The Caribbean (6 page)

“Oh, yes?” Jack said. “I happen to know a great vehicle for running far away. It’s called a pirate ship.”

The stranger’s eyes lit up. “You would take me with you?”

Jack offered his hand. “Captain Jack Sparrow,” he said. “Know anything about ships or sailing, do you?”

“I can learn fast,” the man said. “And my master always said I was a good cook.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to light up. “Just the thing we need!” he said with delight. “See, Barbossa, this was a lucky break for us, after all.”

Barbossa continued to glare at them.

“What’s your name, my good man?” Jack asked.

“Gombo,” the man replied. “That is what I have always been called, ever since they brought me here. I remember no other name.”

“Gombo,” Jack echoed. “Well, then, Gombo…welcome to the crew of the
Black Pearl
.”

B
illy was waiting with the rest of the pirates when Jack and Barbossa arrived back in New Orleans with their two new crew members. The
Pearl
was all ready to go. Catastrophe Shane’s hat had been removed permanently, and the pirate had been tied to the mast so he couldn’t break anything or accidentally shoot anyone while they set sail. All the pirates were on deck, much happier after a day of carousing in New Orleans.

There was only one small problem.

“Jean,” Jack said, beckoning his old friend over as his men worked the giant winch to haul up the anchor. Unlike Barbossa, most of the pirates seemed very appreciative of the addition of Gombo and his strong muscles. They were less thrilled about Alex, of course. Unfair treatment, in Jack’s opinion, just because the fellow smelled like rotting meat and lost bits of himself here and there.

Jean came up to Jack, hunching his shoulders and looking sheepish.

“Jean, mate,” Jack said, “there seems to be something in
my
cabin.”

Jean blushed. “I’m very sorry, Jack,” he said. “She won’t listen to me. She says a lady shouldn’t have to sleep in a hammock with a bunch of pirates.”

“Ha!” Carolina said, overhearing. “A lady that delicate shouldn’t be sailing with a bunch of pirates in the first place.”

“That’s what
I
said!” Marcella yelled from behind the closed door to the captain’s cabin. “I hate pirates! Dirty, smelly pirates!” She had apparently stacked furniture against the door, so it was impossible to open it. Jack stood with his arms folded. He was very unimpressed by this turn of events.

“Madam, I am the captain!” he called. “And this is the
captain’s
cabin, savvy? Where the captain sleeps! And makes decisions! And looks at maps and things! How am I supposed to do any of that if I can’t even get through the door?”

“Not my problem!” Marcella called. “We can stay right here in port for all I care!”

Jean tugged on his curls, looking exasperated. “I’m really,
really
sorry, Jack.”

“What a baby!” Carolina said loudly. “I haven’t done that much whining and crying since before I could walk!”

“I HEARD THAT!” Marcella shouted in outrage.

“You were supposed to!” Carolina shouted back. “You’re an embarrassment to women and sailors and pirates and, and…and
people
everywhere!”

There was a loud sound of heavy furniture scraping around, and then at long length, Marcella flung open the door of the cabin. Her stringy red-black hair was falling out of its bun, and she was panting with rage. Her strange yellow-brown eyes went straight to Carolina, who stood tall, with her hands on her hips and her long black hair flying loose in the wind.

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Marcella cried. “I am a lady and a Magliore! Not some Spanish peasant girl like you!”

Carolina drew herself up, her eyes flashing.

“Carolina, don’t!” Diego warned, but it was too late to stop her.

“Peasant girl!
I
am a Spanish princess,”

Carolina said proudly, “descended from the great kings and queens of Spain, twenty-second in line for the throne. So I think if
I
can manage to sleep in a hammock, so can a mere Creole girl with pretensions to the so-called New World ‘aristocracy.’”

Everyone in earshot stared at her, mouths agape. Jack wheeled toward Diego.

“PRINCESS?” he demanded. “Didn’t think that was worth mentioning, mate?”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Diego pleaded. “She still needed rescuing.”

