Standing slightly in front of his men, Captain Salazar stared with cold, dark eyes. “Jack the Sparrow,” he said, his voice gravelly. Another wave of ghosts rushed forward only to dematerialize.
“They can’t step on land!” Jack said, his expression softening. “And to think I was worried!” He began to do a little dance on the sand.
Beside him, Carina opened and closed her mouth as she struggled to comprehend the sight in front of her. She saw the men drifting through the air, floating, which was impossible. She saw them standing despite massive wounds in various parts of their bodies—some with entire parts of their bodies missing—which was also impossible. And then she heard the captain speak, which she again would have thought impossible. There really was only one explanation. And as the realization hit her, she finally found her voice. “Ghosts!” she screamed. “Ghosts!”
“Do you remember me, Jack?” Captain Salazar asked, ignoring Carina’s cries.
Jack nodded. “You look the same. Other than that gaping hole in your skull.” He peered down at the ghost’s feet. Then, unable to stop himself, he asked, “Are those new boots?”
“Ghosts!” Carina’s shrill voice caused Jack to jump. The girl had clearly lost it. She let out another scream and then took off running. Not hesitating, Henry followed, leaving Jack alone with his ghostly audience.
“I’ll be waiting for you, Jack,” Salazar went on. “You will know my pain.”
Jack looked at Salazar, then over his shoulder at Carina and Henry. Then back at Salazar. While the reunion had been lovely, he really didn’t think it needed to continue. “Love to stay and chat,” he said, turning on his heel, “but my map just ran away!”
With that, Jack turned to run. Behind him, he heard Salazar let out a terrifying roar. Jack shuddered despite himself. He couldn’t stay on land forever. He was a pirate, after all, meant to command a ship on the open water. And he knew that the moment he returned to the high seas, Salazar would be waiting for him.
Lieutenant Scarfield was growing impatient. Jack, Henry, and Carina had brought shame upon his reputation when they avoided death on Saint Martin. Now he was doing everything in his power to find them—even stooping to seeking the help of the sea witch Shansa.
He watched as his men led the woman down the darkened hall of the jail, their guns drawn. They looked nervously at Shansa’s slight yet commanding frame, trying to keep as much distance from her as possible. Even the other prisoners stepped back from their cells as she passed.
“You dare try and take me!” Shansa cried as all the cell doors flew open.
Scarfield remained calm. He would not let a witch shake him.
“The sea has turned to blood,” he said. “Nobody can protect you anymore.”
Shansa’s eyes narrowed. “Who will protect you, Lieutenant?”
“The British navy. Time to serve the crown.” The soldiers cocked their guns. Scarfield went on. “A soldier washed ashore talking about the Trident of Poseidon. He was looking for Jack Sparrow—the same pirate who saved a witch from the gallows.”
“She is no witch.” Shansa scoffed.
“But you are,” Scarfield replied. “And you’re going to help us. We will always command the sea.”
Shansa peered at the soldier thoughtfully. “You’re afraid, Lieutenant. As ships burn in the night, you want to know if you can save your own? If the Trident is real?”
Scarfield motioned to the cell behind him, to the markings on the wall the last occupant had left behind. “You’re going to read that wall for me or you will die. I want to know where Jack Sparrow is going with that witch.”
Shansa moved forward, staring at Carina’s equations and drawings of constellations. “Destiny is in these stars,” she told Scarfield. “I will set your course.”
Henry was panicking. He had lost Carina. One minute she had been plunging through the jungle in front of him, and then she had just disappeared. He had searched everywhere but found nothing—not a single trace of her.
“We have to find her,” he said for the eleventh time as he and Jack made their way down a dirt road. In the distance, Henry could see a small town. He was hoping that Carina had ended up there and would be waiting for him with a scowl on her face when they arrived.
Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw Jack raise an eyebrow. He was sashaying along as though he had not a care in the world, even while, in reality, there was a ghost captain intent on destroying him. And his only hope of truly escaping Salazar’s clutches was Carina, who, as Henry had pointed out many a time since they had begun walking down the road, was missing. It infuriated Henry.
