Wild Waters (5 page)

“Oooooh,” Barbara said, her green eyes glittering. “You’re right…that does sound like a lot more fun.”

W
ho knew, Jack Sparrow thought to himself as he traipsed through the sweltering jungle of Madagascar, that there were quite so many insects in the world? He slapped away another mosquito and jumped to avoid a large flying beetle of some sort. As he flailed his hands, he accidentally whapped Barbossa’s hat and nearly knocked it off his head. Barbossa turned to scowl horribly at him over his bandage, and Jack reacted with exaggerated horror.

“Oh, sorry, Hector,” he said. “I forgot about the old nose there—didn’t recognize you for a minute. Thought perhaps ghouls were rising out of the ground to attack us.”

“I don’t sense any dead bodies underfoot,” Alex said gravely, shuffling through the underbrush behind Jack. “Doubtful that ghouls could rise here, Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“I didn’t know zombies could sense corpses,” Carolina said, regarding him with curiosity.

“Ew,” Marcella said. “You’re all so GROSS! Stop talking about corpses RIGHT NOW.” She elbowed her way forward until she was right behind Sarah and Jocard, who were leading the way through the jungle. They’d been walking for half a day already, stopping only for water. Sarah moved quickly and silently, as did Jocard and his men. Jack’s crew…not so much.

Catastrophe Shane tripped over another tree root and let out a howl of agony as he crashed to the jungle floor.

“Shhh!” Sarah hissed, whipping around with a finger to her lips. “You never know if King Samuel might have decided to post guards on this side. We have to be very careful!”

“Why’d you let him come, anyway?” Diego asked Jack as he helped Shane to his feet.

“He was complaining that he never got to go on any of the missions,” Jack said with a shrug. “Besides, he offered to carry my luggage.” He waved at the large sack Shane was hauling over one shoulder.

“Luggage? On a battle mission?” Barbossa snorted. “Typical.”

“You never know when you might get hungry,” Jack pointed out. “Oooh, look, a banana!” He pulled a long yellow fruit off a nearby tree and started peeling it. Jean’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Jean’s stomach growled loudly. “Wow. I’m going to find something to eat, too!” He looked around at the trees as they began walking again and rubbed his empty stomach.

While they were talking, Carolina was watching Marcella. Jean’s cousin had been stealthily busy while the other pirates stood still, glaring at Catastrophe Shane. She had drawn a long loop of vine out of her skirt—obviously something she’d been hiding for a while. She had carefully tossed it right in front of Sarah’s feet…so that once they started walking again, Sarah stepped right into it. The loop closed over her ankle, and she tripped and fell with a huge thud.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Marcella scolded her loudly. “
Jeez
, Sarah, how ungraceful are
you
? Plus, like, totally a hypocrite! You’re the loudest one of all! Right? Am I right?” She glanced sideways at Jocard, but he was hurrying to Sarah’s side and didn’t seem to notice Marcella’s tirade.

“Are you all right?” he asked Sarah.

“I’m fine,” she said, glaring daggers at Marcella. Her eyes softened as she looked up at Jocard. “But perhaps I should rest this ankle for a moment. Would you mind carrying me, darling?”

“Not at all,” Jocard said, scooping her up in his strong arms.

It was hard to miss the triumphant expression Sarah shot at Marcella over Jocard’s shoulder. Carolina twisted her hair around one finger thoughtfully as Marcella stomped to the back of the group again, obviously fuming.

“Heh-heh-heh,” Grandmama cackled, thwacking branches aside with her cane. “Pirate men never change, do they? Oblivious as always!” She gave Carolina a wicked look. “Of course, some pirate women aren’t very observant, either.”

Carolina blushed. She could guess what Grandmama was talking about—Diego hadn’t taken his eyes off her all day. It was much easier to notice now that Marcella wasn’t throwing herself on him nonstop. Apparently, she had chosen someone else to torment, for her own mysterious Marcella reasons.

“Hey, Jean,” Carolina said, avoiding Grandmama’s eyes. The curly-headed pirate had come back from a bush stuffing something in his mouth. “What did you find to eat?”

“I dunno,” he said, holding out a handful of purple berries. “But they’re delici—
urk
!” He grabbed his throat, choking.

“Jean!” Carolina cried. She thumped him on the back. “Jean, are you okay?”

“Jean!” Marcella shrieked, grabbing him around the waist. His choking noises got worse.

Sarah dropped out of Jocard’s arms and came running back to them. “What is it?” she asked. “What did he eat?”

Carolina showed her the berries, and Sarah frowned worriedly.

“Oh, no!” Marcella wailed. “He’s going to die! I’m going to be left all alone with horrible pirates in a horrible, smelly jungle!”

“He’s not going to die,” Sarah snapped. “But these berries do have…unusual side effects.”

