The crew stared at him. “The pirate Barbossa rules these seas now,” Pike stated. “He has ten ships, guns full!”
“Let’s go,” Marty said, turning. The rest of the crew began to follow.
Jack grimaced. How could his crew have forgotten their conquests? They had found the Treasure of Macedonia together. And the gold of Midas. True, it had turned out to be nothing more than a trove of rotted wood and a pile of cow dung, respectively, but that was not the point. The point was they had done it together.
“Face it, Jack,” Gibbs, Jack’s first mate and the man he had thought would always have his back, said softly, “bad luck follows you day and night.”
“Bad luck,” Jack repeated. “Ridiculous.”
“We know you fear your own sword,” another of the pirates went on, “that you believe it’s cursed—with intention to slit your throat!” In unison the crew members turned and looked pointedly at their captain’s sword. It lay across from him on the deck.
Jack shook his head. “Afraid? Has ever a more absurd word been spoken?”
“Then pick up your blade and hold it.”
Jack looked at the sword. Then at his men. Then back at his sword. He began to reach out for it and hesitated. Then, in one swift move, he rushed over, picked it up, and hurled it overboard. Acting as though that were the most natural thing to do with one’s weapon, he then turned back to his crew. “Problem solved,” he said.
But the problem wasn’t solved—not in the slightest. Before he could protest any further, the crew turned and, one by one, began to leave the Dying Gull. The last two to go were Gibbs and Scrum. “Sir,” Gibbs began haltingly, “I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the horizon.”
Walking to the rail, Jack gingerly pulled the Pearl out of his jacket. He stared down at his beloved ship, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Where had he gone wrong? What had brought him to that point? He reached into a pocket and retrieved his compass. It was supposed to show him the way, point to what he wanted most. At the moment, it was pointing out to sea.
“They’re wrong, Gibbs,” Jack said, sighing. “I’m still Captain Jack Sparrow.”
Gibbs paused, seeing the turmoil in the man’s eyes. He wanted to agree, but he couldn’t—not anymore. Patting Jack on the shoulder, he left the deck with Scrum. Behind them, Jack remained, alone, one hand on the railing. Over the years he had out-tricked so many people and outmaneuvered so many situations. But perhaps his luck really had changed. Because he had no idea how he was going to get out of this mess.
“The whole town speaks of you—the only survivor of the Monarch.”
Opening his eyes, Henry Turner found himself staring up at Lieutenant Scarfield. Two British soldiers flanked him. Behind them, Henry could see nurses and doctors milling about as they took care of the soldiers who had been brought to the military hospital on Saint Martin. He closed his eyes again and scrunched his nose as a fresh wave of pain washed over him.
He didn’t need a reminder of how he had gotten there. He remembered every detail with frightening clarity: the Monarch being overtaken by Captain Salazar and his ghostly crew; soldiers being skewered by nearly invisible weapons; the captain letting him go with the sole purpose of passing on a message to Captain Jack Sparrow; and then the long days at sea as he paddled his way to Saint Martin on nothing but a piece of driftwood. By the time he had made it ashore, he was delirious with thirst, hunger, and a good helping of fear. Things had gotten a little fuzzy after that, but he did recall trying to tell anyone who would listen about the ghost pirates and the Trident that could save them all.
His father! The thought of the Trident brought his real purpose crashing back. He tried sitting up, only to find himself unable to; his hands had been shackled to the bed. “Sir,” he begged, “let me go of these chains. I have to find Captain Jack Sparrow.”
Scarfield seemed unmoved. “It’s my job to protect this island and these waters. Your sleeves have been ripped—the mark of treason.”
“We were attacked by the dead, sir,” Henry replied. “I tried to warn them!” In his mind, that did not warrant the label of “traitor.”
Scarfield disagreed. “You’re a coward; you ran from battle. And that is how you’ll die.” With those ominous words hanging in the air, he turned and walked away. The two soldiers followed, leaving Henry alone.
