Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. The original plots and characters are owned by me.
Perdition
General Luis de Guerrero, former Alcalde of La Havana, stood on the balcony of his villa in Santiago de Cuba looking out over the bay. The tranquil scenery was the perfect setting for an evening spent planning his triumphant return to Spain, after an ignominious flight from La Havana.
Guerrero had enriched himself for many years by collecting bribes and siphoning off modest amounts of gold from Spain's plate fleet. Much had to be abandoned when he departed the city in haste, but not all. He had brought with him a small wooden box with twenty-one identical medallions in it. No one else, including their former owners, knew their true worth. Guerrero, however, a student of history, recognised the priceless, legendary gold pieces. He had amassed his collection one piece at a time, through treachery, blackmail, and worse.
He was confident that his future would be assured when he reached Spain; however, being a cautious man, he had sent one medallion to be examined by his brother and an expert in antiquities in Madrid. He sipped from a glass of Madeira and the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. As soon as his brother replied, he would depart the Caribbean, bound for Spain.
At the very same moment when the general was enjoying his Madeira, Hector Barbossa was seated at the Pearl's chart table in another part of the Caribbean Sea, absorbed in a different set of reflections. Over the last two years, the Pearl had managed to capture and restore most of the remaining cursed gold, save for a mere twenty-two medallions. Barbossa gazed at the table, upon which lay two torn halves of a letter and one gold medallion – the only one to be recovered in the last six months. And now we need but twenty-one more, he thought.
Their latest prize had been discovered by Maximo when searching the hold of a Spanish ship they had overtaken. Though his Spanish was quite poor, Barbossa had spent nearly an hour studying the torn letter, his naturally curious and suspicious nature prompting him to investigate further. At last, he strode to the door and shouted to Bo'sun, "Send Maximo."
In due course, Maximo tapped on the door and entered Barbossa's quarters, looking as if he wished to disappear behind his bushy, unkempt black beard. Barbossa fixed him with a piercing stare. "D'ye know why I summoned ye?" he asked.
Maximo swallowed nervously. "Because I tore the letter to get the gold out?" he mumbled into his beard. "Didn't mean t—" but Barbossa waved him off.
"Bein' from Cartagena, ye have some knowledge o' the Spanish tongue," he said, "An' I need t' know what be in this letter."
Maximo continued to look alarmed. "But I can't read it."
"No matter – I'll read an' ye can tell me what it means," Barbossa replied. He took up the letter and began to read haltingly, as Maximo translated.
When he got to the phrase veinte más medallones, he heard Maximo catch his breath. "Twenty more!" Maximo exclaimed. "He has twenty more of them!"
"An' the last part," Barbossa replied. "Sue carta me leggeran—" He paused and looked at Maximo.
Maximo had been on the verge of telling him that llegarán was pronounced "ye-ge-RAN", but thought better of it. "Your letter will get t'me . . ." he offered.
"En Santiago," Barbossa added. He looked at Maximo to confirm what he already guessed. Maximo seemed to be beside himself with joy.
"In Santiago!" he chortled excitedly. "He's in Santiago!"
Barbossa strode to the door, and shouted to Bo'sun. "Put on more canvas an' make way fer Santiago!" he ordered with a triumphant grin. Amid the hurried motions of her crew and the tumult of voices, the Pearl changed course and began to sail for Santiago de Cuba.
On the other side of the Caribbean, Jack Sparrow was seated in Tia Dalma's parlour, obediently drinking from a steaming mugful of liquid almost the same shade of green as an alligator's hide. He forced a smile at his hostess. "Just the thing for me headache," he said to Tia Dalma. She accepted the compliment with a small, sweet smile.
"So yuh nah wan' de t'ing dat cure it forever?" she teased him.
"You mean rendering me soul t' Davy Jones, an' servin' on the Dutchman in payment of an ill-advised accord? Don't think so," Jack answered, drawing the corners of his mouth down.
"Yuh mek a bargain wit' him, Witty Jack. Time be runnin' out," she said.
"Not as soon as you think," Jack replied. "By my calculations, Jones owes me at least nine more years as captain of the Pearl. With things as they stand, that nine years is lookin' a bit distant, wouldn't you say?" He grinned, showing a bit of golden tooth.
"Oh, nah, dear," she reassured him, "De curse don' stop Davy Jones. Yuh have t' go wit' him soon."
