Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.


Retribution

Hours after the child of Bootstrap had appeared on the Pearl waving a pistol, Barbossa was pacing slowly about the day room, reviewing his plans. He had not allowed Turner's sudden arrival to unsettle him; he had used his wits to turn it all to his advantage. And now he meant to ensure that there was nothing too rash in his strategy. He wanted no problems of the sort that Bootstrap's departure had created. Barbossa had learned to govern his quick temper since that day, and he recognised that present events were nearing a crisis that required careful thought.

When he recalled Turner's son trying to negotiate with him, his mouth widened into a broad smile. During the actual conversation, of course, he had managed to maintain a serious expression until the accord was reached.

Turner, as simple-minded as his father, had insisted that Elizabeth go free, and the crew not be harmed. Fair enough. That was the point where Barbossa had cut their talk short; after hearing Turner's vague demands, he knew exactly how he intended to deal with each one of them – Sparrow, Turner, and Elizabeth Whoever-she-was.

"Agreed," he had said, showing his teeth in a triumphant grin. Agreed, Master Turner, he thought. I've got every blasted one of ye just where I want ye.

All of the prisoners remained bound with ropes as they stood on deck, and Turner joined them.

"Sound the ship!" Barbossa had ordered the carpenter, one Mr Crackett, "an' see to the brig first."

Once the brig was repaired, Barbossa had thrown the lot of them into it: Sparrow, the remaining crew, Turner, and the girl. No doubt they believed that the Pearl would set a course for Isla de Muerta, but he had another destination in mind.

Turner would have to be kept in health until the ritual was completed and proved to be successful. However, neither the girl nor Sparrow served any purpose at all and Barbossa reckoned it was time to take revenge on them both. Turner's bargain was worthless, because Sparrow, as "captain", was not part of the crew. As for Elizabeth, well, there were many ways to set a prisoner free.

The Pearl was bound for Rumrunner's Island, the sandy atoll where they had marooned Sparrow before. The idea of returning to the same place appealed to Barbossa: it carried a sense of fitness, of correcting a misstep, and of ending the curse with the same events that began it. And this time, Sparrow would have a companion, because Elizabeth would be "set free", just as the foolish Turner boy had asked, but in a place where she was certain to perish.

Yet . . . something was making him uneasy. After ten years of supernatural suffering, Barbossa found himself wary of uncanny signs. The eerie coincidence of young Turner's emergence from the ocean bothered him. One Turner going into the sea and another coming out of it gave him a peculiar feeling, as if Bootstrap had, in a sense, returned; and that would bode ill for the mutineers. He steadfastly rejected the idea; this was no time to lose his nerve over imagined omens.

He walked about the cabin, listening to the low-pitched hum that came from the medallion, carried safely in his coat pocket. He took it out to gaze at it once more, and noticed something caught in its chain.

It was the drowned girl's hairpin. He untangled it, and was about to drop the pin back into his pocket, when he stopped, startled by a sudden realisation. On his last visit to these waters, he had marooned Sparrow; but something else had happened on that day. He tightened his mouth for a moment at the thought of it: he was sailing to the very place, indeed the very waters, where Nina had thrown herself overboard.

He pictured the island and the seas. "Nina," he said under his breath, as a foolish wish popped into his head: that he could go back in time and stop her. Ah, he thought with relief, that explains me dreamin' about savin' her. Still, he felt an odd sense of loss; that possibility was closed to him now.

Similar ruminations occupied him all evening – the influence, he reckoned, of the ship's nearness to the scene of Nina's disappearance. He kept the hairpin in his hand, willing it to summon her spirit to the cabin, which seemed particularly empty somehow, and feeling ridiculous for it. Long after midnight, he recognised signs of drowsiness overtaking him, and he was grateful to retire to his berth where his worries would not follow him.

As he fell asleep, he expected to dream, and was not surprised to find himself and Nina in conversation. They were facing each other, seated on two crates of valuables, alone in the treasure cave. She extended her palms towards him, and he clasped his hands over hers. She leaned towards him and looked into his eyes as if about to confide a secret.

"I am going home," she said, adding, "to be killed" as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Then she pressed her ghostly fingers to his chest, and he felt a slight pain, as though she were somehow gently reaching into him, past his ribs, and actually touching his heart. "I'm so sorry," she said sadly, her voice echoing strangely in the cave.

"I'm goin' t' break the curse," he said urgently, taking her hands again. "I have the last medallion."

But she seemed not to notice. Instead, she remarked, "You've caught Jack – you mean to kill him."