Henry lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. This was not good. He was in a military hospital, surrounded by soldiers, all of whom had probably been told to watch him with eagle eyes. How was he going to convince anyone of his story or innocence when he was trapped there?
“I don’t believe you’re a coward.”
Opening one eye, Henry saw a nun approaching him. She handed him a glass of water. Slowly, he took a sip. While he appreciated the nun’s confidence in him, he wasn’t really in the mood. “Please leave me, Sister.”
To Henry’s surprise, instead of turning and walking away, the nun moved closer. “I’ve risked my life to come here—to see if you truly believe as I believe: that the Trident will be found.”
Both of Henry’s eyes shot open. He took a closer look at the nun. He now saw a torn and dirty dress peeking out from the hem of her habit. And underneath the covering on her head, he saw strands of wild hair struggling to be free. The girl was beautiful and young and clearly no ordinary nun. In fact, he realized as he caught sight of a metal chain around her wrist, she was no nun at all. “You’re a witch?” he asked.
“I’m no more a witch than I am a nun,” Carina Smyth replied, tugging at her habit. “Tell me why you seek the Trident.”
Henry glanced around to make sure no one was listening. He lowered his voice. “The Trident can break any curse at sea,” he explained. “My father is trapped by such a curse—”
The girl cut him off. “You’re aware that curses are not supported by science?” she asked.
Henry shrugged. “Neither are ghosts,” he pointed out. But I’ve seen them, he added silently.
“So you’ve gone mad?” Carina asked. Then she sighed. “I never should have come here….”
“Then why did you?” Henry asked.
Carina started to leave but paused, thinking better of it. She had come for a reason. It seemed wrong to just walk away. “I need to get off this island,” she said. “To solve the Map—”
“No Man Can Read?” Henry finished, his excitement growing. How did this girl know about the map supposedly left behind by Poseidon himself?
She seemed to be wondering the same thing about him. “You’ve read the ancient texts?”
Henry nodded. “In each language they were written,” he replied with no hint of arrogance. “And no man has ever seen this map.”
“Luckily, I’m a woman,” Carina retorted. She reached into her habit and pulled out a book. It was worn and weathered with age, its pages brittle and its cover torn. In the center of the cover, hovering over a picture of a sea of stars, was a large red ruby. Henry found himself reaching for the book, but Carina pulled it back. “This is the diary of Galileo Galilei. He spent his life looking for the map.”
Henry widened his eyes in wonder. He knew who Galileo Galilei was—the astronomer and scientist who had invented the spyglass to scan the stars.
But apparently, that was not the reason he had invented it. At least, not according to Carina. He had invented it, she explained, to search for the map.
“You’re saying the Map No Man Can Read is hidden in the stars?” Henry asked, trying to wrap his head around what the girl was saying.
She nodded. “Soon there will be a blood moon. Only then will the map be read—and the Trident found.”
Henry stared at the girl, dumbfounded. “Who are you?” he finally asked.
“Carina Smyth!”
Scarfield’s voice echoed through the room. Henry saw that the lieutenant was walking toward them—with more men trailing behind, hands on their swords.
Above Henry, Carina ever so stealthily pulled a small metal pick out
of a pocket in her habit. “If you wish to save your father,” she whispered to Henry, her lips barely moving as she dropped the pick into his hand, “you’ll have to save me. Find us a ship—and the Trident will be ours.”
“Turn to me, witch!” Scarfield ordered, closing in on them.
Instantly, Carina took off running. Behind her, Scarfield let out a curse. He signaled to his men, and they went after her.
Henry didn’t hesitate. As Carina led the men in a chase around the room, he freed himself from his shackles. Dropping them to the floor, he scanned the room for a way out. He caught sight of Carina, standing in front of one of the large windows. Scarfield and his men had her cornered. Henry and the girl exchanged looks, and then, before anyone could stop him, Henry slipped through another window. Behind him he heard the soldiers shout in alarm. But it was too late. He was free. And when he reunited with Carina, he would be one step closer to rescuing his father. It seemed his luck had taken a turn for the better.
