Disclaimer: see chapter 1
----He led us, walking with a strange rolling gait, to the marina. There, amongst the glistening white pleasure-boats (the local fishing boats were moored in a neighbouring harbour) was a wooden yacht in pristine condition. Her sails were furled tidily, and her woodwork shone. Jack Sparrow looked over his shoulder at us, his eyes full of pride.
"Lovely, ain't she? She's called Anamaria. After one of me old crewmates." He stepped nimbly across the gangplank, a hand caressing the rail. "Come aboard."
We followed him aboard, our feet less steady than his on the deck. Sparrow adjusted a knot, touched the wheel near the stern, and squinted up at the top of the mast before he turned back to us.
"There's a few guys who help out when we go to sea," Sparrow said. "They're not here at the moment. Slow tourist season."
He jumped down into the cabin well and opened a low door that evidently led below the deck. "Comin'?" he asked.
Toni muttered something about being in too far already. She looked distinctly unhappy about the whole affair – she has always been more inclined to dismiss wild theories quickly than me, and I think the weirdness of Jack Sparrow and the craziness of his stories were getting to her. Nevertheless, she came after me as I ducked my head and went through the door.
There was a short, steep ladder leading down into the cabin, and I took that with care before straightening and looking about me.
It was like walking into an antiques shop, an antiques shop with a very eccentric owner. The place was filled with oddities, from silver plates to old books to bits of seafaring gear. Sparrow was nowhere to be seen, but his voice drifted through from further into the cabin.
"Poke around," he called.
Toni and I looked at each other, and began to poke. Soon we were holding items out to each other, exclaiming over them, and guessing their age. I discovered a very pretty necklace that was almost certainly Georgian; Toni was in raptures over a book full of botanical engravings.
There was a low laugh from the doorway. "Pinched that from some merchant," Jack Sparrow said.
I turned, and gaped, for what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon. He had got rid of the jeans and bright shirt he had been wearing earlier, replacing them with a billowy off-white shirt, trousers to the knee, and a headscarf tied around his head keeping most of the wild locks off his face. He looked like a stereotypical pirate from the stories.
"Is this for our benefit?" Toni asked, putting the book back on its shelf.
"Have you ever tried to care for a boat in jeans?" Sparrow returned. "Stupid bloody things they are. Too constricting." He came up to us, and began to rummage in one of the drawers set into the cabin wall. "Aha. Here we go." He produced a small square box attached to a slender chain. The box was battered, the leather stained with salt marks. It was clearly very old.
Jack Sparrow held it out to me. "Go on," he said. "Take it."
I took the box, and cautiously opened the lid. Inside was a compass, the needle swinging wildly before settling, steady. I looked up.
"Well?"
"Oh, bloody landlubbers!" Sparrow exclaimed. He took my shoulder and steered me to one of the little windows looking out at the harbour. "That, love, is north."
"Right."
He pointed at the compass. "That's where the needle should be pointin'."
"But it's not."
"Aye, it's not. That's because that compass points to the Isle de Muerte, savvy?"
"Oh." I looked down at it. "I see." I gave him the thing back. "Savvy? Unusual way of using that word."
"It's been corrupted," Sparrow said, tucking the compass in a pocket. "Nobody uses it like that these days." He flicked a hand at me. "But you're gettin' off the point. The point is, I was telling you about that compass a short bit ago. That very compass, ladies, is the one I was given by the old man in the tavern. And …" he paused, and hunted through another drawer, "this is the pistol I shot Barbossa with."
In one smooth movement his hand came out of the drawer grasping an ornate, heavy pistol; he cocked it and aimed it roughly at my chest. I froze. Toni gasped.
Jack Sparrow laughed, and lowered the weapon. "It's not loaded. Can't find the shot for it these days. 'Sides, your modern pistols are far more efficient." He turned the butt towards Toni. "Want to look, Miss …?" He raised an eyebrow, and I realised that neither of us had introduced ourselves.