"And how d' ye know that, m' fine lady?" he asked, taken aback.

"I always know when something happens to Jack," she answered.

"Oh, do ye, now?" he said. He tried to smile as he challenged her with a show of heartiness; but his spirits sank at the mention of Sparrow. Her calmness, her indifference to him, and her bond with Sparrow all tore at his pride, and his emotions felt naked and exposed in this dream. A terrible fear took hold of him that he had allowed himself to fall hopelessly in love with her and was at her mercy.

"Along with Jack, I've caught a pretty lass, as well," he added defiantly, wanting to ease the ache in his heart by hurting the girl in the dream. "Prettier than you."

"She's unlucky for you," she replied, with sincere concern in her voice.

"Is that so, missy?" he asked, pleased to have prompted a reaction.

"The Pearl – she's unlucky for you," Nina explained. She might have added my dear one, so solicitous was her expression.

Disappointed in her answer, he shrugged, "An' what matter is that to ye? I suppose ye want the Pearl fer Sparrow?"

"Perhaps."

"An' what d' ye want fer me? Nothin' good, I'll be bound," he asked tartly.

Nina reached towards him and touched the side of his face with one hand. She leaned close to his ear, and he could feel the tip of her nose, and the movement of her lips as she whispered to him. He thought he heard her murmur, "As for you . . . I love you."

It was soft as a sigh, and he was afraid he hadn't heard it. "You're naught but a dream," he said, suddenly feeling as though his heart was breaking.

"Does it matter?" she replied, her hand still caressing his beard; and then, unexpectedly, she kissed him before he could react. "Oh, why didn't you ask me just now?" she asked, mournfully. "We've run out of time, and I wanted you to be sure."

Ask ye what? he would have asked, but before he could make sense of her words, the girl and the dream quickly faded. Barbossa opened his eyes; it was morning, and the Pearl was anchoring off Rumrunner's Island.

He lay abed, but his mind worked quickly to recall and inspect each moment of the dream. What had he missed? What was he supposed to have asked her? Had she said she loved him, or had he wishfully added that sentence himself as he awakened? And he was still hurt by her mention of Sparrow.

He sighed. He was missing something; of that he was certain. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think, what with Sparrow, the medallion, Turner, and the girl in the red dress, Elizabeth – all of them up to no good, all of them hating him.

He went over his dream once more, and then he noticed it – why had he not asked a question of Nina when she said this? She had said she was going home to be killed.

If she could be killed, then she must be alive.

He allowed that thought to settle in, dismissing the fact that it came from a mere dream. The more he thought of it, the more he began to hope it could be true, and he felt the world around him change. Gradually, he began to convince himself of happy possibilities. Perhaps the gods would forgive him after all, and look kindly on him. Perhaps he could find Nina and claim her, and instead of despising him, she would return his attentions after all.

He looked at the hairpin, still in his hand. "Mortal belongs with mortal," he murmured, remembering Tia Dalma's words. But then he recalled other things that Tia Dalma had said.

He would not see Nina again in this life; that was one thing. And she had also said that his dreams were not real. He exhaled, disappointed. The real Nina feared him, Tia Dalma had explained, so much that she threw herself off the ship. He should be content with his dreams.

Then he realised something else: a living, breathing Nina could never be his friend or lover, for she would damn him forever for what he was about to do to Sparrow – she would curse him with her dying breath.

He set his jaw tightly: he was hell-bent upon his course, and nothing could change it – not a simpleton popping out of the sea, nor a dream woman he could never have.

He left his quarters, and ordered everyone to assemble on the main deck at once. He was determined that Turner should see how his bargain had failed of its purpose, even though all his demands were fulfilled.

As his first order of business, Barbossa forced Elizabeth out on the plank, over the shouted protests and accusations of young Turner. The captain pounced on Turner's arguments like a cat on a long-awaited mouse. "Don't dare impugn me honour, boy," he said, taunting the lad. "I agreed she'd go free, but it was you who failed to specify when or where."

Then, still angry at Elizabeth, he demanded the return of the red gown, to humiliate her further.

"It goes with your black heart," she retorted, and rather than hand it to him, she crumpled it like so many rags and threw it at him.

Spirited to the end, I see, he thought. Then he turned to his crew. "Ooh, it's still warm," he gloated. There was general laughter, and he was pleased by the look of helpless fury on Turner's face.

Once Elizabeth had been knocked into the sea, it was Sparrow's turn. Sparrow had recognised the island, of course, and was therefore unsurprised at being forced onto the plank. Still, he tried to bargain with his former first mate.

