The Caribbean (2 page)

E
ven in the middle of the day, the Faithful Bride was crowded with cutthroats, drunken louts, and scoundrels in search of a ship to join (or steal, or loot). The sounds of singing and bottles smashing drifted out to Jack and his partners as they approached the rundown shack. Soon they were hit by its familiar smell of seaweed and wet wood and ale and fish. Mostly ale. Pirates often joked that so many pints had been spilled at the Faithful Bride that the floorboards were now more ale than wood.

Inside the door, the three men paused to let their eyes adjust to the candlelight; only splinters of sunshine peeked through the cracks in the window shutters. Several unsavory characters eyed them in a rather unfriendly way, but Jack casually adjusted his coat so they could see the sword at his waist, and they turned back to their tankards, muttering unpleasantly.

“All right, lads,” Jack announced. Some of the drinkers stopped singing to peer at him groggily. “Who here would like to join the finest pirate crew ever to sail the Caribbean?”

“Why, is Villanueva hiring?” one of them called, and a few others laughed.

Jack sniffed. Villanueva was a Pirate Lord—the Spanish one—and he was
supposed
to be on the other side of the Atlantic, bothering (and stealing from) Spaniards. Not here, competing with Jack for fame and attention.

“You would be joining the
Black Pearl
. You may have heard of it by its former name, the
Wicked Wench
,” he said, grinning at the whispers that ran around the room. People had heard of his ship, all right. Several of them stood up to approach him. “And you would be sailing under the command of the famous Pirate Lord of the Caribbean,
Captain
Jack Sparrow!”

Everybody sat down again, clearly deflated.

“Oh, come now,” Jack said. “It’s all slander and calumny! Don’t believe everything you hear! Well, maybe
most
things. But it’s going to be different this time, me hearties. Treasure and fortune await!”

All the drinkers stared fixedly into their mugs of ale.

“Well,” Jack said. “We are going to sit down right over here, and you can all line up to be interviewed.” He sat down with a flourish at one of the empty wooden tables and waited for a long moment. “No pushing,” he added. “Let’s be civilized.”

“This is embarrassing,” Barbossa hissed, pulling up a chair beside Jack. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”

“Nonsense,” Jack said, waving his hand. “Why, here comes a likely candidate now.”

The man weaving tipsily up to their table looked on the young side for a pirate. He wore pointed boots that slipped and slid on the sticky, ale-covered floorboards. His belt held a holster, but no pistols. The green bandanna around his neck sure looked as if it was covered in tiny daisies. And his too-big hat kept sliding down over his eyes.

Barbossa snorted. “ ‘Likely candidate’? Likely to fall overboard the moment the ship moves, if you ask me.”

“Oh, let’s give him a chance,” Bill said.

At the last minute, the ungainly stranger tripped, apparently on nothing, and half-fell, half-collapsed into the chair in front of them. All three of them leaned forward and examined him.

“And what makes you think you’re worthy to crew the
Black Pearl
?” Jack asked him, signaling for a bottle of rum.

“Um,” the stranger stammered. “I like…boats? No, seagulls. No, boats. Wait—both!”

“Perfect,” Jack said. “Enthusiasm. I like it.”

Barbossa put his head in his hands and sighed deeply.

“You’ve made an excellent choice,” Jack said, beaming at the stranger. “There is no finer ship in the Caribbean—nay, the world.”

“Name?” Barbossa barked.

“Catastrophe Shane,” the man said awkwardly, tipping his hat at them, then pushing it back again as it fell over his eyes.

“Catastrophe Shane!” Jack cried with glee. “I’ve never heard a better fearsome pirate name! Other than Captain Jack Sparrow, of course.”

Barbossa rolled his eyes.

“I can see there’s no need to ask you any questions,” Jack sailed on. “With a name like Catastrophe Shane, you must be a truly ferocious, bloodthirsty, dangerous pirate.”

Billy noticed that Catastrophe Shane was turning a little green.

“I bet you don’t carry pistols because you can’t trust your merciless nature, is that it?” Jack guessed. “You know how fierce and hot-tempered you are, and you’re resisting temptation by leaving them at home.”

“Um…” said Shane.

“Perfect!” Jack said. “You’ll fit right in on the
Pearl
. Make your mark here.” He slid a parchment across the table to Catastrophe Shane.

“Jack!” Barbossa protested.

“
Captain
Jack,” Jack reminded him. “And as the captain, what I say goes. Welcome aboard, Catastrophe Shane.”

Barbossa narrowed his eyes again. “Very well,” he said. “But you must get rid of that ridiculous hat.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid we can’t have any hats more dramatic than mine.”

“Oh—all right,” said Shane, taking it off and turning it in his hands with a bewildered expression.

Jack leaned forward and added in a loud whisper, “Barbossa thinks his hat outshines mine because of the ostrich feathers, but everyone knows that it just makes his head look like the ratty nest of a dead bird.”

Barbossa glared at him.

Another stranger sidled up as Shane went to stand behind Billy. This one was older and quite a bit more rotund, with a long, drooping, fat brown moustache. He winked a lot as he talked and constantly fiddled with his hands, but he seemed friendly—a little
too
friendly for a pirate, but Jack and his nascent crew couldn’t exactly be picky.