“I know what’s ailing you, boy…” Jack said, stopping to wipe something off his pant leg. “I’ve seen it before in sad, half-witted idiotic dum-dums like yourself, who so stupidly find themselves out at sea, having left a beautiful, alluring young woman behind only to wind up in the arms of some strapping young bloke with perfect teeth, et cetera….You’ve got the unscratchable itch!” He paused and scratched under his arm. “Take my word for it: time will never heal your pain….”
Henry had had enough. He had listened to the pirate’s ramblings for hours. He had put up with the man’s crazy theories of love, and he hadn’t even bothered to point out that Jack was not someone from whom he wanted to receive advice. He had even overlooked the fact that the man had gone back on his word more than once in the short time they had known each other. He had put up with it all. But enough was enough. Stopping in his tracks, he turned on Jack. “She is the only one who can find the Trident!” he said, his voice louder than he had intended. “I am not in love with her!”
Jack pretended to look perplexed. “Love?” he repeated. “Who said anything about love? I’m talking about scabies! Small mites that burrow under the skin. Is that not what’s ailing you? It’s certainly been ailing me. Has been for years—”
His excuse was cut short by a high-pitched scream coming from somewhere ahead. It was followed by “Help me!” Jack and Henry exchanged looks. That was Carina. There was no doubt. The pair took off running. They jumped off the road and pushed their way through heavy leaves and branches until they came to a clearing. Looking up, they saw Carina hanging in a net that swung slowly back and forth from a large branch.
“Help her!” Jack said to Henry.
But before the young man could act, both he and Jack were swept up into a net of their own. A moment later, a gang of rough-and-tumble men materialized from the jungle around them. Jack gulped. He recognized them. “Help…me?” he said just as the leader walked over and hit him on the side of the head. The last thing Jack saw before his vision went dark was the man’s wicked smile. They were in trouble now….
Jack woke with a start. His throat was parched and his heart was pounding. Where was he? What was he doing there? And most importantly, where was the rum?
Jack looked around and found he was surrounded by men. But they weren’t just any men. They were part of Pierre “Pig” Kelly’s gang. And Pig Kelly was not very fond of Jack. Glancing to his left, Jack saw Carina and Henry standing, guns aimed at their heads. Carina, he noted, was wearing a tattered red dress and holding flowers. Odd time to change, Jack thought just as Pig Kelly stepped forward.
“Wake up, Sparrow,” the man said. His nose was smooshed nearly flat, giving him a distinctly piglike appearance. “Time to pay your debt.”
“Pig Kelly,” Jack said, smiling. “My old friend.”
The man scowled and raised his gun. “Friend?” He turned to his men. “You hear that, boys? This lying pirate owes me a plunder of silver. But luck has brought him to Hangman’s Bay—and he’ll settle his debt here and now.”
“Of course, Pig,” Jack said, oozing false sincerity. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. Prayed for your safety after inadvertently paying those men to put you in a sack.” He shrugged as Henry shot him an accusing look. “Name your price.”
Now a devilish smile crossed the other man’s face as he gestured to someone
standing behind him. “Her name is Beatrice. And she’s my poor widowed sister.”
Jack suppressed a gasp. Pig’s “poor sister” was quite round and quite blotchy, her mouth lined with scabs and sores. When she smiled at Jack, she flashed a set of rotten yellow teeth. He grimaced.
“She’s a midwife,” Pig Kelly went on, clearly enjoying the moment. “Been looking for a respectable man. But they don’t come to this horrid place, so you’ll do.”
“I’ll do what?” Jack asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Make an honest woman of her,” Pig Kelly replied. He gave a signal, and an old man began to play a wedding march on his broken fiddle. As Jack watched with growing horror, Beatrice pulled out a veil and slipped it over her head, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide her ghastly features. Looking around, Jack finally saw that they were not in just any clearing. They were all standing under the bleached bones of a whale. They were in a seaman’s chapel, which could only mean…
“Congratulations, Jack,” Pig Kelly went on, “it’s your wedding day.”