"Last time, you left me a pistol with one shot," he reminded Barbossa, as though it were a condition that was binding upon his adversary.

Always tryin' to turn the tables, eh, Jack? Barbossa thought. Still, Sparrow had a way of drawing one in with his cagey reasoning. Perhaps he had guessed that his captor intended to replicate the original marooning; in any case, Barbossa found himself agreeing.

The weapons were brought forward in a bundle and handed to Barbossa, and Sparrow tried for more.

"Seeing as there's two of us," he said, "a gentleman…would give us a pair of pistols."

Barbossa grinned at the attempt to play on his social ambitions. "It'll be one pistol as before," he replied in a kindly voice, "and you can be the gentleman and shoot the lady and starve to death yourself." He threw the pistol and sword into the sea, and Sparrow dove off the plank to recover them.

In the back of Barbossa's mind, he could imagine the drowned girl staring at him accusingly, but he shook off his doubts, and turned towards his men.

He nodded at the remaining members of Jack'screw. "Take 'em all back to the brig. Everyone in the starboard cell – except for him" – he pointed at Will Turner – "lock him on the other side."

Then he set a course for Isla de Muerta, and returned to his quarters.

Around sunset, Mr Crackett made his report, which was unremarkable. The Interceptor's cannons had blown several holes in the Pearl's hull, which Crackett was repairing. Bo'sun had organized teams to pump out the water.

Barbossa grunted and dismissed Crackett, but the carpenter had something else on his mind. "I suppose it'll be alright," he ventured. "But we've come upon a bit of fog."

Barbossa threw him a sharp glance: Crackett was generally oblivious to anything short of a hurricane, and something about his cautious tone and hesitant look made Barbossa stride past him to have a look for himself.

When he emerged on the main deck, he found the Pearl blanketed in the thickest fog he had ever seen. He couldn't see more than four feet in front of him. He checked the sheets and found them slack and loose: the Pearl was becalmed. Barbossa found his way to the quarterdeck and located Bo'sun.

"What's the meaning o' this, ye worthless scoundrel?" he demanded. "I left ye makin' way with a fair wind at yer back! By the powers, ye 'll answer fer this!"

Bo'sun looked gravely at his captain. "Something is holding us," he told Barbossa. "Not a shoal or a wreck – something else." He looked towards the west. "When the sun went down, the wind dropped, and I saw fog rise from the water like steam from a cauldron. We could do nothing."

T'is the heathen gods, Barbossa thought, narrowing his eyes. They mean to stop us liftin' the curse. And the idea came to him that perhaps it was their doom to stay just as they were – becalmed on a ghost ship in a fog. But he kept up a brave face to enhearten the crew. "Then heave to an' we'll wait it out," he said impatiently. "The fog 'll lift when the sun rises." And he returned to his quarters.

He closed the doors, turned towards his chart table, and was astonished to see someone seated in his chair. "What are ye doin' here?" he stammered.

"And what mek yuh t'ink I am here?" answered Tia Dalma lightly. But he knew at once that her appearance must be connected in some way with the fog.

"I seem to be delayed in reachin' Isla de Muerta," he said sarcastically, seating himself across from her. "Ye wouldn't happen t' know anything about that now, would ye?"

She shrugged. "Tropical wedder," she suggested.

In no mood for games, Barbossa steadied himself and spoke to her earnestly. "Fer ten years I've been tormented, neither dead nor alive, with no hope but what lies before me now. What the devil be delayin' me?"

"Delay can be good," she answered.

"T'is hard t' see how it be good fer me!" he retorted.

"Me didn't say 'for you'," she said, watching him. "But it might be good for odders."

He brought his fist down on the table. "I'll do anything t' lift this curse," he declared through clenched teeth.

"Dat be de danger, dear mon," Tia Dalma answered softly. "Yuh always be willin' t' do anyt'ing." He stared at her, baffled.

"Me come t' warn yuh," she went on. "Love kyan save yuh – me t'ink yuh know dat now. But yuh anger an' ambition – dat is what truly be hidin' in de fog. Dat is what be yuh undoin'." She rose from her chair and strolled towards the windows. "W'en dawn come, de Pearl gwan be under way again."

He passed his hand across his eyes. He had been tried to the limit of his endurance and more. "Ye still promise t' protect me from death?" he asked.

"Yes," came her soft reply.

But when he opened his eyes, he was alone.