Jack's smile faded. "Not before I kill a certain scrofulous old monkey-minder," he said, a determined gleam in his dark eyes.
"Yuh nah kyan kill 'im until him break de curse," Tia Dalma reminded him. "Barbossa still lookin for de last medallions."
"Aye, after eight years," Jack said. "Don't say much for him as a captain, eh?" he muttered. He frowned and lowered his eyelids. "Seems I'll need to deal with Jones, then."
The payment he had brought Tia Dalma lay heaped upon her parlour table: ten specimens of a rare and peculiar fruit she had desired from Brazil. Jack wasn't certain he'd received what he needed in return, but he peered keenly into Tia Dalma's eyes, and carefully repeated everything she had told him.
"So . . . if I find this key," he said thoughtfully, "and unlock whatever it goes to . . . I might have something of value with which to negotiate with the cephalopodinous Jones?"
Tia Dalma had listened with an air of amusement, and nodded her head. "Dat sound right," she said.
Jack narrowed his eyes. "So what's it look like, then?"
She smiled broadly. "Like de wan in de drawin' . . ."
". . . that I need to find . . ." Jack finished the sentence.
". . . dat yuh need to find . . ." she repeated.
". . . and a Turkish seaman in Santiago knows something about said drawing," Jack finished. He gave a quick glance up the stairs, in the direction of Nina's small bedroom. "An' you're willin' t' let her help me?" he asked.
She nodded. "Only wit' de language. Nottin' else."
"What else is there?" he asked. Then a sudden suspicion struck him. "What's in Santiago?"
Tia Dalma sighed and looked at her table. "Cursed gold. An' dem dat seek it. But him need more dan gold."
"Aye, I know," Jack said, waving his hand wearily. "All the blood repaid-"
Suddenly he paused and looked at her sharply. A knowing grin began to spread across his face. "Who is it?" he coaxed. "Y' can't fool me, darlin'. Whose blood 'asn't he got?"
She grinned coyly, swinging her hips slightly. "Me t'ought yuh would never ask," she said. And she explained briefly about Bootstrap, as Jack's eyes grew bright with interest.
"Where's the child – or the erstwhile child, I suppose?" he asked.
Tia Dalma shrugged. "Does it matter? W'en dey find de last piece, an' take Bootstrap's chile, dey will go to de cave. Dat be where yuh kyan find 'im an kill 'im – if yuh fast enough."
She put her hand in a hidden pocket of her skirt and extracted Jack's compass. "To find de way back dere, yuh gwan need dis. Now don' say me never did nothin' for yuh."
Jack stared in amazement. "They made me leave it on the Pearl!" he exclaimed. "How did you-?" but the sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs interrupted him.
He turned to find Nina standing dumbstruck on the stair, gazing at him in joyful bewilderment.
"Hello, darlin'!" he greeted her cheerily. "By an amazin' coincidence, we was just speakin' about you! Fancy stepping out for a bit with Jack?"
So pleased was Nina at the return of her old friend, that she accepted Jack's offer without a single question as to where he might be taking her, or why. The two friends set out through the mountains on horseback and, after some hours, Jack admitted that their destination was Santiago. Nina darted a worried look at him.
"But Santiago is on the coast," she said.
"As always, you demonstrate an impressive grasp of geography, Brat," he replied, hoping to close the subject.
"Then why not go by sea?" Nina asked. The question made Jack edgy, not least because Nina often scrutinized his answers in a way that suggested skepticism.
"I know how you love horses, darlin'," he explained, "An' I thought the ride might be a treat for you." He smiled blankly, and Nina saw that, true or not, Jack was prepared to stick by his story.
That night, after they had made camp in the mountains, she delivered an ultimatum. "I see you play your cards closer to the vest than before," she told Jack, "But it's time to show your hand. Out with it – if you want my help!" Jack heaved a sigh and proceeded to explain.
"I need you to 'elp me find the drawin' of a certain key," Jack explained in a subdued voice, "All I need to know is what it looks like, where it is, and who's got charge of it. There's a mariner who may know something. He sails on the Whydah, and every year he comes to Santiago and has his fortune told. I need you to tell his fortune and see if in the process you can glean any particulars about said object."
Nina frowned, thoroughly puzzled. "The Whydah? Rackham's ship?"
"That's the one, love. But the man we're looking for was born and bred in Bandirma and only speaks. . ."