“I’m Henry,” he said, introducing himself. “Are you really the great Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“I most certainly am,” Jack said, beaming again. “Unless he owes you money. In which case, no, never heard of him.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Henry said. “Aren’t you one of the youngest Pirate Lords the Brethren Court has ever had?”

Jack pretended to blush. “Well, I don’t like to brag,” he said. Then he steadied himself. Yes, I’m the youngest captain ever to become a Pirate Lord.”

“Even from the second court?” Henry asked. “What about Morgan and Bartholomew?

The ones who wrote the Code? I thought I heard…”

“Oh,
that
court,” Jack said dismissively. “Nobody remembers
that
court. What’s important is who’s a Pirate Lord
now
. For instance, me.”

“Well, I’d be honored to sail with you, Captain,” Henry said, “if you’ll have me.” He offered his hand to Jack, and Jack shook it, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Certainly,” he said. “I always trust a man with a good firm handshake like that. We’d be deli—”

“PIRATES!” boomed a voice from the doorway. A surprisingly short, bearded man stood framed in the light from outside, decked out in a well-worn leather coat with fountains of Spanish lace at his throat and cuffs. His wide-brimmed hat was adorned with feathers, and his weathered brown skin indicated his age, as did the streaks of gray in his black beard and moustache. “VAGABONDS! MEN OF THE SEA!” he bellowed.

Jack scowled. He would recognize that lilting foreign accent anywhere. It was the Spanish Pirate Lord Villanueva. He dropped Henry’s hand and rose to his feet.

“Ahoy there, Captain Noisy,” he said, “some of us are trying to conduct business in here. Civilized business, with no shouting.”

Villanueva ignored him. “I am in need of a few strong men for my crew,” he said. Two very large, very burly pirates stepped up behind him and crossed their arms. Jack started examining his dirty nails with deep interest.

The Spanish Pirate Lord drew his sword. “You,” he said, pointing with it to a well-muscled sailor near the door. “And you. And you.” He selected a few more of the strongest, least smelly, most sober candidates. Then he paused and looked around. His gaze fell on Jack’s little gathering. He gave a small, sinister laugh. “And you,” he said, pointing his sword tip directly at Henry’s squidgy midsection.

“You can’t have him! He’s mine, I say!” Jack protested.

“I did agree to…” Henry began weakly. The Spaniard poked him lightly in the belly.

“I said YOU,” Villanueva declared with finality. “Out. The
Centurion
is leaving now.” The other pirates who had been chosen stood and began to file out of the bar without arguing.

Henry gave Jack a helpless look. Jack was debating whether to start a sword fight with Villanueva right there in the tavern when the Spaniard’s two burly companions stepped forward and loomed menacingly over him.

“Ah, well,” Jack said to Henry. “It was a terrific partnership while it lasted. And I hear the weather is lovely in Spain.”

One of the big pirates firmly took Henry’s arm and escorted him from the room. Villanueva tipped his hat to Jack with a sardonic smile and sauntered out, taking all the best pirates in the room with him.

“And
that
,” Barbossa said pointedly to Jack, “is how it’s done.” He took a swig from one of the tankards of ale that the barkeeper had brought them.

“Typical arrogant Spaniards,” Jack observed, sitting down again. “As if the East India Trading Company isn’t trouble enough, now we have to deal with the regular Spanish navy everywhere
and
Spanish pirates as well.” He shook his head mournfully. “Why can’t the Caribbean just be full of mermaids and vengeful ghosts and shape-shifting sorceresses? I ask you.
Those
I know how to deal with.” He reached for his glass and discovered that it was empty. “Hey, why is the rum gone?”

Billy carefully didn’t look at Catastrophe Shane, who hiccupped innocently. “You were right not to start a fight with them,” Billy said. “Villanueva would chase you all the way around the world if he thought you’d offended him or taken something he wanted.”

“He’d never catch the
Pearl
!” Jack said jauntily. “Well, it’s not all bad news.” He clapped Shane on the back. “At least we have Catastrophe Shane!”

“T
his is a disaster,” Barbossa said.

“I wouldn’t say
disaster
,” said Jack, wrinkling his forehead expressively.

“Oh, really?” Barbossa said. “Would you say…catastrophe?”

Another crash came from the bow of the ship, where Catastrophe Shane was trying to rig a sail but kept falling over his boots. They’d given him a pistol earlier so he could take target practice, and then they’d taken it right back after he shot a barrel of ale, the ocean, and the air above a very startled seagull. “Maybe you should practice later,” Jack had suggested warily.

Now, as the
Pearl
sailed out of Tortuga’s harbor, the captain and first mate watched Catastrophe Shane stagger from one side of the boat to the other, getting tangled in the rope. The other pirates were staring at him in open-mouthed disbelief.

“He’s just getting his sea legs,” Jack said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Barbossa shook his head. “I am pleased to point out, as I so often do,” he said, “that I told you so.”

Jack put his hand on his chest, frowning. It felt like something heavy had suddenly sat on his heart—as if an enormous weight was now slowly pressing down on his chest.