Jean suddenly lunged upright and froze, his hands outstretched in front of him. Carolina gasped as she saw his face. His eyes were rolled back in his head so only the whites were showing. All the color had drained from his cheeks, making his freckles stand out like dark spots of blood on snow.

“The Day of the Shadow is coming,” he murmured in a spooky voice that sounded nothing like his normal, cheerful one.

A shiver ran down Jack’s spine. “Come again?” he said, hoping he’d heard wrong.

“The Day of the Shadow…it draws closer and closer…” Jean said softly. “The Day of the Shadow will be here soon.”

“What is he talking about?” Marcella asked, her eyes wide and frightened. “Jean, stop it! Stop teasing! Act normal!”

“He can’t help it,” Sarah said. “These berries give people visions of the future.” She crushed them in her fist and dropped them on the ground. “He was foolish to eat them. Leave him here or carry him with us—he’ll be like this for hours.”

She spun and strode ahead through the trees. Carolina noticed that her ankle seemed to be just fine. “And hurry!” Sarah called over her shoulder. “We must be ready to attack King Samuel’s fort at dawn, when the decoy ship is launched!”

“Hustle bustle, hurry flurry,” Jack muttered.

“Your cousin will be all right,” Jocard said kindly, patting Marcella’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marcella.”

“Like you know anything!” Marcella retorted, but he was already turning away to catch up with Sarah.

“Visions of the future?” Jack echoed. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Hey, Jean lad, tell me—how soon will I make my first million doubloons? Or, I know—have my pretty lass friends back in Tortuga forgotten about me yet? Or how about this—where can I find the best rum, eh?”

“He’s not a crystal ball,” Marcella snapped as Diego and Alex awkwardly draped Jean’s arms over their shoulders and dragged him forward.

“Betrayal,” Jean whispered, turning his unseeing eyes toward Jack. “Betrayal awaits you.…”

“Uh-oh,” Jack said, looking alarmed. “Not good.”

“I see an island,” Jean went on. “You’re alone on an island with buried rum, lots of rum.…”

Jack’s face lit up. “Much better!” he declared. “Not bad at all! Er—how much rum, exactly?”

“The Day of the Shadow is coming,” Jean said again, and his head lolled to the side. Diego staggered as Jean’s weight sagged against his shoulder.

“He’s talking about the Shadow Lord,” Carolina said to Jack. “He must be! The Day of the Shadow—do you know what that means?”

“Trifles,” Jack said, waving her off. “Probably nothing to worry about. Mad ravings. Every day has shadows in it, doesn’t it? Bit of mumbo-jumbo, wobbly-babbly, that’s all.”

“Visions of the future, you mean,” Carolina said. She hopped over a fallen tree trunk and hurried to keep up with Jack. Long strands of moss hung down in their faces and blue butterflies darted away into the foliage. “Aren’t you worried?”

“About being betrayed?” Jack said. “Piffle.

Who would betray someone as charming as me?”

It was lucky for Barbossa that Jack couldn’t see the expression on his face at that moment.

“Don’t do it!” Jean cried suddenly. His head popped up, and he nearly fell before Diego and Alex caught him. “Don’t do it, Jack! Don’t drink the last vial!”

Jack sprinted back, clearing the tree trunk in a single bound, and clapped a hand over Jean’s mouth. He grinned wanly at Barbossa.

“What is he on about?” Barbossa growled. “Drinking the vials of Shadow Gold? Who would do that?”

“Good point, Hector,” Jack said, nodding vigorously. “No one would do that! Pretty, shiny Shadow Gold! Drink it—that’s crazy talk.”

None of his crew members knew the truth: that Jack had to drink the Shadow Gold to cure his shadow-sickness. The rest of the pirates, including Barbossa, thought Jack was saving the Shadow Gold to sell at the end of their voyage, which would make them all fabulously wealthy. This seemed like a much better strategy to Jack than explaining to all of them that this whole trip was just to save his life. He was pretty sure they’d understand once he explained it to them at the end…or, failing that, he was pretty sure he could outrun them all.

Jean fought free of Jack’s hand. “She’ll die!” he gasped hoarsely. “If you take the last vial…I see it—she dies. I see her hair, long and dark—and the blood—so much blood.…She dies trying to save you, Jack! On the Day of the Shadow!”

Diego gasped. “He’s talking about Carolina!” He grabbed Jack’s shoulder and shook it. “He’s saying Carolina is going to die!”

Carolina was speechless. Was it true? Was she destined to die fighting the Shadow Lord?

“Well, you know how these prophecy thingies are,” Jack said, trying not to look worried. “All vague and cryptic and, uh…cryptic and vague.”