Barbossa spent the remainder of the night trying to decipher her words, and staring at the last medallion as he held it in his hand. Some things merit anger, he thought, justifying himself, nor could he find fault with his ambition. I only want me life back, he thought. Nothing more.

Just as Tia Dalma had said, the rising sun drove off the fog and a light breeze sprang up. The Pearl arrived at Isla de Muerta shortly after sunset.

Barbossa made haste to carry out the ritual that would set him free. He assembled the crew, and had Koehler and Twigg bring up the Turner boy and guard him. There was no speech this time, no preliminaries to the sacrifice. Barbossa seized the stone knife and held it up.

"Begun by blood…" he pronounced, "by blood un—" but Turner interrupted with a shout.

"Jack!" he cried.

Barbossa looked up, and thought the curse had destroyed his mind. Before him stood Jack Sparrow. "'S not possible," he moaned.

"Not probable," Sparrow corrected him, and Barbossa felt anger surge through his veins. Furious at his contemptible enemy's refusal to die, he scarcely heard Sparrow's flippant explanation to the Turner boy.

"Shut up!" he snapped, pointing the knife at Sparrow. "Yer next." He had the knife at Turner's neck when Sparrow spoke again.

"You don't want to be doing that, mate," he offered helpfully.

"No, I really think I do," Barbossa answered, wishing it were Sparrow's throat under the knife.

"Your funeral," Sparrow shrugged.

Barbossa tried to suppress his curiosity and failed. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Why don't I want to be doing it?" he asked, in spite of himself.

And Sparrow explained: the Dauntless had tracked them down and was waiting for them to leave the cave. After ten years of suffering a curse they were finally able to lift, they would be lucky to enjoy an hour of their new life before the Royal Navy cut them down. Barbossa felt the horror of his situation sinking in, as he reckoned his odds of survival.

But as usual, Sparrow had a plan. "Just hear me out, mate," he said reasonably.

If Barbossa's crew attacked the Dauntless while they were immortal, they could take her, and she would be Barbossa's prize: a one hundred gun ship of the line. And then, because he would have two ships, Barbossa could claim the lofty title of Commodore. Barbossa contemplated the idea, and his chin rose as he pictured himself crowned with great power and prestige.

Sparrow, of course, wanted a reward. He asked to captain the Pearl under Barbossa's colours. He even agreed to pay the newly-minted Commodore twenty-five percent of his plunder. Not that I'll ever ever need it, mused Barbossa. But then, why should he have it?

"I suppose," he said, drawing Sparrow out, "in exchange, you want me not to kill the whelp."

But Sparrow surprised him.

"By all means," he replied, "kill the whelp. Just not yet. Wait to lift the curse until the opportune moment. For instance…" he added, fiddling with the medallions, "after you've killed Norrington's men. Every… last… one." He tossed the medallions back into the chest, and gave Barbossa a sincere, knowledgeable look.

That, and Turner's indignant protest, convinced Barbossa. He concluded his accord with Sparrow and sent his crew to ambush the Dauntless in a way that even Sparrow had not reckoned on: by crossing the sea bed on foot and climbing the Dauntless' anchor rodes.

He remained behind with Sparrow and young Turner, keeping three of his men to act as guards. Sparrow sauntered about, examining various artifacts, whilst Barbossa sat in silence at the foot of the golden mountain. To all appearances, the two enemies were now allies, but Barbossa was silently preparing his own solution for dealing with Sparrow.

As he watched his former captain stroll about, inspecting punch bowls and coronets, Barbossa was calling to mind his many grudges against Sparrow. He despised the man's arrogance and the shifty deals he engineered. He let his anger brew over the many gibes and personal insults he had endured from Sparrow, who always seemed to be laughing at him.

He decided he would kill Jack as soon as the Dauntless was taken, and before the curse was lifted. Sparrow, the stupid fool, hadn't considered that when the battle ended, he would be unable to save himself. He would be a mortal surrounded by a hostile, undead pirate crew led by his fiercest enemy. Barbossa would run a sword through him, skewering him like a rabbit for roasting.

After killing Sparrow, Barbossa thought, then there would be time to lift the curse and kill Turner. That would leave him with two ships, and a great deal of money. He could call himself Commodore without Jack's help. Best of all, he would be rid of a man who had been a constant annoyance from the moment they first met.

Sparrow's accord is as flimsy as Turner's, he thought with a smile. He failed to specify 'how long' I would let him be captain, or even how long I would let him live!

As he sat smiling and planning Sparrow's demise, it occurred to him that he should take care to disguise his animosity up until the last moment. He watched Sparrow pick up another golden artifact, and then addressed him with feigned admiration.

