Wild Waters (9 page)

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.

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.

T
his 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!