“Ooooh, not all of them,” Grandmama chirped. Her black eyes sparked with malevolent glee at the anxious looks on all their faces. “Some prophecies are spot-on. Like the one Cousin Mabeltrude the Violent Visionary had about you nearly burning down my ship when you were eight. Lucky she predicted it, too, or we mightn’t have had the foresight to lock you in the brig where you couldn’t do too much damage.”

“That wasn’t a vision,” Jack insisted balefully. “All eight-year-old boys like fire.
Anyone
could have guessed that.”

“Skeletons in the moonlight!” Jean shrieked. “They look alive, but they’re not! Cursed, they’re all cursed! Even the monkey!” Suddenly he slumped again, losing consciousness against Diego’s shoulder.

“See?” Jack said triumphantly. “Utter nonsense!”

“Huh. That did sound pretty ridiculous,” Diego admitted.

“Come on, let’s catch up to the others,” Jack said. They started forward again, dragging Jean carefully along with them.

“Jack…watch out…he’s out there waiting…” Jean murmured.

“The Shadow Lord?” Jack said quietly.

“And the other one…thirteen years, Jack…and then he sends his pet. Beware, for the beastie brings your death.…”

Diego looked at Jack quizzically.

“More nonsense!” Jack said. “Ha-ha! Rambling! Makes no sense to anybody! Especially not to me! No, sir!” He patted his forehead with his kerchief and edged away from Jean, stumbling over fallen branches.

Unfortunately, he knew exactly what that last comment was about, and who the dark character was that was waiting for him out in the world. And since nobody else knew about that…Jack had to wonder whether that meant Jean’s other words were going to come true as well.

T
he imposing stone fort of King Samuel, Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean, sat on a high cliff overlooking a bay, with views all the way to the ocean. Guards patrolled the ramparts day and night, keeping a sharp eye out for approaching ships.

But they had never seen anything quite like the ship that was slowly limping into the bay at that moment. Pale gold and pink streaked the dawn sky with only a few thin clouds overhead, and because of the bluff the fort was built on, the sun was angled to rise almost directly behind the ship. Its drab, dirty sails were barely fluttering in the early morning breeze. The guards couldn’t see any movement on the deck—it almost looked like a ghost ship sailing forth without a crew.

One thing it did have, though: cannons. Gun and cannon barrels poked out of every hole. The ship might not have looked like a threat otherwise, but the guards knew King Samuel would want to hear about those cannons.

“Go sound the alarm,” said the head guard, squinting against the sun. “We’ll treat it as an attack.”

“A rather pathetic attack,” snorted one of the other guards.

“Hey,” said a third, “is that…
smoke
coming out of the portholes?”

They all fell silent. Their eyes were dazzled by the rising sun, and it was hard to see. It did seem as if thin dark smoke were trickling from a few of the ship’s portholes.

“They’re lighting their cannons already!” said the head guard. “Quick, get everyone to the ships! We must shoot it out of the water before it has a chance to shoot us!”

Pandemonium erupted in the fort. Pirates ran in all directions, gathering their weapons. King Samuel strode out onto the highest rampart to see this mysterious ship for himself. His bald head gleamed like ebony in the sunlight, which sparkled off his large gold earrings. He swept his leopard-skin robe around him and lifted his chin regally.

“It could be a trick,” his deep voice boomed. “Like a Trojan horse—anything could be inside. Approach with caution—do not get close enough to be boarded! Just shoot at the ship from afar!”

He turned to his guests and smiled an insincerely toothy smile. “Nothing to worry about, my European friends. Foolish pirates often try to prove their strength by attacking King Samuel. And then they prove their mortality—by dying.”

“Mm-hmm,” Benedict said noncommittally, shooting his wife a significant look. Barbara fluttered her
Peacock
fan in front of her face and sidled closer to King Samuel.

“You must be very brave,” she said with a coy expression. “Getting attacked all the time! I can’t even imagine. When was the last time—and what did you do?”

King Samuel loved to talk about himself (often in the third person), as Benedict and Barbara had learned painfully over dinner the night before. He loved showing off for visitors from all parts of the world, impressing them with tales of his manliness and strength, his cunning and power. The Huntingtons had suffered through an endless walk through Samuel’s trophy room, where he kept the heads of animals he’d killed and treasures from ships he’d sunk or pirates he’d robbed.

Samuel’s favorite pastime—apart from betraying fellow pirates for large piles of gold—was hunting and trapping wild animals in Africa, then bringing them back alive on his ship. As a result, the fort was inhabited by a strange wandering menagerie. Barbara had not been pleased when an enormous tiger sauntered through her bedroom in the middle of the night, nor was she particularly fond of the parrots that fluttered through the rafters while they ate dinner. And she was fairly certain that a ridiculously tall spotted creature with a neck as long as a tree had poked its head in her window while she was dressing that morning. If you asked her, it was downright unsanitary.