"Turkish. Now I see," she said. "You need me because I can speak to him in Turkish." Then she shook her head and laughed under her breath. "It may end with nothing, you know," she warned, "But I shall try this for your sake. I can see you have some shadow following you that's even worse than losing the Pearl."
"I might not be the only one followed by a shadow," he replied gently and, as he expected, her face flushed and she turned away. Still keepin' her secret, he thought sadly.
"Please put out the fire," she said, a bit too quickly. "The air is mild, and I'm not afraid of the ghosts in these mountains."
Jack put out the fire reluctantly, and stretched out on the other side of the embers. "Ghosts, you said?" he enquired.
"Don't tell me you're afraid of them, Jack," she sighed. "I've never known you to give a thought to that sort of thing."
"I suppose it's down to how much time you think you've got before you're no longer among the livin'," he mused, thinking of his bargain with Davy Jones. "Be nice if you were immortal, eh?"
"Not if you were Bootstrap," she said, suddenly tense. "Something awful has happened to him – I had a dream about it, and Tia Dalma all but told me it was true in so many words. He tried to fix it so Barbossa couldn't break the curse, and Barbossa threw him into the sea, tied to a cannon. And now, Bootstrap can't die; he's doomed to suffering without end, being crushed, not being able to breathe . . ." Then she added, "And there's more. He told Barbossa that my uncle would pay for my return – so he could kill me. Yes, there's a shadow following me, Jack."
"I'd heard Bootstrap's tale," Jack said with a sigh. "Didn't plan to fret you with it." As he lay down to sleep, he said the only thing he could think of to comfort her, "It'll all come right in the end, mouse. Just you wait and see. I'll kill the old robber before he can get his hands on you. I promise."
Late the next day, they arrived in Santiago, and Jack's venture went smoothly. He seated Nina in a corner of the local cantina, located the Turkish seaman without difficulty, and guided him to Nina's table.
"Ummm, gipsy telleee fortune," he explained, pointing at his own palm. "Readee handee, eh?" Nina rescued Jack from his language deficiency by holding out her palm with a confident, mysterious smile.
"Merhaba," she said to the seaman, the words rushing along in a soft, sibilant flow. "Gümüş, lütfen, geleceğini anlatmak için . . ." The seaman grinned and reached into his pocket as Jack exhaled a sigh of relief.
"Brilliant, mouse," he said under his breath, and withdrew to the other side of the taproom. Moments later, he was jolted by the sound of cannons firing, and he knew before the first volley had ceased echoing that the guns belonged to the Pearl.
He rushed back to the table. The seaman had passed out in the midst of having his fortune told, and Jack pulled Nina to her feet. "Time we were runnin' along, darlin'," he said. "By the sound of those guns, the Pearl is firing on the port."
The two friends pushed their way through the crowd of hastily departing customers and, once outside, crouched down behind the seawall. Jack took a quick look through his pocket-glass and gave a low whistle.
"What d' ye know – some of the gold must be here! Now that's interesting! Ever seen a ship crewed by the damned?" He gave the glass to Nina, who stared through it, terrified at the ghoulish vision of the Pearl in the harbour.
A moment later, the seawall nearby was breached by a cannon shot, and Nina dropped the glass and ran wildly up the hill towards Santiago's fortress. Jack caught her, and pulled her into a hiding place. "They're lookin' for the gold; it's calling 'em," he said. "They don't know we're here. Just you sit tight and they'll be off soon enough."
Jack's words proved true. The cannons soon grew quiet, and the mysterious ship was no longer seen in the harbour; the Pearl had heard the gold call from one of the small islands in the mouth of the Santiago River.
Guerrero had lost no time when the Pearl began to cannonade the town. Thinking that the ship must be one sent from Havana to capture him, he had taken the medallions and departed on a small sloop, hoping to evade them in the dark. He had reached a small island, and was kneeling behind some low bushes peering back at Santiago, when he suddenly felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Ev'nin'," said a voice behind him in English. Guerrero turned to see a tall, heavily armed man standing behind him and, further back, a group of probably ten more men. In a pleasant voice, the man continued, "I think ye have somethin' of ours." And thus, the last sight Guerrero ever saw was the man drawing his sword, as the moon came out from behind a cloud and revealed the faces of the ghouls that surrounded him.
The crew of the Black Pearl was jubilant when Barbossa returned with the twenty medallions, and great cheers went up, one after another. He acknowledged their praise, and ordered a course set for Isla de Muerta, but later in his cabin, more than one thought weighed heavily upon him.
