Wild Waters

by Rob Kidd

Jocard laughed. “Well, I must admit I don’t cook it anymore,” he said. “But I trained our cook myself, so…I’d say it’s not too bad.”

  Marcella harrumphed. “I’m sure it’s better than the nastiness they make us eat on his horrible ship,” she said, shooting Jack a malevolent look. She tossed her hair again and flounced her skirts, and then finally she said, “Well, all right. But just for the food.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Jean sputtered.

  “Quick! Make sail before she changes her mind!” Jack yelled, sprinting toward the gangplank.

  “Are you sure about this?” Jean asked Jocard worriedly. “She’s a little unusual. Sometimes she likes to shred things when she’s really angry. But a glass of milk and some fish should calm her down…um…she really hates getting wet…”

  “Don’t fret,” Jocard laughed, steering Jean off his ship. “I can handle Marcella.”

  “I don’t need handling!” she shouted, flouncing around the deck. “And I haven’t shredded anything in weeks! You’re such a liar, Jean!”

  “It’ll be fun,” Jocard reassured Jean. At the look on Jean’s face, he amended, “Well, it won’t be boring.”

  Carolina found Diego standing at the prow of the Black Pearl, staring off into the bay.

  “Did you hear all that?” she asked, linking her arm through his.

  “How could I not?” he said, smiling at her.

  “Marcella’s voice really…carries. I’m not sure I understand it, though. I didn’t know she hated the food here that much.”

  Carolina started laughing. “It’s not really about the food. You’re such a boy.” When he looked blank, she shoved his shoulder. “Marcella likes Jocard. That’s why she’s always complaining about him. And that’s why she was so intent on tormenting Sarah.”

  “Oh,” Diego said, comprehension dawning on his face. “Does that—does that mean she’s forgotten about me?”

  “Well, I’m not sure she knows how much she likes Jocard yet,” Carolina said. “So you might not be off the hook…but the good news is, I’m not sure how much she really liked you in the first place.”

  Diego looked earnestly into her dark eyes. “Carolina,” he said, “you must believe me. I have never had feelings for Marcella. I never meant to kiss her. There is only one girl for me in the whole world and it’s—”

  “Oh, enough talking,” Carolina said, and kissed him.

  “Good-bye, Jackie,” Teague said down on the dock, shaking Jack’s hand.

  “And good riddance,” Grandmama added, stomping away with her cane.

  “Come back again for the holidays,” Teague suggested. “Auntie ‘Quick Draw’ McFleming will be visiting with all your little cousins.”

  Jack shuddered. “I’d rather be eaten by turtles,” he admitted.

  “I’m here if you ever need your hide saved again!” Grandmama shouted from the end of the dock. “I love a nice, gory battle! Anytime!”

  “How old is she?” Jack asked, trying to do the math in his head.

  “Safer not to ask,” said Teague. “Now Jackie, you will take care of yourself, won’t you? Don’t be a hero. Be a pirate. If there’s a Shadow Lord after you, do what a pirate would, you hear?”

  “You mean survive?” Jack said. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at that.”

  “Not just surviving,” Teague said with a dark expression. “Make sure that whatever you choose…you can still live with yourself at the end.”

  Jack watched Teague stroll back to the streets of Libertalia. He thought again of Jean’s ominous visions of the future. Jack didn’t like hard choices. Better not to think about it until he had to.

  Up on the deck of the Ranger, Marcella was leaning against the rail and staring into her mirror, admiring the way the wind blew through her hair. She glanced around to make sure the pirates were busy at the other end of the ship, and then she grimaced into the mirror to check that there was nothing in her teeth.

  “This will be much nicer,” she said conversationally to the mirror, running her fingers through her hair. “The Ranger is so much cleaner than the Pearl. I won’t have to share hammock space with Carolina. And I won’t have to listen to Jack capering around being a lunatic all day long.”

  Marcella heard a strange noise, almost like a muffled shriek of rage, come from the mirror. She shook her head, wiggled her finger in her ear, and then peered closer at the glassy surface.

  All of a sudden, a face appeared in the mirror—and it wasn’t Marcella’s!

  She came very close to screaming and throwing the mirror overboard. But then she recognized the face.

  “Barbara!” she cried with delight. It was her elegant friend, the one that Marcella had helped stow away on the Pearl on the voyage from Hong Kong to India. The last time Marcella had seen her, right before the battle at Suvarnadurg, Barbara had given her the mirror as a memento of their friendship (or so Marcella thought).

  “Marcella!” Barbara said in a sugary sweet voice. “I’ve missed you so much!”