“I could have rescued myself,” Carolina objected.

“You might have saved us some trouble if you had,” Jack pointed out. If New Orleans weren’t already fading to a speck behind them, he would have seriously considered going back and leaving her there. But he was on a bit of an urgent mission. Speaking of which…

He nipped around behind Marcella and darted into his cabin.

“Mine!” he yelled triumphantly and then closed the door on her startled face.

Evidently Marcella had decided that her first order of business was to redecorate the cabin according to her tastes, which meant rearranging the furniture, dumping all the maps and papers in an untidy pile behind the couch, and redraping the curtains. It also looked like she’d adorned the arms of the upholstered couch with odd scratches. Odd indeed, this one.

With a deep sigh, Jack set to putting things back the way they were. He was nearly finished when there was a knock on the door a few hours later.

“Come in!” he called. “No, wait! Who is it? I’m not here! Go away!”

“Jack,” Billy said, poking his head inside. “It’s been very nice to see you and Jean again, but I

can’t help but notice that
this is not the way to North Carolina
!”

Jack squinted out the window, where the setting sun was clearly to their right, proving that they were going south, not north.

“Ah,” he said, “yes. Right. We just have to make one more stop. Not to worry, mate! One quick stop and then we’ll head right there!”

“Jack,” Billy said warningly.

“Tell me something,” Jack said, pulling out the
quipu
. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

It worked; Billy was instantly distracted. Unfamiliar things always made him curious.

“Looks like a bunch of knotted string,” he said, taking it in his hands. “There could be a pattern to the knots, but I don’t know what it means.”

“Think it does anything supernatural?” Jack mused. “Tia Dalma gave it to me. So I’m guessing it’s a mystical mumbo-jumbo, stringiewingie thingie.”

Billy handed it back quickly. “I don’t know,” he said, “but speaking of the mystic’s, er,
gifts
, I think that zombie might have left one of his fingers in the ratlines of the forward sail. None of the men will go near it.”

“Well, tell Alex to go get it himself,” Jack said. “He’s very obedient, unlike
most
pirates. They could learn a lesson from him.”

“He’s acting rather odd, actually,” Billy said. “He keeps shuffling along the edges of the deck, staring at the land and muttering. I heard him say ‘Shadow Army’ a few times.”

That got Jack’s attention. “Hmmm. I’d better go see what’s ailing him, then, hadn’t I?” he said casually.

Billy was right: Alex was shambling from one end of the rail to the other, staring at the land off to starboard. The other pirates on deck were trying very hard to stay away from him, scrambling to the opposite end of the ship in a giant pack every time he moved.

From the grating over the hatchway came the voice of Marcella. She was stamping around the crew’s quarters down below and complaining at the top of her lungs.

“It stinks down here! And it’s hot! And stuffy! And what is this hammock made of, canvas? How am I supposed to sleep on that? You better find me a curtain so I can have some privacy, Jean!”

Jean answered in a patient, murmuring voice, but she carried on angrily. Near the main mast, Carolina, looking impatient, shook her head and started to climb the ratlines to the crow’s nest. Diego hurried after her.

Somehow the
Black P
earl
had gone from having too few pirates to being overrun with troublemakers. Jack shook his head and approached the wandering zombie.

“Not to interrupt,” Jack said blithely, “but you’re going to wear a hole in my deck if you keep this up.”

“Coming up on Panama,” Alex said, jerking his head at the land, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Jack couldn’t help smiling at that. “Sure we are, mate. What’s your problem with Panama? Lovely country. Excellent rum.” He wished they could stop, but there was no time for that.

“Not my problem,” Alex said, gazing at the horizon. “
His
. The Shadow Lord’s.” He lowered his voice. “Hates Panama. Did terrible things here. Old grudges. But new victims.”

“That doesn’t sound very cheerful,” Jack admitted. “You’re not telling me His Shadow-ness has already attacked here, are you?”

Alex’s eyes stared blankly ahead. “You will see. Soon. Soon you will see.”