"She's Toni Gutzmann," I said. "My name's Rebecca Morrison."
"Fellow Brit," he said.
"I thought so!" I was pleased with myself. "London?"
"Portsmouth," Sparrow said, "but I've been about. Don't reckon I'd recognise the old place if I went back there now."
"It's still a port," I pointed out. "Ferries to France, Navy ships."
"Not home, though." He shrugged. "So what're you doing in the Caribbean?"
I leaned against a wall. "We're part of an archaeological expedition. We're looking for wrecks, treasure, that sort of thing. I suppose we're trying to find out more about the age of the pirates."
"It was bloody," he said, his voice low and serious. "Every man for himself. Debauched, some would call it. Bein' a pirate, it's like a drug. It's dangerous, and it'll most likely kill you, but you can't stop."
"It didn't kill you," I pointed out.
"I was lucky," Sparrow said. "Men sailed with me because they thought I was lucky."
"Were you?" Toni asked.
He grinned, and his gold teeth caught the light from the portholes. "A bit." His hands fluttered again – I was becoming used to these mannerisms, and wondered if they were perhaps some sort of displacement activity, designed to distract the listener. "A bit. But a man makes his own luck, don't you reckon?"
Toni crossed to him. "May I see the pistol?"
Sparrow favoured her with a leer, but when she hesitated he laughed and dropped the attitude. "Of course." He held the weapon out, butt first, and Toni took it and began to examine it closely. She peered down the barrel and caressed the trigger finger. Watching her, I smiled. Toni had always had a yen for old weapons – pistols, rifles, swords, knives. Her fascination was completely at odds with her cautious nature, though utterly in line with her profession.
Jack Sparrow looked up from watching Toni, and caught my eye. He regarded me, that devilish smile playing on his lips, for a few moments, but said nothing.
Toni handed the pistol back. "It's lovely." She paused, and fidgeted. "I don't suppose … do you have a cutlass?"
"Aye, I do." Sparrow reached up and opened another cupboard, extracting a long thing box from which he took a bright, beautifully-cared for sword. His hand grasped the hilt with what looked like long practice; he turned the blade with a flourish and presented it to Toni.
Her eyes shone as she accepted the sword and squinted along the blade.
"Can you use it?" Sparrow asked, his arms folded.
"No." Toni's cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment as she passed the sword back to its owner. "I'm really clumsy."
"Jerry can, though," I put in. "He's a champion fencer."
"Who's Jerry?"
"Expedition leader," said Toni.
Jack Sparrow raised his eyebrows, clearly interested. "Hmm," he said, putting the sword away.
When the cupboard was closed, he turned back to us. "Let's go up on deck," he said. "I've a proposition for you."
We followed him back on deck, where he settled himself on top of the cabin, one wrist resting loosely on an upraised knee.
"It's like this," he said. "When you go back to Muerte, you take me with you. Or rather, I'll take you, because I won't leave Ana." He patted the cabin roof. "You need me. I know that island better than any other man. And I know these waters better than any other man. Been sailin' 'em long enough."
"It's … it's not really our call," I said. "It's Jerry's. And we do have to get permission first."
He waved that away. "Live dangerously, love. But the thing is, you've gone and told the whole bleeding world about the island. Folk'll be flocking to it, looking for a bite of the treasure."
"You guess?" Toni said, doubtful.
"I know," said Jack Sparrow. "Treasure does that. Once people know about it, they won't leave it be. And they're welcome to it, but not the gold. Not the gold. It's dangerous, that gold. I saw what it did to Barbossa, and I know what it's done to me." A shadow crossed his face. "I'm not letting that be unleashed on the world."
I shrugged. "Like I said, Mr Sparrow, it's Jerry's call really. I know we'd all like to go back and investigate properly. But we really must have permission."
"Then when you get it," he said, his dark eyes meeting mine with all seriousness," come here. Ana and me won't be goin' anywhere. Come and get me – savvy?"
I nodded. "All right, then. Savvy."
Jack Sparrow grinned. "Good."