  “This is crazy.” Marcella gasped. She turned the mirror over and checked the other side. “How are you doing this?” She shook the mirror as if she expected Barbara to come tumbling out. The well-dressed redhead looked queasy when Marcella peered into the mirror again. “Is it magic?” Marcella bubbled on. “I didn’t know there was anything like this in the world!” She poked at Barbara’s face with her fingers.

  “Stop that!” Barbara snapped. “Marcella, my patience is wearing thin. Did I just hear you say you’re leaving the Pearl ?”

  “I am!” Marcella said. “Isn’t it terrific? I’m going to sail on the Ranger instead. It’s so much nicer, you wouldn’t believe.” She paused, blinking, as she registered what Barbara had said. “Hey, wait a second. You were listening to me?”

  “You cannot leave the Pearl !” Barbara shouted. “You must stay with Jack Sparrow!”

  “But we are staying with Jack!” Marcella protested. “We’re all going to France together.”

  “France,” Barbara said icily. She turned and glanced over her shoulder. “Write that down.”

  “I think I can remember bloody France,” said a male voice in the background.

  “Who’s that?” Marcella asked, squinting. “Are you with someone? Is that a ship you’re on?”

  As Barbara turned back to Marcella, she jostled the mirror on her end. For a moment, the room behind her spun, and Marcella caught a glimpse of the man standing beside Barbara. She gasped.

  “That’s Benedict Huntington!” Marcella cried. “Diego warned me about him! He’s the one that’s been chasing us! He’s totally evil!”

  “On the contrary,” Benedict said, leaning over to stare coolly into Marcella’s eyes. “I serve the Company, whatever they need me to do.”

  “You were working together this whole time,” Marcella realized, her eyes starting to fill with tears. Everything Barbara had told her—all their whispered conversations on the trip to India—all of it was fake! “Barbara, you lied to me. You said you were my friend.”

  “Oh, spare me the histrionics,” Barbara said, rolling her eyes. “Listen, Marcella, we can be very good friends to you. Keep telling us where Jack is and what he’s planning, and we can save you from this revolting pirate life you hate so much. If you help us catch him, we can guarantee your safety, and probably a big reward as well. Just think of all the pretty dresses and fans and gloves you’ll be able to buy! Just like mine! And you’ll never have to set foot on a ship again. You’ll be able to live wherever you want to. Maybe France? I think you’d quite like it there.”

  “A life of ease and luxury,” Benedict said smarmily. “All in exchange for a little information. What could be easier than that?”

  Marcella bit her lip. “But…what about Jean? Will he be safe, too?”

  Benedict’s eyes turned cold. “There will be no leniency for the other pirates,” he snapped.

  “They’re all wanted men,” Barbara agreed. “You understand, Marcella. This deal is fo
r you alone.”

  “I will see every pirate punished,” Benedict growled. “Especially the Pirate Lords of the Brethren Court. And most especially Jack Sparrow.”

  Marcella was sorely tempted. She’d never really been rich, but she could imagine how wonderful it would be. Having everything she wanted…being treated like a real lady…going to balls and living in a big house…

  She looked away from the mirror, thinking, and saw Jocard strolling among his men, giving quiet orders and making suggestions as they prepared the ship to sail. He saw her watching him and waved with an amused smile.

  “Marcella?” Barbara demanded. “Marcella, don’t be a fool. This is your only chance. Get back to the Pearl right now, and everything will be just fine.”

  Marcella took a deep breath, snapped the mirror shut, and tossed it overboard. It landed with a tiny splash in the harbor. She could see its silvery shape shimmering like an exotic fish as it slowly sank through the clear, blue-green water.

  She still hated pirates. She wouldn’t mind getting rid of a few in particular; it would be lovely to see Jack and Carolina swing from the end of a rope. But she couldn’t betray them all the way the Huntingtons wanted her to—especially not Jean—or Jocard, who had promised her jambalaya for dinner that night.

  On the other hand, she also didn’t want to get into trouble. She decided not to tell anyone about the magical spying mirror. It would be terrible if they blamed her for how Benedict always seemed to find them. And it wasn’t really her fault. After all, she hadn’t known it was a supernatural mirror!

  As the Ranger slowly pulled out of the bay, its white sails billowing like morning clouds, Marcella watched the horizon uneasily.

  Benedict and Barbara knew about France now. They had contacts in Europe who would be more than happy to lay their hands on a pair of Pirate Lords.

  And Marcella was the only one who knew that the pirates might be sailing right into a trap.