Jack let out a very high-pitched scream and turned to run. But he hadn’t gone two steps before he was pulled back. A rope had been tied to his neck. The other end was attached to the top of the altar. He was going nowhere.
As a priest opened his Bible and shakily took his place at the front of the altar, Pig Kelly ordered the best man and bridesmaid to be brought forward. Henry and Carina were shoved toward the altar, both struggling. That explains the outfit, Jack thought as the pair were positioned on either side of him. A moment later, two small children joined the wedding party.
“What are those?” Jack said, eyeing the children. They were the ugliest small humans he had ever seen.
“Our children,” Beatrice said, flashing her horrible smile. Then she leaned closer to Jack and whispered in his ear, her breath smelling worse than ten dirty pirates, “Best not to look them in the eye.”
Jack shuddered when the priest began. As he ordered them to place their hands on the Bible, Jack racked his brain for any way out of the uncomfortable situation. “I have scabies!” he offered hopefully.
“So do I,” Beatrice said.
“Now, say ‘I do,’ or I’ll put a bullet in your skull,” Pig Kelly ordered, ending Jack’s futile attempts to avoid marriage.
“Promise me you won’t miss?” Jack asked. Next to him, he heard the sound of a gun cocking as one of Pig Kelly’s men aimed his gun at Henry’s head. He considered his options. If he didn’t go through with this sham of a wedding, Henry and Carina would be killed right along with him, which would be a shame. On the other hand, if he did go through with it, he would have to be married to Beatrice—and be a father to the two monster children—which would also be a shame.
“Wait!”
Henry’s shout startled Jack. Turning, he looked expectantly at the young man. Henry’s father had always had a way of getting them out of tight spots. Perhaps the trait ran in the family.
“This is not legal,” Henry went on.
Jack groaned. Pig Kelly couldn’t have cared less about legality. Sure enough, the bride’s brother ignored Henry’s protest and urged the priest to continue.
But just when it looked like Jack’s days as a bachelor—or his days in general—were about to end, there was a loud bang as a gun went off. One of the ribs of the whale skeleton shattered into a thousand pieces. Raising his hands to protect himself from the falling debris, Jack slowly turned. He had recognized the sound of that particular blunderbuss.
“Ah, Jack! We meet again!”
Barbossa stood, his gun still smoking, at the edge of the makeshift altar. His golden peg leg glimmered in the sun, and a large feathered hat shaded his eyes. His men stood a few feet behind him, watching the scene unfold.
“Hector?” Jack said, genuinely perplexed by the man’s sudden appearance. “Who invited you to my wedding? Did you bring me a present?”
In response, Barbossa strode closer. Lifting his gun once more, he shot Pig Kelly right in the kneecap. As the man let out a pained shriek, his gang took off running. In moments, the altar had been cleared of enemies.
“Thanks,” Jack said as the other man freed him from his rope. “It’s just what I’ve always wanted. I must say, you look marvelous.” He glanced at Barbossa’s fancy outfit, complete with gold buttons.
Barbossa inclined his head in thanks. “And I’m amazed how you’ve managed to maintain your youthful appearance.”
As the two men continued to go back and forth with oddly warm greetings, Barbossa’s crew member Mullroy looked back and forth, confused. That was not the reunion he had anticipated when Barbossa had agreed to go on dry land in Salazar’s place, find Jack, and return him to the Silent Mary. In fact, that was not the reunion he would have anticipated even if that had not been the case. Last he had checked, Barbossa and Jack were, well, at odds.
“Um, Captain,” he said hesitantly. “Shouldn’t we be, um, getting back to Salazar so we can trade Jack’s life for our own?”
Barbossa nodded, not needing a reminder of the agreement. “Aye,” he said. “That we could—but I have come for the Trident of Poseidon!”
His announcement seemed to echo off the whale bones, bouncing to each of Barbossa’s men until, one by one, they realized exactly what their captain had in mind. “You’re going to double-cross the dead?” Murtogg finally said.
“But you promised!” Mullroy protested.