U
p in the crow’s nest, Carolina shivered, rubbing her arms. She loved to be up there, above the noise of the ship, just her and the wind and the wild stretches of open sea all around her. But she always forgot how cold it was.

“Here,” Diego said, climbing into the basket. He pulled off his coat and draped it around her shoulders, his arms lingering for a moment around her. It was as close as he could get to embracing her.

“Thanks, Diego,” Carolina said, putting her arms in the sleeves and buttoning the coat. “If you’re sure you don’t need it…?”

“I’m all right,” Diego said. “I’m used to much worse. Back home in Spain, when I was a boy working in your father’s palace, I slept on cold stone floors and worked in the stables through the winter in only a thin jacket.” It was your smile and your eyes and thoughts of you that kept me warm, he thought but did not say.

“I’m sorry I told them about being a princess,” Carolina said. “I know you didn’t want me to. Now I will have to work twice as hard to convince them I really want to be a pirate—and that I’m strong enough for it.”

“I think that much is obvious,” Diego said.

“Really?” Carolina asked hopefully, looking up at him. The basket of the crow’s nest was small, so they had to stand close together. Diego could feel his heart pounding. “I’m not like that horrible Marcella girl, right, Diego?” Carolina asked.

“Not at all,” he said quickly. “If you want to be a pirate, I know you will be a great one.”

“I
do
want to be a pirate,” Carolina said, her gaze dropping to the white-topped waves below. It was a gray and windy day, now shifting imperceptibly into dusk. The sea was the color of a gray whale, and bursts of spray flew up against the side of the ship. The mast was swaying more than usual, and Carolina could see that Diego was already feeling a little seasick.

She squinted at the horizon behind them. Suddenly she clutched Diego’s arm, and he nearly toppled out of the crow’s nest in surprise.

“Diego,” she said urgently, “is that a sail? Way over there—do you think it’s another ship coming this way?”

He rubbed his eyes and peered into the distance. Carolina was right. There was another ship out there.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he reassured her. “It could be going in any direction. It’ll probably disappear in a short while.”

“What if it’s following us?” Carolina whispered, leaning against him with a worried frown. “What if…what if it’s my family still looking for me?”

“Then we’ll fight them off,” Diego said, feeling brave enough to touch her face with his fingers. “We won’t let them have you. But don’t worry yet. It’s probably nothing.”

She rested her head on his arm, and he took one of her hands in both of his. They watched the sail in the distance for a long, long while. By the time they climbed back down to the deck, they were both sure.

Someone was following the
Pear
l
.

“N
othing to worry about,” Jack declared.

Carolina and Diego exchanged glances. “But what if it’s the Spanish? What if they’re coming for me?” Carolina asked.

“Then we’ll give you to them and carry on our merry way,” Jack said. Billy kicked him surreptitiously. “I mean, um—that’s not going to happen. Nobody can catch the
Black Pearl
, love. It’s the fastest ship in the world!”

“That’s true,” Diego said to Carolina. “This is the safest place we could possibly be.”

“Not when the Shadow Lord finds us,” Alex said gloomily.

Diego and Carolina looked at him askance and edged away. Jack tried not to show that he’d been thinking the same thing. He had no idea what kind of ship the Shadow Lord might have. But surely whatever it was couldn’t outrun the
Pearl
. Right?

Maybe it was only a pack of Spaniards, or Villanueva. If he just kept moving, there was nothing to fear from them. And they’d stay close to the coast, as they were doing now, so they could make very quick forays for water or anything they needed.

“We’ll keep a weather eye on the horizon, just in case,” he said.

Marcella stamped up the stairs onto the deck. “EW!” she declared loudly. “Something smells like BURNING! That is SO GROSS! It had better not be dinner! I’m not eating anything burnt! I want fish, and I want it as raw as possible!” She wrinkled her nose. “Somebody get rid of that
horrible
smell right now!”