  EPILOGUE

  A full moon floated over the city of Marseilles, France. Its silvery light was reflected in the soft ripples of the sea around the port. Even in the dark of night, several of the ships lining the dock were bustling with activity as men loaded and unloaded cargo.

  Two sailors staggered along one of the docks, joking about the beautiful French women they were hoping to meet while their ship was in port.

  One of them squinted out at the sea.

  “Hey, François,” he said. “Am I drunker than I thought? Is that a ship coming in?”

  François tilted his head, looking puzzled. “But—there is no wind.”

  “And the oars aren’t moving,” said his friend.

  They stared at the ship as it glided closer and closer in eerie silence. The sails were slack and still. There was no movement on the deck. It looked almost as if it were made of dark clouds and shadows barely visible in the moonlight.

  “Is it the Flying Dutchman?” François whispered, his voice trembling with terror.

  Louis’s eyes went to the black flag hanging limp at the top of the main mast. “No. That’s a Jolly Roger,” he said, taking a step back. “But whose?”

  The sailors watched as the flag stirred slightly. They could barely make out a white skeleton…and a red heart.

  “Villanueva,” François breathed. “But where is his crew? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Louis answered. “But I’m not staying to find out!” He took off down the nearest alleyway, tripping over his feet as he ran. François paused only a moment, staring at the mysterious vessel, before turning and running after his friend.

  Other sailors along the dock fell silent and stopped what they were doing when they saw the ship approaching. There were no hails, no one waving from the deck, no sign of life at all. The ship sailed mercilessly forward at the same steady pace. It was aiming for an open berth along the dock.

  With barely a whisper of sound on the water, the Centurion pulled up to the dock and then it just…stopped. No one saw the anchor drop. No ropes were thrown from the deck to tie the ship in place. It just stopped.

  Suddenly a man appeared on the deck. He strode slowly to the rail. Stories differ about what happened next, but more than one sailor claimed that he saw the gangplank slide out and lower itself to the dock all by itself…with no human help at all.

  The man stepped down the gangplank, twisting a ring on his finger. He was short and round, with a large feathered hat, but he was definitely not Villanueva. It was hard to see his face clearly. It almost seemed as if dark shadows were wrapped around his neck like a scarf. Several sailors said they thought they saw black cats twining around his legs as he walked—but then the cats vanished into thin air, like smoke.

  Clop…clop…clop…

  The man’s boots echoed on the wooden dock as he walked toward the city, gazing menacingly around him.

  What the sailors could not see was the scene inside the Centurion.

  They could not see the crew bound and gagged and lying miserably in the brig.

  They could not see the proud Pirate Lord, Villanueva himself, tied firmly to a chair in his cabin. With a muffled, angry grunt, Villanueva tried to struggle free from his bonds, then froze as his captors poked him sharply in the ribs.

  His eyes traveled slowly up the hideous creatures standing guard over him. The closest one frightened him most of all. It looked like a strange construction of his own swabbing mop, his spyglass, a long red curtain, and a wicked-looking dagger. But it was alive—it was moving! Shadows wreathed around the ordinary objects, making them look like demons from his worst nightmares. The sailor really felt as if his spyglass were glaring at him.

  Villanueva shivered and bowed his head.

  Who could have known? Who would have suspected Henry, the lazy, fat pirate that Villanueva had “stolen” from Jack in Tortuga? Who would ever have guessed that he was the Shadow Lord himself?

  Perhaps Jack knew. That would be just like him, to trick Villanueva into taking the most dangerous pirate in the world onto his ship.

  A growl rumbled deep in Villanueva’s throat. He only hoped he lived long enough to see the Shadow Lord kill Jack Sparrow.

  Out on the dock, a sailor was shaking with fear as the Shadow Lord stopped beside him. Piercing black eyes seemed to stare at him from a pit of shadow.

  “Tell me,” hissed the Shadow Lord in French, “where I can find the Pirate Lord Chevalle.”

  “We don’t know anything about Chevalle,” the sailor squeaked. “Piracy is of course forbidden, and we wouldn’t have anything to do with—”

  A thick band of dark clouds shot out of the Shadow Lord’s ring and wrapped itself around the sailor’s throat.

  “Tell me,” the Shadow Lord repeated.

  Clawing at his throat, the sailor managed to gasp out directions.

  “Merci beaucoup,” said the Shadow Lord. He dropped the sailor in a quivering heap on the dock.

  Pulling on his gloves, the Shadow Lord set off into Marseilles with vengeance and murder glittering in his eyes.

  This is it! The stunning conclusion to the swashbuckling Brethren Court series. Be here when Jack finally encounters the Shadow Lord, while the fate of his crew—and the world—hang in the balance!