"I must admit, Jack, I thought I had ye figured," he said in a conciliatory tone. "But it turns out that you're a hard man to predict."

"Me? I'm dishonest," Sparrow replied offhandedly. "And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly… stupid." And quick as lightning, he grabbed the sword from an unwary pirate and threw it to Turner.

Stunned, Barbossa watched the double-cross unfold. Then he drew his cutlass and met Sparrow who approached at a run. He backed away as Sparrow attacked, until Sparrow had the effrontery to cut the plumes from his hat. Barbossa glanced up, then angrily gave chase, swinging his cutlass at Sparrow wildly, in large, swooping arcs as they fought their way around the cave.

Hating Sparrow, hating his own inability to outwit Sparrow, Barbossa's features were contorted with rage as the two opponents finally clinched, their faces just inches apart. "Yer off the edge o' the map, mate," he snarled, suddenly thirsting for Sparrow's death. "Here there be monsters." He gave Sparrow a shove and attacked relentlessly, backing his opponent up the side of one of the golden hills. Parrying Sparrow's blade, Barbossa kicked him hard, knocking him down.

He took a step back, and dropped his weapon with a smile. "You can't beat me, Jack," he announced.

But Sparrow was on his feet at once, and ran his sword through Barbossa's chest.

Both men paused, while Barbossa sighed, marveling at Sparrow's stupidity. Gripping the sword with both hands, he jerked the blade out. Then, summoning all his rage, he drove the sword through Sparrow's chest.

Sparrow gurgled, and his shocked look delighted Barbossa. Then he staggered, and suddenly moved into the moonlight that shone through one of the sinkholes. Barbossa's smile vanished as he found himself staring at a skeleton holding one of the medallions.

"I couldn't resist mate," Jack remarked.

When Barbossa grasped the way Sparrow had outsmarted him, he rejoined the fight with far more anger than reason. He was beginning to tire, and was slow to notice Sparrow's intensifying attacks. After several more skirmishes, Sparrow backed him up to the gold mountain just below the chest of medallions.

Suddenly an explosion made Barbossa glance behind him for an instant. It was enough to see Turner and Elizabeth, running to join the fray. Holding Sparrow at his sword's point, he drew his pistol and aimed behind him at the girl. As he turned his head back to see her, a gunshot sounded.

He felt nothing, just a painless jolt as the impact of the shot pushed him backwards, but he remained on his feet. He looked at Sparrow once more, and saw the dark cloud of smoke wafting up from the barrel of Sparrow's pistol.

"Ten years ye carry that pistol, and now ye waste yer shot," he jeered.

But a voice from atop the pile of gold said, "He didn't waste it."

Barbossa turned just in time to see two medallions fall from Turner's bloodied hand into the chest. For a confused instant, Barbossa looked about him, struggling to understand his situation.

Then he looked down at his chest, and his weapons fell from his hands, landing with a loud clatter. He suddenly felt as if one of Jacoby's grenades had exploded in his heart, blasting through his ribs with terrible force. And now the passage of time slowed until it was nearly imperceptible. Great waves of paraesthesia flooded his body, and he realised that he could no longer feel his arms or legs.

His attention was drawn by a feeling of something hot pouring down his chest, and he looked helplessly at the pool of blood spreading across his shirt. "I feel cold," he said. His legs gave out and he collapsed on the ground. What is happening to me, he thought.

As he lay there, incapable of any movement, he could say nothing more. Each breath was now excruciatingly painful and short – he felt as though a great weight was crushing his chest, and he needed air that his lungs could not capture. He slipped into shock, aware that he was losing his vision. He thought there were people moving around him, but he could not tell who they were or what they were doing.

And through all the physical agony, and the squeezing pain in his chest, he fastened on the fact that Tia Dalma had lied to him. She had betrayed her promise. She had not protected him. His life was ending, cling to it as he would. There would be no shining future, no riches, no Nina – only one thing had ever truly awaited him beyond the curse – death.

His thoughts drifted away from the cave and he was surprised to find himself mildly regretting the fate of his crew. He had led them all to ruin; Ragetti, with his humble spirit and Koehler, whose wife would now go on without him, and all the others. Or would they perhaps survive, and he be the only one who died? Barbossa felt himself slipping away, looking back from a great distance.

No, it can't be over, he thought, as the world fell further away from him.

And then, it was.


Next: The Dark Shore - Tia Dalma's promise hangs in the balance as Barbossa faces a frightening eternity.