The Caribbean (8 page)

“Oh, bugger,” Jack said.

He had found the Incas…but the Incas were clearly not very pleased about it.

T
he fort was small, but the solid stone walls were thick and steep, and the noses of small cannons poked over them ominously. Double wooden doors at the front were reinforced with an iron portcullis. Up above, the Spanish flag fluttered in the warm breeze. But there were no signs of guards—no signs of any human life at all.

“Maybe there’s nobody here,” Gombo said. “Perhaps they left their loot unguarded, thinking the jungle was enough to guard it for them.”

Diego shook his head. “I know the Spanish army,” he said. “The generals would never take that risk. They will have left a squadron here to keep an eye on the fort, no matter what’s in there.”

“Wow,” Marcella said, leaning on his arm and batting her eyelashes. “You’re so smart, Diego. Not like some people.” She shot Gombo a glare and he glared back. The fight over swabbing the deck had never quite ended between the two of them.

Diego nodded at the flag above. “But I also know Spanish soldiers, and most would happily take any chance to be lazy. They are probably all inside having an afternoon siesta, or gambling, or just sitting around complaining about what a boring place they are stuck in.”

“That’s not just Spanish soldiers,” Gombo said. “That’s almost every man I’ve ever met, except perhaps this Jack Sparrow.”

Barbossa grunted. “Well, let’s make things a little
less
boring for them, shall we?” he proposed with a cunning grin.

“First we need to find a way in,” Gombo said, carefully studying the walls.

“Oh, I can’t
wait
to hear your clever plan,” Marcella sniped. “Let me guess—march up to the door and knock?”

Gombo turned and looked at her slowly. A grin spread across his face. “Why, Miss High-and-Mighty,” he said, “I believe that just might work.”

The other two turned to look at her as well.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no,” Marcella said. “Absolutely not! No way! Are you insane? Me? I won’t! I won’t do it! You can’t make me!”

F
ernando Ruiz could not wait to be sent home to Spain. He dreamed of the long paved streets of Madrid, the fiery eyes of the flamenco dancers, the drama and glory of the bullfights. He had thought to capture that glory by becoming a soldier in the Spanish army—but instead here he was, stuck in what was basically a stone prison in the middle of a jungle, without a
taberna
or a bullfight or a flamenco dancer for hundreds of miles in any direction. Nothing but heat and buzzing insects persecuting him day and night. His red-and-gold uniform made his skin itch, and his tall leather boots made his feet sweat and smell horrible.

The other three men at the table looked equally hot and lifeless. Even the cards in their hands were limp and damp with sweat. The captain waved away a fly and then paused with his hand still in the air. All four of them raised their heads and listened.

“Was that knocking?” asked Bartana, one of the card players. “I could almost swear I heard knocking.”

“And shouting…maybe?” mused Salamanco, another soldier.

“Out here in the jungle?” Ruiz scoffed. “Who could it be?”

“Villanueva?” Salamanco guessed placidly. He dropped a card on the table, and the captain scooped it up.

“A day early?” Bartana said, scratching his nose. “That doesn’t seem like him. No matter how excited he is about the gold we’re holding for him.”

“Well, who else in this godforsaken wilderness knows we’re here?” Ruiz challenged.

“The ones looking for that princess,” the captain pointed out, laying down a card. “We got word to keep an eye out for her. They have no idea where she’s vanished to.”

“Yeah,” said Fernando, “I’m
sure
there’s a princess knocking at the gate right now.”

“I guess you better go find out,” the captain said, nodding at Ruiz.

“Why me?” Fernando protested. “Why not one of them?” He jerked his thumb at the other two soldiers, who were of equally low rank.

“Because you lost the last round,” the captain said calmly, “and because you’re the only one who’s going to bother anyway.”

Cursing roundly, Fernando shoved his chair back from the table, slapped his cards down, and stormed out into the courtyard. The knocking at the gate sounded less like knocking now and more like someone throwing big rocks at the doors.

He slid open the eyehole and peered out. His jaw dropped in shock.

An angry girl stood outside the gate, her hands on her hips, scowling. She saw his eyes appear in the slot, and her face lit up.

