The Caribbean

• Prologue
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Epilogue
  
• Rising in the East
  

A
thick, heavy heat hung over the dark jungle. Not a breath of wind stirred the wide leaves or tangled vines, and only slivers of silver moonlight slipped through the dense tree cover.

And yet, despite the stillness…something was moving. A ripple of shadow here, a spot of deeper darkness there. And if there had been anyone to watch from the corner of his eye, that someone might have followed this trail of glimmers and half-seen spirits all the way to a house hidden in the darkest of the myriad patches of shadow.

The stones of the house seemed out of place, more suited to Europe than this Caribbean island. There was real glass in the windows, which were thick and warped, but there was nothing to be seen through them; black velvet curtains were drawn tightly, keeping even the smallest flicker of firelight from escaping.

But if the unseen watcher had made it this far through the thick jungle with his sanity intact, he might have peeked through the open door and seen the most terrifying part of this unsettling house: its inhabitant. The man leaned over a long wooden table that nearly filled the front room. Strewn across its surface were strange, arcane objects: beakers of bubbling gold liquid; weights and miniature scales; tiny nonhuman skulls; and sheets and sheets of parchment crowded with ink. Frantic scribblings filled every corner of the pages with indecipherable formulas and notations.

This was the secret laboratory of the Shadow Lord. He was the greatest alchemist the Seven Seas had ever known and the fiercest pirate in the Caribbean…and no one knew it but him.

But all that was going to change—starting tonight.

His hands flickered oddly in the candlelight, as if shadows had woven themselves around his palms. His cold eyes peered into the depths of the cauldron on the table in front of him, reflecting the eerie blue light that glowed from the liquid inside.

Slowly, the liquid swirled, and the Shadow Lord raised his hands, twisting the ring on his left middle finger. Images began to form, and in a moment a scene had appeared in the cauldron.

He smiled grimly. Smoke billowed from blazing fires below the full moon. Screams were still rising from the burning fort, and bodies lay scattered across the sand, cut down by his army as they tried to escape.

But nobody would escape. Nobody would live to tell the tale of what had happened here. All that would remain were the destruction, the ruins, the ashes, and the death. It would be as if an army had risen out of the shadows and destroyed everything, then vanished back into the shadows.

He chuckled. That was
exactly
what had happened.

That was how his shadow army worked: the shadows took over any inanimate objects they came across, turning them into deadly, unstoppable, invincible fighters. How was anyone supposed to fight a man made of a chest, with barrels for legs and cannons for arms? Or a monstrous creature of ropes and swords, slicing and weaving like a thing out of their nightmares, with no eyes to gouge, no body to stab, no heart to cut out—nothing to kill?

That was the genius of his shadow army. No need for mere men of flesh and blood, who would either die pathetically or betray you in the end.

“First Panama,” he muttered. “Teach them the lesson they should have learned long ago. And then…the rest of the world.”

The scene in the cauldron shifted, and he smiled wider and wider with each image of the carnage his power had wrought. He caught a glimpse of the ocean beyond and leaned forward suddenly, making an abrupt motion with his hand. Slowly, his view within the cauldron panned out, and he could see the wide, unbroken stretch of sea that lay beside this beach, the waves lapping placidly at the shore as if they were used to witnessing such bloodshed every day.

Then the Shadow Lord’s smile fell. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He clenched his fist and slammed the table, sending a cascade of papers and books crashing to the floor.

Gone. His ship was
gone
!

After all the trouble he’d gone through to get a ship, his shadow army had destroyed it on its very first mission. Now, as he swung his view back through the town, he could see pieces of it in the wreckage—a tattered sail here, a broken spar there, the basket of the crow’s nest now guttering into ashes on a thatched roof.

Cursed shadow army. He still hadn’t figured out quite how to control them the way he meant to. He could raise them, send them forth, and summon them back, but while they were running loose they did idiotic things like take his ship apart to create more warriors. He needed more practice before he’d be ready for his day of vengeance, but that date was approaching quickly.

Swearing murderously, he picked up one of the tiny skulls from his desk and crushed it between his meaty hands. A good thing he hadn’t gone to Panama along with the shadow army, as he’d originally planned. If he had, he’d now be stranded there, just waiting for someone to come discover the burned town. How ignominious. How the other pirates would laugh if they knew. Those who remembered him at all already thought he was an incompetent buffoon.

He ground the shards of the skull into dust in his palms, remembering the injustice done to him long ago. Little did the Pirate Lords know that he was still out here, planning his revenge. Even if they did know, they wouldn’t worry. “Oh, him,” they’d say. “He was a terrible pirate! Could barely stand upright on a ship! Nothing to fear from him.”