Jack Sparrow’s luck, however, had not. After his crew had abandoned him, he had tried to prove—at least to himself—that he was not unlucky. But he had failed miserably. First he had tried to rob a coach on the outskirts of town only to have it drive right by him. Then it had begun to rain. And when he had finally made it back into town and wandered into a local watering hole, looking for a beverage to quench his thirst, the barkeep had asked him to show him his silver, of which he had none. The only thing in his pockets, it turned out, was his compass.
“Well, do you want that drink or not?” the barkeep asked, watching Jack.
Jack looked down at the compass in his hand, torn between his thirst and his prized possession. Before he could make a decision, a fisherman wandered in and plopped his catch down on the bar next to Jack. Sticking out of the net was Jack’s sword. “Would you look at that?” the fisherman said, unaware of what his haul meant to the pirate next to him. “A fish stabbed itself with this here sword. I’ll sell it to the navy! How’s that for luck?”
With a shout, Jack reached over and grabbed the sword. He flung it across the bar. It hit a WANTED poster hanging on the far wall with an audible twang, the point firmly embedded right between the eyes of one Captain Jack Sparrow. With a sigh, Jack threw the compass on the bar. “The bottle,” he said.
As the barkeep handed him the brown bottle, the compass began to vibrate. Slight at first, the vibrations grew stronger and stronger. The men sitting at the bar looked up in confusion while Jack jumped back, fear in his eyes. Bottles and glassware began to fall to the ground and shatter as the small earthquake continued.
Jack had made a mistake—a big one. Nervously, he reached out to take back his compass—and hopefully right a wrong—but the barkeep snatched it up. Instantly, the quaking stopped. Shrugging, the man threw the compass over his shoulder. It landed in the middle of a pile of jewelry and trinkets collected in the same manner the compass had been—as payment.
Jack sighed and lifted the bottle to his lips. “The pirate’s life,” he said quietly. At least, it used to be, he added silently before taking a long, deep drink.
Under a dark sky, the Silent Mary sailed through the Devil’s Triangle. On its decks, the ghostly crew worked, scrubbing the boards that would never come clean and mending sails that could never be mended. They would never stop trying. It was captain’s orders, after all.
Up at the wheelhouse, Captain Salazar looked over the quiet sea, his eyes hard. He had been staring at the same sea for a lifetime. The same skeletal gulls hovered over their ship. The same dead men manned his crew. The same feeling of betrayal filled his unbeating heart. The curse he had been under was endless and excruciating. At his sides, his hands clenched tightly, anger coursing through him instead of blood.
And then he saw something. The ship’s wheel moved ever so slightly. Salazar narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. The wheel moved again. On its own, it began to steer the ship in a new direction. Sensing the change in course, the crew looked up and saw their captain standing a distance from the wheel. Curious, they stepped forward.
“Sir,” Salazar’s lieutenant, a ghost named Lesaro, began, “what’s happening?”
The captain did not answer at first. Instead, he looked out toward the horizon. At that moment, the highest peak of the Devil’s Triangle crumbled, revealing the shining sun behind it. Then the entire arch began to fall apart, rocks tumbling into the sea. There could be only one reason for this change in scenery. Could Jack Sparrow be so foolish? As the thought crossed his mind, the ship turned still further, the bow now aimed toward the distant horizon. A small smile began to spread across Salazar’s face. It appeared the pirate could be that foolish. “Jack Sparrow has given away the key!” he shouted over his shoulder.
He could hear his crew members muttering among themselves behind him. Some were confused, others excited even though they didn’t know exactly what that meant. Moving to stand beside him, a ghost named Santos pointed over the rail. “Sir, what is that?” he asked in confusion.
Salazar’s small smile grew into a bigger one. “Daylight,” he said. “After all these years, it’s time!”
The sunlight appeared to be growing wider and wider until, with a flash, it seemed to create a hole in what had been up until then an invisible border.