“What in blazes is she on about?” Jack asked Jean. “I thought we’d all adjusted to Alex by now. No offense, mate,” he added to the zombie, who just stared at him blankly.

Jean shrugged, baffled. “Marcella has a remarkably strong sense of smell,” he said. “Maybe it’s something we just haven’t noticed yet.”

“Or maybe it’s something we
have
noticed, and it’s that your cousin is a loony brat,” Jack suggested. “Quite frankly, every Magliore I’ve met thus far, with the notable exception of you, mate, has been a bit…well…let’s just say, are you sure you’re not the bait-man’s son?”

“Whoever is burning dinner, throw it overboard THIS MINUTE!” Marcella bellowed.

“That is the worst smell I have ever—”

“
I
am the captain on this ship,” Jack reminded her, “which is why
I
get the cabin and
I
give the orders around here. Savvy?”

Gombo stuck his head out of the galley, looking offended. “Nobody’s burning any dinner!” he said crossly. “I am making the best jambalaya any of you has ever tasted. None of which will be served to anyone who accuses me of ruining food!”

“Jambalaya?” Jean echoed with a dreamy expression.

Diego suddenly lifted his hand to his nose. “Oh,” he said. “Captain Jack—I think I’m beginning to smell it, too.”

Gombo drew himself up to his enormous full height. “No jambalaya for you, either!” he said ferociously.

“No, no,” Diego said. “It’s not your cooking, I’m sure of it. It’s something farther away.” He pointed to the land off to starboard. “Something over there, I’m guessing.”

Alex let out a low moan and pressed his hands to his face with an unpleasant squishing sound. “The Shadow Army,” he groaned. “The Shadow Army has been here.”

The rest of the pirates fell silent as the strange smell reached all their noses. It was as Marcella had described it: a charred, sickly, smoky smell that permeated their lungs instantly. They all felt as if they would never be free of it again.

Then they saw the ruins.

The fort’s tall, thick walls now lay in scattered piles of stone, as if giants had kicked them in, then brutally crushed the rest of the town beneath their feet. Blackened shells of houses were visible inside the town, where fire and the Shadow Army had ravaged every inch and left nothing alive. Worst of all, along the beach lay strange, bloodstained lumps that nobody recognized as corpses until Carolina let out a small gasp, covering her mouth.

Diego moved instantly to block her view, but she stepped back and nodded at Marcella. “Too late. Don’t let her see,” she whispered.

Obediently, Diego went over and took Marcella’s arm, steering her away from the horrifying sight. Jean’s cousin looked too overwhelmed to understand what she was looking at. She let Diego lead her to the port side, where there was nothing to see but the comfortingly empty sea. Diego offered her his handkerchief, and she pressed it to her face, taking shallow breaths.

“Something evil happened here,” Gombo said in his deep, solemn voice. “I have seen many evil things, but this…it reeks of the Other World.”

“I think you might be right about that,” Jack said.

“The Shadow Army,” Alex moaned again, refusing to look. “The Shadow Lord. He did enough evil here, long ago, with his army of men. But this is much worse, so much worse.”

Even Barbossa had nothing sarcastic to say. He pulled his hat down further and turned the wheel, taking them far away from the scene of devastation and death as fast as they could sail. The rest of the pirates returned silently to their chores. Their captain stood alone, contemplating the handiwork of his new enemy.

Something tugged at Jack’s coat.

He jumped, turning quickly to see nothing but shadows disappearing into more shadows along the length of the deck as night descended on them. Once again, he felt a cold weight stealing into his chest. The Shadow Gold was wearing off already, or perhaps being near the Shadow Army’s aftereffects sucked away some of the gold’s power.

He needed to find the second vial. And fast.

“A
ll right, men,” Jack said. “And, uh, you,” he added to Carolina. He dropped the
quipu
on the large round table in his cabin. It was the next morning, and the sun shone brightly through his windows, but it couldn’t chase away the nightmares that had plagued him all night. It was time to get to the bottom of things. “What is this wretched thingie and what does it do?”