But they were wrong. They were very, very wrong. And in just about two months, they would find out how wrong they were.

Soon
, he thought, the day will come that I’ve been waiting for for so long. Very soon.

But first he needed a new ship. Perhaps he could steal one from a Pirate Lord. That would be beautifully ironic.

He curled his fingers over the cauldron, and the shadows came rushing back to the Shadow Lord here in his dark house among the jungle vines. As they poured forth, the brooms and buckets and odds and ends of broken wood that the Shadow Army had imbued with life fell to the ground, harmless once more. No one who found the wrecked town would ever know that these innocuous-looking everyday objects were the very instruments of all the death and destruction left behind.

The Shadow Army boiled up from the town into a massive dark cloud that flowed into the sky and seemingly evaporated before reemerging in the cauldron of the Shadow Lord, where it poured out and flooded back into his ring, vanishing. The large stone in the ring slowly turned from crystal clear to pitch black as the shadowy cloud disappeared into it.

Scowling, the Shadow Lord drew his cape around him and went to the door, peering out into the hot, soundless night. Only one thing could calm him when thoughts of revenge and anger threatened to overwhelm him: looking at the source of his power and remembering that he was the only one who possessed it.

Satisfied that no one was lurking in the darkness (no one would ever
want
to lurk in that darkness), the Shadow Lord knelt beside his fireplace and pried up a loose floorboard. He reached into the space underneath and drew out the chest that was hidden there.

But even as he lifted it, his shriveled heart gave an unsteady lurch. It was too light…far lighter than usual. Quickly he set it on the floor and flung it open.

Empty.

The vials of Shadow Gold were gone, all seven of them.

Enraged, he leaped to his feet and flung the chest out the window with supernatural strength. The glass shattered and the curtain was torn from the railing. It fluttered like a lost ghost as it fell into the jungle with the chest.

That was
his
Shadow Gold. He had tirelessly labored over it; he had studied for years to figure out how to find the precise combination of liquid gold and orichalcum. He was the one who had found the last supply of orichalcum in the world and measured each painstaking drop into the vials. There was no more; there would never be any other Shadow Gold. He alone knew its power, and he hadn’t even discovered the limits of it yet.

But if no one else knew the power contained in the vials, then why would someone want them? They looked like nothing more than small vials of golden liquid with shiny metal flakes in them.

Someone must know. They knew where to find the vials, and they might even know how to use their power—power that could make the thief as strong as the Shadow Lord himself.

Seven vials. Out there in the world.

Who had dared to steal from him? And how?

His mind reeled, and then, focusing, his eyes narrowed. The Pirate Lords of the Brethren Court. If they were behind this…especially that most vile of all pirates, Jack Sparrow…they would die even more slowly and painfully than the Shadow Lord had first planned.

“J
ack!”

The sun shone merrily on the sparkling blue sea, and the crisp black sails and gleaming, scrubbed decks of the
Black Pearl
. Up at the prow of the ship, a dashing pirate stood proudly, arms akimbo and legs braced against the rolling waves, his dark hair flying in the wind. He turned his head slightly and grinned, letting the sunlight sparkle grandly off his gold tooth.

“JACK!” the voice behind him said again, exasperated.

Jack Sparrow still did not respond. He tried a different way of tilting his head, setting his hat at a jaunty new angle.

The barrel of a pistol poked him forcefully in the ribs.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” his first mate snarled from the other end of the pistol, “but I
know
you can hear me, Jack.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jack said, spinning around with a little wave of his hand. “I presumed you must be addressing some
other
Jack, one who was not captain of the finest ship ever to sail the Seven Seas—since
surely
if you were addressing
me
, you would have said ‘Captain Jack,’ isn’t that right?”

His first mate, his scraggly red beard quivering, heaved a deep, irritated sigh. “My apologies,
Captain
Jack.”

“That’s much better,” Jack said, tapping him lightly on the head. “When we get our new crew in Tortuga, they’ll be looking to you for how to behave. Savvy?” He sauntered back toward center deck, then turned, squinting, as a thought struck him. “Oh, and really? Ostrich feathers, Barbossa? Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

Hector Barbossa narrowed his eyes as Captain Jack Sparrow sashayed along the deck. Barbossa self-consciously touched his new hat, resplendent with enormous ostrich feathers. “We’re a-coming up on Tortuga now,
sir
,” he called.

“Excellent,” Jack called back. “Let’s see if we can find some
real
pirates there.”

The few remaining crew members glared at him.

“I mean, in addition to you fine…swarthy…er, burly ruffians,” Jack added.