There was only a single medallion missing now, and only the blood of one man remaining to be repaid. Despite every attempt to find an alternative, he came back to the same conclusion: they needed to go to Rotherhithe, to the last place where Bootstrap might have sent his gold. Barbossa would not allow himself to think beyond that; the gold had to be there, he thought, along with Bootstrap's child.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture Bootstrap's child, without success. No one on the Pearl could remember if Bootstrap had said he was father to a boy or a girl. Ragetti, when questioned, had only said, "Dunno – I s'pose Cap'n Sparrow might've known," which had irritated Barbossa. He sighed and opened his eyes once more; they would simply have to hope there was some trace left of Bootstrap's family in Rotherhithe.
Then Barbossa found his mind turning to the evening's raid on Santiago, and the odd premonition he had felt. As the cannons fired, he was suddenly certain that the drowned girl was there, watching him. The feeling was so strong that he had turned his glass towards the shore where he thought she was standing, but of course there was no sight of her. All he had seen were two ghostly figures sprinting up the hill towards the fortress.
He calculated that he had spent more than two years without sleep, and hoped that Tia Dalma might spare him another night's sleep soon; and at the back of his mind was the hope that sleep would bring another pleasant dream. However, the Pearl ferried the gold to the cave, and set out for England with no respite for her captain.
The closer they came to Land's End, the more Barbossa felt he was on the wrong track, but there was no other course open to them. His mood became grimmer and darker, but he persisted; when he sighted the Lizard, he gave orders to bear off to the southeast, and thus the Pearl sailed through the waters of the English Channel, and arrived at the mouth of the Thames. Hidden within the supernatural fog that always accompanied her, she made her way up the river, and lay by near Rotherhithe, behind a small island that served to screen her from view.
Which crew member it would be best to send ashore was a matter of some thoughtful calculation for Barbossa. Ragetti had some familiarity with the area, but it would take a much cleverer liar than Ragetti to dig information out of Rotherhithe's inhabitants. They were a hardened, suspicious, transient lot, with many a secret of their own to keep. He decided that Mallot was the man for the job, but he would also send Ragetti to lead Mallot through the crooked little streets.
To make their arrival inconspicuous, Barbossa watched for an opportunity to seize one of the many wherries that rowed passengers back and forth across the river. Late that night, he was able to take a wherry without any fuss, and dispatch the oarsman and his passenger.
Mallot and Ragetti donned the victims' clothing, and plied the oars for Rotherhithe, where Ragetti directed Mallot to the Three Mariners' Stairs. They tied up the wherry at the stone steps, and moved like shadows into the streets of Rotherhithe.
Ragetti led Mallot to East Lane, and the two pirates scoured the neighbourhood, from Nutkins Corners to Rope Walk, but neither could hear the faintest trace of the familiar hum that would betray the presence of the last medallion. Even when they ventured to enquire of a few passers-by, none had ever heard of anyone named Turner.
At last, Mallot set out for the nearest public house with Ragetti following in his wake.
They entered the taproom of The Salutation, and Mallot engaged the barkeep in conversation. The man had noticed that Mallot did not drink from the tankard he had ordered, and Mallot assured him that it was only because an obligation lay heavily on his mind – he was only in Rotherhithe to fulfil a promise to an old messmate, William Turner.
According to Mallot, the two of them had been captured and imprisoned in the Indies by the Spanish, and Turner had died in their cell. However, his friend had begged Mallot that, if he ever got out alive, he would take money to Turner's widow in Rotherhithe.
"I won't rest 'til I find 'er," he told the barkeep, which was certainly true. "An' me poor ol' mate was too delirious wiv fever t' tell me 'er given name – I only knows 'er as the Widder Turner."
The barkeep shook his head. "Never 'eard o' William nor 'is missus," he said.
Mallot showed genuine disappointment at this, but the barkeep turned and called out to a woman sitting in a far corner. "Oi, Mary! Did ye ever 'ear of a Mrs Turner? 'Usband was a seaman who died in the Indies?" Tapping Mallot on the arm, the barkeep muttered, "She'll know, if anyone does."
Mallot and Ragetti approached Mary, a bright-eyed old crone sitting at a small table with a glass of gin in front of her. "That'd be Margaret Turner," she told Mallot. "She's been dead an' gone these eight years."
"You sure?" asked Mallot, motioning to the barkeep to give Mary another tot of gin. Mary acknowledged this courtesy with a nod, and continued.