Diego, Carolina, Billy, and Barbossa all leaned in to study it. The knotted string lay on the table in an innocent, unreadable tangle. Carolina reached out and poked it. Like any string, it did not react.

“Looks like string, sir,” she said with a straight face. “With knots in it.”

“Thank you for your
brilliant observations
,” Jack said. “What does it
do
, and how will it help me find the Shadow Gold?”

Diego picked it up and rubbed the knots between his finger and thumb. “Maybe you have to do something to it,” he suggested. “Like get it wet?”

Jack picked up a pitcher from the table and promptly poured water all over the
quipu
. Upon reflection, he realized he probably should have moved the maps and everything first. Billy and Diego scrambled to mop up and save the parchments as Jack lifted the
quipu
again and squinted at it.

“Ah, yes,” he said knowingly. “Now it looks like
wet
string.” He gave Carolina a sardonic look. “With knots in it.”

“Perhaps you have to wear it,” Carolina offered.

“Or eat it,” Barbossa said. “Or, I know, use it to strangle yourself with.” The others looked at him, and he made an innocent face. “What? I thought we were brainstorming.”

Jack took off his beloved hat and gingerly put the
quipu
on his head, on top of the red bandanna he always wore. Water dripped down into his ears. And judging from the way Diego and Carolina were smothering giggles, he looked perfectly ridiculous.

“You must be supernatural,” he said to the
quipu
, taking it off and shaking it in his hand. “Why would a mystic give me a bunch of string? Not that Tia Dalma is always the most lucid dame, but surely it has to do
something
.”

A piercing shriek came from the other side of the cabin door, followed by a few loud crashes, some shouts, and finally, an ominous splash.

Jack looked at Barbossa. Barbossa looked at Jack. They both looked at Billy.

“I’ll just go check on that,” Billy said. But before he got to the door, it opened. Jean leaped in and slammed it shut behind him.

“Nothing. Don’t worry,” he said quickly, pressing his back to the door. “It’s all under control.”

“Let me guess,” Jack said, pressing his hands together and pointing them at Jean. “Our darling Marcella has had another tantrum.”

Jean winced. “Gombo asked her to swab the deck. He said she could at least contribute to things around here if she was going to eat so much of the food he cooks.”

Carolina hid a grin. “Unfortunate phrasing,” she pointed out.

“You have no idea,” Jean said. “So there was a bit of a quarrel, but it’s all right now.”

Jack sat up straight. “She didn’t throw Gombo overboard, did she?” he asked. “I won’t be pleased if she did. We’d only turn around for a cook that good and my hat!” Seeing Billy’s expression, he added, “Oh, and for you, too, mate. Absolutely.” He winked at Barbossa, who only frowned in reply. “No, no,” Jean said. “Not Gombo. Only…the swabbing mop and bucket.”

“Hmm,” Jack said. “Delightful.”

“Hey,” Jean said, suddenly spotting what they’d been looking at. “What are you doing with a
quipu
?” He walked over to the table and picked up the discarded string. “And why is it all wet?”

“Never mind that,” Jack said. “You know what this is?”

“Of course,” Jean said. “It’s for sending messages. The pattern of knots spells out the message, so it can be carried back and forth without being read, because only a few people know how. I heard the Mayans talking about them when I was in Tumen’s village. Of course, the Mayans think their alphabet is far superior.”

“Superior to what?” Jack asked.

“Don’t you know?” Jean said. “The people who use
quipus
. The Incas.”

“Ah, yes,” Jack said, furrowing his brow and looking knowledgeable. “The Incas.”

“Who are the Incas?” Billy asked.

“Oh, come now. Everybody knows the Incas, mate,” Jack said. “Go on, Jean, tell him.”

“They live in the mountains of South America,” Jean said. “They used to be very powerful, before the Spanish came.”

Jack nodded sagely. “Obviously. Well, that clears things up.” He stood up, grinning. “The Incas have my Shadow Gold. And I’m going to get it back!”