It was surprising how fickle pirates could be. One tiny misadventure—one mislabeled treasure map, one chest of mold instead of gold—and they scattered to the winds, grumbling and muttering and throwing dark glances back at their dashing captain. As if it were his fault! So what if he was the one who’d bought the map? Any other pirate captain would have done the same at that ridiculously low price.

Well, no matter. If there was one thing that was easy to find in the Caribbean, it was a fresh supply of pirates. With his loyal first mate, Barbossa, at his side, Jack would sweep into Tortuga and no doubt the best pirates would fall all over themselves to join him.

They only had to take one look at his magnificent ship to see the advantages of being part of Jack’s crew. The
Black P
earl
! Fastest ship in the Caribbean! This was a far cry from his first command, the lowly
Barnacle
. Pirates dreamed all their lives of having a ship like the
Pearl
, and now it was his: risen from the depths of Davy Jones’s Locker.

And all he had to do to get it was barter away his soul. Jack straightened his hat, brushing away the uneasiness that came with that thought. He didn’t have to worry about his bargain for another thirteen years. He’d find a way to deal with it by then. For now, he had thirteen years of freedom to look forward to—thirteen years of freedom with his loyal crew and his splendid ship.

But first, he had to find that loyal crew.

T
ortuga was as crowded and loud and vile as ever. From the wharf, Jack could see the Faithful Bride tavern, where he had met his original first mate, Arabella Smith, so many years ago. He knew she wasn’t there anymore. He’d be lucky to find any pirates with half her courage and intelligence.

Jack strolled down the gangplank as his paltry crew scurried about, tying up the boat.

“Oh, Jaaack,” Barbossa said, leaning over the railing above.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean,
Captain
Jack,” Barbossa said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t I stay here with the ship? I can…keep an eye on things. While you’re gone.” He smiled ingratiatingly. “Trust me, I’ll take good care of the
Pearl
.”

“Nonsense,” Jack said. “I need your keen eye and sound judgment in choosing a crew, Barbossa. A noble offer, but I insist you accompany me to the Faithful Bride.”

Barbossa scowled. “Very well, then,” he said, stomping down the gangplank to join Jack.

But Jack was distracted by the sight of a familiar face at the end of the dock.

“Bill!” he cried in delight, dashing up to his old friend. “Billy Turner? Is it really you?”

“Oh, hello, Jack,” Billy said in his usual serious way. “I wondered if I would see you here sooner or later.”

“But this is marvelous!” Jack exclaimed, seizing Bill’s hand and pumping it up and down. “This is your lucky day, old friend! It just so happens that due to surprising and unforeseen circumstances entirely beyond my control, there is a position available with my crew.”

One of Jack’s crew stormed past, flinging an end of rope at Jack. “Tie up yer own cursed ship!” he snapped. “I’m off to find a ship whose cap’n ain’t barmy as a seagull.”

“Perhaps
more
than one position, then,” Jack amended, throwing his arm around Bill’s shoulder. “Know anyone else who might want to join us? Perchance that fellow we once sailed with, what was his name? Oh, yes—Owbout Yew?”

“Yew?” Billy asked, perplexed. He had known Jack for years but couldn’t always understand his quick wit. Then Bill’s curious expression deflated upon realizing what Jack was suggesting. “Oh, ‘
you
,’ not ‘yew.’ Not you, me. I mean, you want me to join your crew. Thanks, Jack, flattered,” Billy said, pulling himself away from Jack, “but I’m not looking for work. I’m just trying to get home.”

“But Billy, lad!” Jack protested. “Take a look at my ship!” He gestured grandiosely toward the
Pearl
. “The
Black Pearl
, Billy—remember the stories we used to hear about the fastest ship in the world? This is it! But it’s even faster now.”

“Not faster than Davy Jones’s ship, the
Flying
Dutchman
,” Billy said gloomily.

“Pfft,” Jack said with a dismissive wave. “Unfair advantage. Extrasupernatural, dead crew, all that. Also, did you notice my hat? Isn’t it excellent? Come on, Bill—we’re going to have grand adventures!”

“Pirate adventures, you mean,” Bill said. “No thanks, Jack. I have responsibilities now.”

“Yes,” Jack said disapprovingly, narrowing his kohl-lined eyes. “And how is the little wife?”

“She’s doing very well, Jack,” Bill said. “I know she’d love for you to visit. And then you could meet our son.”

“Your
what
?” Jack said, cupping his hand behind his ear. “Come again?”

“Our son, Jack—we have a baby boy.”

“Oh,” said Jack with little interest. He looked around the bustling wharf as if hoping something would happen to change the subject. Then a thought occurred to him. “Did you name him Jack, by any chance?”