"I only knows about 'er because I used to 'ave a word with 'er landlady – that were Dora Shadderly – about the debts she left behind. Dora was quite tore up about it – not a farthing did she find once that woman died. She'd 'ave welcomed you an' no mistake, if you 'ad anything from Turner to pay 'is wife's debts."
"Well, p'raps I could do something," offered Mallot. "Where might I find Dora Shadderly?"
"Dead, like 'er tenant," said Mary with a shrug.
"And . . . were there any little Turners?" Mallot asked as Ragetti held his breath and leaned closer to Mary. But the question seemed to throw Mary into some doubt.
"Dunno," she replied. "Might've been one, but I don't recall." She waved her hand in a gesture that was meant to indicate the neighbouring streets. "You know 'ow they are – roamin' the streets, wild as cats. Who knows who they belong to? But any Turners are long gone."
Mallot assumed a look of resignation. "That's a shame, that is," he said, shaking his head. "I laid a wager wiv one of me mates that if Old Bill 'ad any heirs, I could track 'em down. Wagered a sovereign." He appeared not to notice Mary's eyes grow wide. "S'pose I'll 'ave t' pay 'im now," he said with a rueful smile at Mary. "I'd rather 'ave given you the coin an' found Old Bill's child." He began to rise from the table when Mary stopped him.
"Wait," she said. "I've just remembered something." Mallot slid back into his chair, and withdrew a sovereign from his pocket which he placed upon the table. Mary's eyes fixed upon the coin as she revealed the only information she possessed.
"Dora said she 'ad the child sign an indenture paper, an' sold it to a sea cap'n. She made a bit back on that, an' the child sailed from England when the mother died. That's all I know." She eyed the coin and Mallot expectantly.
"Bound for America? The East Indies? Barbados? D'ye know the child's name? Did Turner 'ave a son or a daughter?" asked Mallot. Mary shook her head.
"She didn't say nuthink about any of that." She raised her eyebrows and gazed down at the sovereign. Mallot became aware that the barkeep and two other customers were watching. He pushed the coin towards her.
"Fair enough, mother; much obliged t' ye," he said.
The two pirates rowed back to the Pearl in silence, each one pondering how they would ever find this child, when the only facts they had established were that a young person whose surname was Turner had departed London on a sailing ship eight years ago, destination unknown.
Barbossa listened to Mallot's report with a grim expression and condemned himself bitterly for not seeking out Bootstrap's family the moment he knew it might be necessary. Now all was lost: the gold had gone, and Bootstrap's heir with it.
When Mallot and Ragetti departed, Barbossa stared at the map lying on his chart table, and then suddenly crushed it in his hand. Now we be lost forever, he thought. After a moment, he recollected the word: perdition. Lost forever, damned to this existence forever. Contrary to what he would have imagined, the feeling that he was eternally captive in hell was unexpectedly numbing, in the sense that he found himself incapable of taking action or making a decision. We can't stop in the Thames 'til the last trumpet sounds, he finally concluded. But as he stood up and walked out to the deck, he felt as if he were carrying a dead man on his back. An' perhaps I am, he thought.
Once on deck, he spoke to Bo'sun and the men nearby were alarmed at the flatness of his tone. "Weigh anchor," he said. "You call the orders; take us out." And he remained standing where he was, as Bo'sun began to shout a continuous stream of orders, and the men moved smartly to carry them out. In short order, the Pearl had hauled up her anchor, unfurled her great black sails and, slowly at first, began to move as the wind filled her canvas. Barbossa listened to the sounds; the heavy billowing of the luffing sails, the sound they made when they caught the wind and snapped taut, the creak of the Pearl's timbers as her masts and yards strained against the pressure of her sails.
For a few moments, his mind went back to the day when he had first wrested the ship from Sparrow's command, and he remembered his pride and delight in being captain of the fine vessel that he loved. Then the last rays of the setting moon strayed across the Pearl's rigging, and he saw the tattered remnants of her sails fluttering in the night breeze. I've ruined the Pearl as well, he thought.
He turned to Ragetti, and said, "I want the red gown put back in the hold."
Ragetti and Pintel exchanged a quick glance and Ragetti answered, "Aye, Cap'n." Barbossa turned away without another word, and departed for his quarters.
Next: The Child of Bootstrap - After ten years of torment, victory is finally in reach for Barbossa.
