Disclaimer: see chapter 1
----I'm not the sort to scream. I'm not squeamish; who can be, when they work half the time digging up skeletons? I've handled dead bodies, I've brushed dust off skulls.
Yet that didn't prepare me for seeing a skeleton on its feet, tapping its fingers on the wheel of a boat and whistling out of tune.
So I screamed.
The skeleton looked over at me with a tinkling of beads, ceased its whistling, looped a rope over the wheel and came hurrying over to me. I backed away from the nightmare, clutching for a weapon. Anything would do …
"It's just me, Rebecca," the skeleton said, in the tones of Jack Sparrow. It spread its hands wide, and paused at a distance from me. "I told you I was cursed. It ain't my fault if you chose not to believe me, is it?"
I was backed up against the rope railing of the boat now. There was nowhere to run.
"I'm dreaming," I said, firmly.
"No love, you're not." The skeleton sounded truly sorry for the fact. It hesitated, and then reached out a bony hand. "C'mon."
I did not take the hand, but followed the skeleton across the deck, keeping at a safe distance. It hopped nimbly down the steps into the well that led to the cabin, which was shadowed from the moonlight – and turned, abruptly, into the flesh-and-blood shape of Jack Sparrow. His face showed concern; a serious, genuine expression.
"Look," he said. "I'm real, savvy? I'm not a dream, certainly ain't a bloody nightmare. I'm cursed, Rebecca." He pulled a chain from around his neck and held it up. "My Aztec gold."
Venturing closer, I peered at the coin. It certainly seemed to be one of those from the chest on the island. I reached out a shaking hand and touched Sparrow's wrist. He felt warm, and real, and solid.
"See?"
"That's your curse?" I said, sitting down on the steps as my legs threatened to give way underneath me.
"Part of it," returned Sparrow, slipping the coin back into the neck of his shirt. "Look, I know it's not pretty, but I don't want to leave Ana alone too long. Will you come and talk to me if I go back to the helm?"
"Will you turn …"
"Bony?" he asked, with a hint of a leer. "Aye. Can you cope?"
I took a deep breath. "All right."
"Good lass." He sounded approving. I stood up to let him pass and watched as he moved from shadow into light; from solid into skeletal. Then I followed him to the wheel and sat down again, a good gap between us.
Jack Sparrow adjusted the course of the boat slightly, and then turned to look at me again. I could see now that although the detail of his features was gone – the tanned skin, the aquiline nose – his eyes were recognisable, and once I had realised that he was somehow less frightening.
"I should've told you not to come on deck at night," he said. "Is anyone else awake?"
"No, I don't think so." I wrapped my arms around my legs, and examined him properly now my fear was gone. I saw he was slightly more than just bones – rather disgustingly, bits of what looked like decomposing flesh hung off the skeleton too, along with most of Sparrow's clothes, his hair and jewellery. It was a decidedly odd look. "What does it feel like?" I asked, curious.
His mouth split in a rictus of a grin.
"Feel?" he said. "That's the problem, love. I don't feel. I can't feel. Not much, at any rate. Out here, at sea, I can feel the ship beneath my hands, but I can't feel the wind on my face. I can't taste. I don't get hungry." His dark eyes met mine. "I can't satisfy me lust. For anything. Women, rum, the sea." He shrugged. "And yet I've seen so much, met so many people, been to so many places in the past three cent'ries that …"
"It sounds horrible," I said. "You chose that?"
"Like I said," Sparrow returned, "I had ten minutes of immortality and it went to my head."
I considered the thought of an empty forever, and shivered. "Couldn't you have taken it back?" I asked. "Broken the curse – however you break it?"
He took one hand off the wheel to gesture with it.
"I thought about it. I've even set sail towards the island, many a time. But somethin' always happens that makes me want to carry on. A chance for new stories."
"To perpetuate your own legend," I said, realising that this was the key to the man. He did not care, I think, what others thought of him – the main thing was that they did think of him.
"Oh, you're a smart one, aren't you?" the skeleton said. "The thing is, one important thing you have to remember –" he pointed a bony finger at me, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?" He paused. "Or, I used to be."
I stood up. It was cold on deck, and I wanted to be back in my warm sleeping bag. I rather thought Sparrow wanted to be alone with his boat, too.
"We'll have to write a report on what we find on the island," I said. "No better way of spreading the stories."
He said nothing, gazing into the darkness that surrounded us, and I went to bed.
In the morning Mil was steering the vessel, and Sparrow was nowhere to be seen. Once again I was first up, and I sat at the bow eating bread and jam wondering if the night had been a weird dream. Maybe the entire trip was a weird dream, and I'd wake up to find myself waist-deep in freezing cold water off the south coast of England.
If it was a dream, it was a dream that kept on going. The four of us spent some more time planning the investigation of the cave. Toni was to catalogue the various skeletons, marking their exact positions on our plans, whilst Jerry, Simon and I examined the rest of the treasure. There were geological examinations to be done too, and if we had time we wanted to explore the waters around the island for wrecks. It was going to be busy, but, we hoped, fruitful.
Sparrow emerged round about midday, tying his bandana around his blessedly corporeal head. He met my eyes with a very direct glance, nodded, and went to relieve Mil.
That day passed with work, and the next. Jack Sparrow announced on the fourth full day of our voyage that we would arrive at the Isla de Muerte in the morning of the day after. Simon breathed a heavy and obvious sigh of relief.
"Thank God," he said.
"Bored of my Ana?" Sparrow asked, with, I swear, a flutter of his eyelashes.
Simon sent him a disgusted look. "Yes. I hate being at sea. All this water. Rocking boat. Bad food."
"I'm hurt," said Sparrow, hand to his breast. "More to the point, so's Anamaria."
"It's a boat!" exclaimed Simon.
"But a good boat," Sparrow said, holding a finger up to accentuate his point. "And named after one of the best I ever sailed with."
"Who was she?" Toni asked, resting her chin in her hand.
Sparrow settled down, and I realised we were in for a tale. With much gesturing, he told us about a girl he had known – a fiery, spirited girl who, if Sparrow could be believed, was at once a brilliant sailor, a daredevil pirate and a great beauty. He regaled us with stories about this Anamaria for a good half hour, but ended abruptly, after telling us of a miraculous escape from some ship or other.
"What happened to her?" I asked.
"She died."
"How?" Jerry put in.
"Royal Navy's best hempen rope," said Sparrow. "Gallows Point in Port Royal. If I'd been there, I'd have told her to plead her belly …"
Simon looked up at this. "Like that, was it?"
"No, it was not," Sparrow retorted, quickly and sharply. "We were shipmates and friends, that was all. Saying you were with child was the only way for a lass to escape the noose."
"So why weren't you there?" Simon demanded.
"I was delayed," said Sparrow. "Gibbs and Ana and the others, they set off on a madcap harebrained scheme without me, and got 'emselves caught." He met my eyes. "It were after that I went back to Muerte."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"So was I, love, so was I."
Simon crossed his arms. "If she was a pirate, and was breaking the law, surely she deserved to hang?"
"Not all pirates are blackguards and murderers," said Sparrow, standing up. "Anamaria did not deserve that end." A small, gold-edged smile crossed his lips but left his eyes untouched. "Mebbe I did. But she didn't. I'll thank you not to insult her, Mr Murphy."
He graced Toni and myself with a slight bow, and nodded at Jerry, before turning and making his way back to the helm.
"Idiot," said Toni to Simon, and went below decks.
The rest of that day passed very quietly. When we awoke the following morning, there was a dark line on the horizon that quickly grew to become the conical shape of the Isla de Muerte. We had arrived.