He quickly slammed the slot shut again. Was he seeing things? Had five months in the jungle finally driven him mad? Or…was it possible that an escaped Spanish princess really was standing right outside the gate of his fort, knocking? She didn’t look Spanish, but you couldn’t always tell. His mind instantly filled with thoughts of the giant reward that had been offered. And while she was waiting for the ship to take her home…perhaps he could teach her to flamenco dance.

He slid open the slot and discovered that the girl’s face was still on the other side. Startled, he jumped back, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He rethought his flamenco dancing idea. Just the reward would be sufficient.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Jibber jabber jibber,” she said, or, at least, that’s what it sounded like to him. He guessed she was speaking French.

“Are you not the Spanish princess?” he asked, disappointed. Surely if she were, she’d be speaking Spanish, like him.

“Jibber jabber!” she yelled. “Blah-blah-blah!” She smacked the door and stamped her foot. He didn’t need to speak French to figure out that she was demanding to be let inside.

Well, what harm could that do? Perhaps one of the other soldiers could figure out what she was saying. And it wasn’t as if one lost girl could be any threat to the fort. He signaled to her to wait, and then he went to the mechanism that opened the gate. With loud creaks and groans, the portcullis went up and the doors swung open.

Marcella marched inside, looking pleased with herself and very haughty. Although her bedraggled gown did not match her regal demeanor, Fernando found himself bowing gallantly anyway.

He straightened up to find a pistol in his face.

“Surprise,” Barbossa said with a wolfish smile. “Thanks ever so much for inviting us in.” He clubbed the soldier over the head, and Fernando passed out on the yard’s cobblestones.

Behind Barbossa, Gombo frowned. “Let’s try to do this with minimum bloodshed,” he said. “We don’t need the Spanish government any angrier at the
Pear
l
than it already is.”

“Stupid princess,” Marcella said, tossing her head. “I wish we could get rid of her and just keep Diego.”

“Speaking of Diego, where is he?” Gombo said, glancing around. “He should have been inside by now—we watched him scale the wall at the back.”

“Oh, I hope he’s all right!” Marcella said, clasping her hands. “I couldn’t believe how bravely he climbed those steep stones, using only a few edges for footholds! I so hope nothing terrible has happened to him!”

Gombo rolled his eyes. “It is not such an amazing trick, climbing a stone wall,” he said gruffly.

“Well, I didn’t see
you
volunteering,” Marcella snapped.

“
I
don’t speak Spanish,” Gombo reminded her. “
I
could not gather information the way he could by eavesdropping before we got in.”

“Exactly,” Marcella said. “Just one reason why he’s a hero and you’re not.” They glowered at each other.

“I’m here,” Diego said, appearing in the low doorway of the inner building of the fort. He had a sword pointed at a Spanish soldier, who was gaping at the four intruders in astonishment. “His friends are tied up in there.” Diego nodded behind him. “And this gentleman has kindly agreed to show us to the office where they are storing the gold for Villanueva.”

Barbossa’s eyebrows arched. “Villanueva?” he said. “There’s gold for him here?”

“So I overheard,” Diego said. “A whole chest of it. His deal with the Spanish must be going well.” He nudged the soldier with his sword. “Take us to the gold,” he said in Spanish.

The soldier nodded, blinking, and led the way inside. Marcella flounced ahead of Gombo, and Barbossa brought up the rear, training his pistol in all directions. But the fort was quiet. They met only two other soldiers on the way to the office, and those were easily taken care of by tying them up and stuffing them into a closet. It seemed that Diego was right—most of them were peacefully enjoying their afternoon naps.

“Here,” the soldier stammered to Diego in Spanish, stopping at one of the doors. “This is the commander’s office. He has sailed out to meet Villanueva and bring him back here. They should return tomorrow.”

“Gracias,”
Diego said to him. “And in exchange for your help, I will help you as well.” He leaned toward the soldier and whispered, “I have heard a rumor about that Spanish princess everyone is looking for.”

“Princessa Carolina?”
the soldier said eagerly. Marcella caught the name Carolina and looked up with a scowl.

“Yes,” Diego said, still in Spanish. “I have heard that she took passage on a ship bound for Ireland. It left two days ago, but it was supposed to stop in New York, Boston, Maine, Canada, and Greenland along the way. If they want to find her, they should start by looking in all those places.”