“Did it just get colder?” he asked, glancing up at the fiercely burning sun. But despite the sun’s heat, to Jack it felt as if freezing darkness was creeping over him.

“No,” Barbossa said, peering at him curiously. “Why? Are you feeling poorly? How poorly? Deathly poorly, perhaps?”

“No, no,” Jack said. “Just a bit of a chill. Thank you for your concern.”

Barbossa looked disappointed.

Billy came striding along the deck toward them. “There’s something odd about this ship, Jack,” he said. “I could have sworn someone was watching me while I inspected the hold.”

“Piffle,” Jack said. “All our fine pirates are up here, sailing the ship.”

“Also our
less
fine pirates,” Barbossa muttered.

Jack blinked, putting his hand on his chest again. This was really quite odd. “I’ll be in my cabin,” he said, taking a step toward the hatch.

“Oh,
Cap-tain
,” Barbossa said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Am I?” Jack said. He was having trouble concentrating. It seemed as if there were darkness at the edges of his sight, like fog rolling in from either side—but when he turned his head, the sun shone as brightly and the sea sparkled as merrily in every direction, just as they had before.

“Where are we going?” Barbossa asked. “Our bearing? Care to give an order,
Captain
?”

“Oh,” Jack said, taking another step. “North Carolina, I suppose. Make sail and all that. You know the drill.”

Billy looked delighted. It hadn’t been a trick after all! He took the wheel from Barbossa as Jack walked slowly to the captain’s cabin.

“Is he all right?” Billy asked the first mate.

Barbossa smiled sinisterly, watching Jack’s slow, weaving steps. “We shall see.”

J
ack was not all right. After a moment at his desk, he stood up and went to lie down on the couch, closing his eyes. How unpleasant it was to be sick. Unpleasant and unusual. Jack Sparrow never felt ill a day in his life.

“Snap out of it, man,” he told himself briskly. He sat up, got to his feet, wobbled unsteadily, and sat down again. His whole chest felt as if it had been filled with anchors—dark, mossy anchors that had dragged among the shadows of the deepest ocean. It was hard to breathe with this weight on his heart.

Something darted across the corner of the room and he leaped to his feet, drawing his sword.

“Who’s there?” he challenged loudly. “Show yourself!”

No one emerged. All he could see now were shadows. He strode over to the corner and poked all the shadows vigorously with his sword, but there was nothing there. He spun around again.

“You don’t want to annoy Captain Jack Sparrow!” he shouted, charging to the other side of the room and stabbing the wall with his sword.

Not a sound, but as he turned again, he thought he caught a glimpse of something winding between his feet. With a gasp, he jumped back and stabbed the floor…but there was nothing there.

“Am I seeing shadow cats now?” he muttered. “Or perhaps I’m still haunted by that mangy furball, Constance.” On his earlier adventures, Jack had traveled with a boy named Jean Magliore, who claimed his sister Constance had been turned into a cat by the mystic, Tia Dalma. Although she was the most irritating, ugly feline Jack had ever seen, Jean doted on her with a ridiculous amount of affection.

“Leave me alone!” Jack yelled, flailing wildly at the shadows and anything else he could see. “I don’t like cats! I don’t like anchors in my chest!

I want none of any of this! Away with you!” He paused, breathing hard. Was that a sound?

Knock, knock, knock.

Ah. He threw open the door.

The entire crew of the
Pearl
was gathered outside his cabin, staring at him. Billy, who had been the one knocking, took a step back when he saw Jack’s pale, furious face.

“Er…you all right, Jack?” Billy asked.

“Perfectly,” Jack said nonchalantly, straightening his hat. “You?”

Billy leaned over and peeked past Jack at the cabin, which was now a huge mess, with chairs overturned and papers scattered in all directions. “Um…we just…heard some noise in here.”

“Nothing at all,” Jack said airily. “Just your brave captain thinking hard.” He tapped his forehead knowingly. “Making plans. Piratical plans. As you do.”

“Oh…sure,” Billy said.

The rest of the crew exchanged glances. Well, Jack thought, all the best pirate captains are a little mad. It’ll be good for my reputation.

Something tugged on one of the beads in his hair, and he whipped his head around, glaring. But, of course, there was nothing there. Now he could feel more tugging, on his coat and his boots and his sword, but wherever he looked, there was nothing.

No. Captain Jack Sparrow might
act
mad, but he would never actually
be
mad. This was something foul and unnatural. This illness had not just
happened
.

Someone had cursed him.

He marched past the gaping pirates. “Back to work!” he called over his shoulder, and he heard the clump of their boots as they went.

At the wheel, Barbossa beamed at him. “Strain of command too much for you, Jack? Maybe you need a rest. A
long
rest.”

“No, no,” Jack said. “But we’re changing course.”

“Oh?” Barbossa said.

“Set sail for the Pantano River,” Jack said.

There was one person who knew more about curses than anyone else. Of course, she was usually the one casting them…but hopefully that wasn’t the case this time. He had to hope that she’d know how to free him from this mysterious illness.

He was going to see Tia Dalma.