Now Samuel launched into an endless story about a wayward Arabic ship that had run into a storm and made the terrible mistake of seeking shelter in his bay. Riveted by Barbara’s hypnotic green eyes, he didn’t notice Benedict slinking away in search of the landward entrance to Samuel’s fort.

For indeed there was one—a small wooden door in a large stone wall. Samuel’s men used it to get to the jungle when they needed food or building supplies. It was locked, but no one bothered to guard it. What self-respecting pirate would ever attack by land instead of by sea? Not only that, but the terrain for miles around was a tangle of forest and marsh where nobody would want to live, or even travel.

And yet…emerging from the trees at that very moment were the latest pirates to attempt an attack on King Samuel’s fort. Sarah led them up to the door, and they stood around it for a moment, catching their breath.

They had spent a very unpleasant night in the rain forest, sleeping in mud and swarmed by mosquitoes. It also didn’t help that Jean kept sitting up suddenly with howls of: “The Day of the Shadow is coming!” or “Don’t take the gold! It’s cursed!” or “She’s going to die!” or “The monkey’s name is Jack!” (This last one caused Barbossa endless amusement, and he filed it away in his memory for future use.)

Fortunately, when they finally arose to travel on a few hours before dawn, Jean had recovered. He was still woozy and pale, but his eyes were back to normal, and he couldn’t remember a thing about his visions. When Jack tried to ask him some pointed questions, Jean just blinked at him in confusion.

“That’s all right, then,” Jack had said brightly. “Let’s all just forget it ever happened.” But the coming “Day of the Shadow” threat hung over them all, and for a couple of people in particular, the words that seemed to hint at Carolina’s death were even more terrifying. Jack wanted to forget it more than anyone. If Jean was right, then drinking the last vial of Shadow Gold would mean Carolina’s death. But
not
drinking it meant Jack would die—Tia Dalma had told him specifically that he needed all seven to be cured. So what was he going to do?

“This is the door?” Jack said, shoving those thoughts aside. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“Oh, and I’m sure
your
fort has the best defenses in the world,” Sarah snapped. She was in a particularly bad mood this morning. Someone had dropped bitter tree bark into her soup the night before and then filled her hair with beetles while she was sleeping. Of course, almost everyone could guess exactly who that
someone
was, but Marcella protested innocence when Jean asked her about it, and Grandmama fended off any other interrogators by thumping them with her cane.

The ancient pirate seemed to have taken a liking to Marcella, which didn’t surprise Jack at all. Naturally the two most irritating women he’d ever met would hit it off. They were probably plotting some new way to annoy him at this very moment.

He narrowed his eyes at them, but Grandmama’s attention was fixed on the door. Her eyes were shining, and her sword was already out of its sheath. She was the only one who’d gotten a good night’s rest, and she was raring to leap into battle.

Even from the outside, the pirates could hear shouting and crashes inside the fort.

“The distraction is working,” Jocard said in a low, calm voice. “We must go now.”

“The door will be locked,” Sarah said. “We’ll have to hack through the wood. I know a few of you brought axes; the rest can use their swords.”

“Hang on,” Jack said. “Before we blunt our lovely steel on this impediment to our progress, how about we at least
try
the doorknob?” He sidled around Sarah, who put her hands on her hips and huffed impatiently.

“Do what you like, but there’s no point!” she said. “I’ve been here before; I know this door is always locked.…” Her voice trailed off as the door swung smoothly open under Jack’s hand.

“Funny,” Jack said. “Always locked, eh? All evidence to the contrary?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sarah said, shoving him aside and storming through the door.

“I was going to
say
ladies first,” Jack called after her.

The other pirates bundled through the door en masse, drawing daggers, swords, and pistols in a swarm of red kerchiefs and rotten-toothed grins. Just inside the door was a small round vestibule and a long hallway leading to a set of stone stairs and two doors. Jack guessed that at least one of the doors probably led into the kitchen, which could often be found on this level in forts like this. For one thing, it made it easier to drag dead carcasses straight from the hunt to the cooks for cleaning and roasting.

“Don’t forget!” Jocard called above the fray. “King Samuel is mine!”

Jack bowed pleasantly as everyone tumbled past him. He was perfectly happy to let other people be the first ones into battle. Cleaning up afterward was more his line of work. Picking up any treasure that got accidentally dropped along the way, for example.

He nipped inside after the last pirate had entered and turned to close the door behind him. The footsteps of his crew’s boots were pounding away down the hall as the door clicked shut.

Suddenly he felt cold steel pressing into his neck, and he froze. “I’ve been waiting for you, Jack Sparrow,” said the voice of Benedict Huntington.