main deck, the whole ship lurched, then shuddered again. Ayisha fell backward, off the ladder, and if Tarek hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have fallen all the way back down.

  Luckily, she knew almost immediately what the sound was, though it was much louder than she’d ever heard before. The Wicked Wench was firing her cannons. Grabbing the railing beside the ladder, Ayisha clung to it as she made her way back up the steps. Lifting the hatch, she peered out, seeing feet running back and forth. Another broadside rocked the ship, but this time she was hanging on.

  She climbed up until she stood on the main deck. All the gunners and gun crews were gathered on the port side of the ship, working feverishly to swab out the barrels of the cannons so they could reload. The stench of burned powder stung her nose, and the smoke drifting back through the gun ports burned her eyes. Tarek climbed up and stood beside her, carefully lowering the hatch so it didn’t bang down.

  Ayisha stepped cautiously over until she could see through a gun port, trying to see what they were aiming at.

  A ship lay across the water some distance from the Wicked Wench, almost directly parallel to her. As Ayisha watched, smoke bloomed from its gun ports. Tarek caught her, steadying her, as the Wench shuddered from the impact of several shots.

  Moments passed, then the enemy gunners fired again, almost at the same exact moment as the guns on the Wicked Wench belched smoke and deadly shot. Again the ship shook. Its timbers creaked in protest.

  If anyone had noticed her and Tarek, they were too busy to do anything about it. Ayisha held her finger to her lips, then pointed to their canvas-walled “cabin” on the other side of the vessel. The carpenters had added a new, separate section of canvas to serve as Shabako’s quarters. Quickly she ran across the deck, opened the door flap, and bolted inside, Tarek
on her heels. Once they were there, she dared to speak softly. “The ships are not moving. I believe both have run aground. What will happen now?”

  Tarek shook his head. “They will either shoot at each other until all their cannonballs are used up, or one of them will break free and sail over to loose their cannons at the other from such close range that the trapped ship will be utterly destroyed.”

  Ayisha nodded. “Yes. And since the enemy ship is smaller and lighter, it seems likely that it will be the one to float free first. When we went below, it was low tide, or so Chamba told me. The tide must have turned by now.” She looked out their starboard gun port, which faced northeast. “I cannot see Ra, but his light seems low. I believe he will set within the hour.”

  Their whispered conversation was interrupted every few seconds by the booming of the cannons. The sound was so loud that Ayisha wanted to clap her hands over her ears and scream, just to shut it out. She ordered herself to ignore the noise, difficult though that might be.

  Tarek was watching her, his eyes intent on her face. “So?” he said. “There is nothing we can do about this, Your Highness.”

  Ayisha took a deep breath. “Do you remember what Captain Sparrow said to me just before you carried me below?”

  “I confess I was not paying much attention, Highness.”

  “He said, ‘Unless you can blow up his powder magazine for me, you cannot help.’”

  “I remember now.” Tarek looked at her skeptically. “You aren’t thinking that you.…”

  “I am,” she said, fiercely. “I believe I can. And I will. That is why I was summoned to come up here, so I could see all of this, and know what I could do.”

  Tarek’s eyes widened. “To work a transfer spell, so far from Zerzura? Highness, you cannot! Not even a High Priest could do that.”

  “I can,” she said. “Or die trying. Now either help me, or get out of my way.”

  Tarek shrugged, helplessly. “The Hemef ordered me to guard you, Highness. I must do my duty.”