Barbossa shot the ex-marine a glare. How dare he question his plans? Barbossa knew exactly what he was doing. “With the Trident of Poseidon, I will gut the dead who stole my command of the sea!” he said. He added silently, Salazar will rue the day he dared cross Hector Barbossa.
While Barbossa laid out his revised plan to his crew, Jack listened eagerly. He had always enjoyed watching Barbossa when the man’s hackles were raised. He was quite the force to be reckoned with when that happened. And although he liked the other captain’s new plan—especially seeing as he would benefit quite gloriously—there were two small problems. “Firstly,” he said to Barbossa, “I don’t wish us to die. And secondly, no vessel can outrun that shipwreck….”
“But there is one, Jack,” Barbossa said, having already anticipated that problem. He drew his sword and aimed it at Jack. The pirate took a nervous step back. “And she be the fastest ship at sea. The Pearl”—he tapped the bottle under Jack’s coat—“entrapped in that bottle by Blackbeard five winters ago.”
Jack opened his mouth to point out that while he remembered all too well what Blackbeard had done and appreciated the confidence in his ship, it would do them little good in its current state. But before he could say anything, Barbossa once again surprised him. Raising his sword high above his head, Barbossa began to swing it around in a circle.
“By the power of that blackguard’s sovereign blade, I hereby release the Black Pearl to claim her former glory!” Letting out a roar, Barbossa brought down the sword, stabbing it straight toward Jack’s heart. There was barely a whisper as the sharp blade pierced the pirate’s jacket and then an audible tink as steel met glass. Against his chest, Jack felt the glass bottle begin to vibrate. He opened his jacket. A small crack had appeared in the side of the bottle where it had been struck by Blackbeard’s blade. As Jack watched, a few drops of water flowed out onto his shirt, like blood from a wound.
Jack looked up and smiled. “Ooh, Hector,” he said, hope long since lost to him finally returning, “I think my waters have broken.”
As the twilight gave way to night, Jack ran toward the beach of Hangman’s Bay, water pouring from the glass bottle and soaking his jacket. Just as he burst from the jungle onto the sand, Barbossa and his crew right behind him, the glass exploded into a thousand shards. The Black Pearl dropped at Jack’s feet.
And then it began to grow.
And grow.
And grow.
Shimmying backward, Jack frantically tried to escape being trapped under the Pearl. His eyes were wide a
nd his heart was pounding as he watched his beloved ship build back up.
And then it stopped growing.
Jack walked to it and leaned over. It had grown; that much was true. But while it was not a few inches long anymore, it now barely spanned a couple feet. It looked like a toy version of the real thing. Picking it up, Jack peered onto its decks. Then he lifted a foot as though trying to board. He sighed. “Maybe size does matter,” he finally said sadly.
Barbossa took the ship from Jack. He stared at it for one long beat. In the light from the moon, the ship seemed like a fish out of water. Its sides seemed to heave for breath, its sails billowing in and out like gasping lungs. He walked with the Pearl to the edge of the water.
Then he threw it in.
“She needs the sea,” Barbossa said, turning back to the gathered crowd.
Together, the two men stood on shore, watching the ship bobble on the waves. Then it began to sink, disappearing under the dark water. The pirates stared in shock, wondering what had gone wrong.
“She was a fine ship,” Jack said after a moment.
“As fine as any that ever sailed,” Barbossa agreed.
They stood in respectful silence, each lost in thoughts of the adventures he had had on the Pearl. Jack felt his heart breaking anew as, once more, his ship was taken from him. He hung his head.
“Something’s happening.” Henry’s voice broke through the fog of sadness enveloping Jack. Slowly, Jack lifted his head. The boy was right. Something was indeed happening. In front of their very eyes, the sea began to bubble and foam. The water turned white, as though churned by some powerful force below. And then the Pearl exploded up from beneath the waves.
It was no longer the four-foot toy ship it had been only moments before. In the moonlight, its sides gleamed as though freshly polished. Its black sails hung from the masts and its Jolly Roger waved in the light wind off the sea. As it settled itself on the water, Jack smiled. The Pearl was back. And that meant so was he.
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales Novelization Page 9