Captain Salazar wasted no time. “Hard to starboard!” he shouted to his men. “We’ll sail to the edge and cross with the light!”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lesaro responded. Turning to the crew, he gave the order. “All hands full and make more sail!”
As the men rushed to their posts and began to prepare the ship, Captain Salazar stared straight ahead. The daylight was moving closer and closer. The Devil’s Triangle was no more. The ship picked up speed as its sails caught the wind, and then, with a whoosh, it burst through the hole of sunlight and into the sea beyond.
There was a moment of silence as the ghostly crew of the Silent Mary stared at the sea around them. The dark sky of the Triangle had been replaced with a bright blue one. The rougher seas had calmed.
“We’re free!” Lieutenant Lesaro’s shout echoed over the water as the crew cheered. Standing by the wheel, Captain Salazar nodded. It was true. They were free—finally.
“My very dead men,” he said, turning to his crew with a triumphant smile, “the sea is ours! It is time to go hunt a pirate!”
As his cruel laugh bounced off the waves, the Silent Mary set a new course. Salazar was going after Jack Sparrow, and he wouldn’t stop hunting pirates until he found him—and made him pay for every moment Salazar had been trapped in his watery hell. He stared into the distance and spotted the telltale Jolly Roger of a pirate ship. It looked like he could start his hunting immediately. The pirate’s way of life was over.
Night had fallen on the isle of Saint Martin. Unaware of the new danger stalking the seas, its citizens tucked themselves into bed for the night, cozy in their ignorance. In the sky hung a large full moon. But it was no ordinary full moon. It shone bright red in the dark sky—a blood moon.
Inside her cell, Carina was making calculations on the wall by the light of the ominous moon. Time was running out. She didn’t need a timepiece to know that. She sensed it in her bones. Her chance at finding the Trident and discovering the true meaning of Galileo’s diary was slipping from her grasp. A wave of desperation flooded over her, but as quickly as it overcame her, she brushed it off. She had come up against harder odds and beaten them in the past. She could do it again. She just needed to think harder. Holding the book up to the moonlight, she turned it this way and that. “Just because you can’t see something,” she said softly to herself, “doesn’t mean it’s not there….” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the brilliant red ruby on the cover of the diary.
The moonlight caused it to shimmer enticingly, and Carina was unable to stop herself from pulling off the ruby. She had done it many times before, but never in a prison cell and never under the light of a blood moon, or more scientifically spe
aking, a lunar eclipse. To her surprise, as the light shone through the ruby, words that had been invisible began to appear on the cover of the diary. “‘To release the power of the sea, all must divide,’” she read.
Then she noticed that the ruby had illuminated something else in the illustration of the waves—a small island.
A pair of soldiers made their way down the prison hall. They stopped in front of Lieutenant Scarfield, who was standing guard at the front. Scarfield and his men had brought in two important prisoners that day—Carina and, as luck would have it, Jack Sparrow, the latter having gotten so drunk at the local tavern he had been unable to fight off the soldiers who stumbled upon him. The lieutenant now refused to leave the prison, even though it was heavily guarded and it was below his station to stand watch. He had let the witch and the pirate slip out of his grasp too many times that day to take any chances. And he was still furious that he had managed to lose the traitor, Henry Turner.
“Sir,” one of the soldiers said, addressing the lieutenant, “we have reports of ships burning at sea. An unknown enemy has taken to these waters.”
“Pirates?” Scarfield asked.
The soldiers shook their heads. “Something else,” the first officer answered.
While the trio continued to discuss the situation, a lone guard in a red coat made his way quickly down the hall of the dark prison. The guard’s cap was pulled low over his eyes, obscuring his features. He came to a stop in front of one of the dankest, dirtiest cells. Then he stepped up to the bars. “I need to speak with you,” he whispered. As he leaned forward, the moonlight illuminated his features, revealing him to be Henry Turner. He waited with bated breath for an answer from inside the cell. Suddenly, an arm went around Henry’s neck, pulling him tightly against the bars.
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales Novelization Page 4