The soldier nodded, repeating the cities as he tried to memorize them. “
Nueva York
, Boston,” he said, “yes, yes, thank you, good sir. They will reward me well for this information!” His face fell. “That is, after they punish us for allowing the fort to be robbed in the first place.”

Diego felt a twinge of guilt, but it was worth it to throw Carolina’s family off her trail. “Sorry, my friend,” he said. Gombo took the soldier aside, tied him up, and sat him gently down on the floor of another closet to await rescue.

As they opened the door to the commander’s office, Gombo tilted his head at Diego. “I didn’t understand most of what you said to the man,” he said, “but you did something clever, didn’t you?”

“I hope so,” Diego said fervently. “I would do anything to protect Carolina.” He didn’t notice Marcella’s face darken angrily.

The office was small and square with only one window high up in the wall. There was a heavy oak desk, a pair of plain cabinets, a map of the Caribbean hanging on the wall, and one very large chest which looked very promising.

Barbossa pushed past them and hurried to the chest. It wasn’t even locked—they really must have thought no one would find the fort out in the jungle. He flung open the top, and the crew was downright awed at the sight of the gleaming pile of coins inside. The whole room seemed to be lit up by them. Gombo peeked out into the passageway and closed the door.

“Quickly now,” Barbossa said. “Let’s seize the gold and get out of here.” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “I wouldn’t like to be this commander when Villanueva arrives and finds he is not getting paid for his deceitful, black-hearted schemes.”

“I don’t know why you’re so outraged by that,” Marcella said, plopping herself on the edge of the desk and swinging her feet. “I mean, he’s a
pirate
. Of
course
he’s deceitful and black-hearted. What did you expect? You’re all like that, aren’t you?”

Barbossa drew himself up with proud fury. “Most certainly not,” he said. “Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.”

“What code?” Marcella asked. Rummaging in one of the cabinets, Gombo found a couple of canvas sacks. He passed one to Diego, and they began to fill them with gold coins as Barbossa strode from one end of the office to the other, explaining intently.

“The Code was set down by the Brethren Court many many years ago,” Barbossa said.

“What’s a Brethren Court?” Marcella interrupted. She spotted a bowl of candy on the commander’s desk and seized it, stuffing some into her mouth.

Barbossa took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “The Brethren Court is composed of the nine Pirate Lords, the greatest pirates in all the Seven Seas,” he said, then paused. “And also Jack.”

“Jack’s a Pirate Lord?” Marcella mumbled around a mouthful of candy.

“Somehow,” Barbossa muttered darkly. “Most likely through some typical Jack trickery—or luck, he has an uncommon amount of that, too. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Diego and Gombo exchanged glances, but the first mate didn’t notice.

“At any rate,” Barbossa went on, “the second Brethren Court drew up the Pirate Code. Two of the Pirate Lords, Morgan and Bartholomew, figured it out and wrote it down, and that’s what we’ve all lived by ever since.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what the world is coming to, pirates siding with the army against other pirates. Have they no honor? Have they no pride? Can’t they just steal our treasure and raid our ships without kowtowing to Spanish commanders as they do it? It isn’t right, I say.”

Marcella shrugged. “Still sounds all the same to me.”

Barbossa seemed to realize who he was speaking to. “Lasses, always useless,” he muttered.

“Never understand pirate ways. Well, gents, how’s it going?”

“It’d be going faster if some people would help fill sacks instead of sitting around stuffing their faces…AS USUAL,” Gombo said pointedly.

Marcella let out an offended squeak. “Shut up! I am not always stuffing my face! Diego, defend me!”

“There is another sack in the cabinet,” Diego said diplomatically, “if you want to help.”

“Well, since
you
asked
nicely
,” Marcella said, jumping off the desk and flouncing over. Her dress caught on some papers on top of the desk, and they fluttered to the floor beside Diego. A strange signature on one of them caught his eye, and he set down his sack to pick up the letter. Reading it slowly, he moved over to the desk as Barbossa and Marcella joined Gombo at the chest. Marcella jostled Gombo aside and he jostled her back, and soon they were spending as much time poking each other with their elbows as they were scooping up gold coins.