Bill chuckled. “I’m afraid not, Jack. He’s a William, like me.”

“Oh,” Jack said, losing interest again. “I just thought you might want to name him after your mentor and role model…the greatest pirate captain in the Caribbean…someone who’s always been a friend to you
and
that bonnie lass of yours…no, no, that’s all right.” He paused. “Saved your lives on a number of occasions, I did,” Jack turned the dagger a little more. “Oh, well, maybe the next one?” he said hopefully.

“Maybe,” Bill agreed with a smile.

“Well, ‘William’ shouldn’t stop you from having a bit of an adventure before going home,” Jack said. “Wouldn’t you like to take some pirate gold back to your baby-who-is-notnamed-Jack?”

“I left to make my fortune on a merchant ship,” Bill said glumly, “but we were attacked by Spanish pirates not far from here, and they stole the ship. I’ve been stranded on Tortuga ever since.”

“Spanish pirates!” Jack scoffed. “Vagabonds and lummoxes! What are they doing in
our
Caribbean, I’d like to know? Don’t they have their own sea to pillage and plunder? It seems like all you hear about nowadays are Spanish pirates. When people really should be talking about me instead.”

“Well, they’re none too friendly, that’s for certain,” Bill said.

“You know what you should do,” Jack said sagely. “You should stash that kid of yours in an orphanage. Or a monastery. Happens to boys all the time, and lots of them grow up to be terrific pirates. Then you and the missus can come on a little jaunt with me—liberate some treasure, get some fresh sea air, maybe even an excellent hat of your own. The kid’ll be there when you get back. Trust me, he won’t even notice you’ve gone.”

“No, Jack,” Bill said firmly.

“Freedom!” Jack cried, waving his arms madly. “The wind in your hair! Rum! Salty wenches! Sea air!” He paused, thinking for a minute. “Did I mention rum?”

“I’m going home,” Bill insisted, setting his jaw. “That’s all I want—to get back home.”

Jack eyed him shrewdly from head to toe. A plan was forming in his mind. A plan to keep Billy with him long enough to persuade him to join the
Pearl
. “Home, eh?” he said. “And where is home these days?”

“North Carolina,” Bill said, tipping his head to the north. “Not many boats going all that way, I’m afraid.”

Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully, twisting the braids of his beard. “Hmmm,” he said. “Tell you what, Billy, my friend. Why don’t we give you a lift?”

Bill eyed him with deep suspicion. “All the way to North Carolina?”

“Why not?” Jack said, spreading his hands. “We’ve got nowhere else to be. We might as well venture up the coast and see how things are. Then we can drop you off and be on our merry way, eh?”

“And what do
you
get out of it?” Bill asked.

Jack looked injured. He pressed one hand to his heart and had the most innocent expression on his face. “Why, I get to spend some quality time with one of my very good friends,” he said.

Bill still looked dubious.

“And I hear there’s treasure in the Carolina islands,” Jack tried.

“Ah,” Bill said, relaxing. “Well, that makes more sense. If you’re sure you’d be going that way anyway.”

“Of course!” Jack said. “With the speed of my fine ship, we’ll have you home in no time at all.” He smiled, showing all his teeth. It had been a very long time since Bill had seen Jack. He’d forgotten what that smile meant—that Jack might not exactly be telling the whole truth.

“Thanks, Jack,” Bill said with a tight, forced grin. “I appreciate it.”

“We just have to stop by the tavern and pick up a few pirates before we go,” Jack said. “Barbossa!” he yelled. He turned and saw his first mate frozen halfway up the gangplank, as if he’d been sneaking back on board. “Come on, Hector, stop dawdling!” Jack called. “What’s taking you so long? We have pirates to recruit!”

Clapping Bill on the back, he steered his friend into the crowd. With a muttered curse, Barbossa trailed behind them up the hill to the Faithful Bride.

A
pair of eyes watched, unseen, as the three pirates swaggered away from the
Black Pearl
. The watcher had heard every word Jack said. The fastest ship in the Caribbean? That was exactly what he needed.…

The hidden figure snuck closer to the ship, eyeing the scruffy pirates who’d been left to guard it. One was picking his nails with his sword. The other was leaning sleepily on a barrel, his eyes drooping. Neither paid any attention to the splash in the water behind them. Neither noticed the ship bob a little in the water as someone grabbed a rope on the other side and hauled himself up and over the railing.

Not a single pirate on the
Black Pearl
had any idea that someone had snuck onto their ship. Nobody saw him slip quietly belowdecks and disappear into the shadows of the hold.