Chapter Twenty-eight: Carcelero

"Bye Pearl!" Kristy bellowed, waving from the shoreline at the shadowed silhouette of the swaying ship, "And no worries, we shall take good care o' yer boy for ye!"

Brows scrunched, Maren glanced from the ghost to the Black Pearl and back again. 'Sometimes I truly worry 'bouts ye,' sighed Maren.

"Why? What I do?"

'Really Kristy, talkin' to ships?'

"Ye know Pet, for a medium ye're very skeptical."

The rowboat crunched on the gritty rocks as Jack and Gibbs dragged it away from the salty tide and into the brush to be hidden. "Well then Gibbs," Jack theatrically dusted his hands off, "Ye have one hour. Merry huntin'."

"Aye, leave it to me," Gibbs rasped, "Ole Izzie ca'n be too far off. Just a matter o' shakin' the woodworks, ifen ye get me meanin'," and tapped his nose twice.

"Have to it then, mate," Jack patted him on the shoulder and thus they parted, Gibbs striding down the high road and Sparrow turning towards the low road. A few yards away, both pirates abruptly tripped over their own feet. Solid land was a harsh mistress to those with legs accustomed to the sea. Jack swore at the bitch earth under his breath, before waving Maren over. "Oh Madam Medium," drawling cheerfully, he studied Maren's posture for a moment. Her profile was facing him and she was staring intently at an empty space half a dozen inches or so above her head. To any unfamiliar onlooker, she would seem simply a pensive woman, stealing a moment to herself, quiet and daydreaming, but Jack knew better. She had that look on her face, a look Maren probably wasn't even aware she was making. It was a subtle affect, miniscule really, and it had taken Jack some concentration to even notice it in the first place. There was the slightest widening of her eyes, the way her pupils dilated just a little, and that stare that could be described vaguely as 'blank', but that would be an inaccurate description. She wasn't staring at nothing; it was if she was staring 'through' everything and into nothing-something…whatever, Jack wasn't learned in these sorts of matters, but he was getting there. At that moment, he knew by that look that Maren was communicating with Kristy.

"Kristy must've been one tall bird, eh?"

"Pardon?" Maren blinked and the look completely vanished in an instant, then she focused her attention on Jack.

"Kristy," he repeated in a slur, the gold of his teeth protruding, "Lofty bit o' skirt, am I right?"

Ghost and medium exchanged curious glances. Maren's head cocked to the side in confusion, "How in the world-?"

"Ye stare up at her," Jack furthered, bobbing his own head forward to demonstrate, "when ye 'talk' to her."

A brown eyebrow arched, interested in Jack's scrutiny of her, "Do I really?"

"Only a littl'," he procured his graceful fingers with a smidgeon of space between the index and thumb, "Very subtle."

"Well ye hit the mark, Cap'n. Kristy stands 'bout half a foot 'bove me. She's got an inch on ye too. But what God made up for in stature, He lack'd in substance. We reckon I probably would've outweigh'd her by two stones, in life o' course."

"Mm," he made a noncommittal snort in the back of his throat and started meandering down the road, pausing to let Maren follow and catch up with him. He strolled with his hands clasped behind his back and his face upturned towards the clouds. There was a certain nonchalance to his walk, a casual je d'esprit in his gate that was comical and comforting at the same time. "Ye've yet to explain to me in what matter our dear Kristy depart'd from the world of flesh and blood," conversationally, Jack said while plucking an offending leaf from a passing branch and watching childlike as it floated on the breeze, skipping and flying to the ground.

"Ye askin' how she died?"

"Aye, for curiosity's sake, luv, humor me."

There was the tiniest silence as Jack noticed the look flit briefly over Maren's features, then she smiled, "Kristy instructs me to inform ye that she stopp'd breathin' and subsequently expir'd thereafter- where we goin' anyways?"

The sudden change of subject was not lost on Jack, but he decided to let it slip for now, even though his famous curiosity was making his moustache itch. Who would've imagined the issue of a ghost's demise to be one that was faux pas? But for the moment, there were other matters that required his attention, "When ye dream'd that bastard Barbossa's, god-damn-his-soul, memories, did ye happen to catch one that involv'd a dungeon, some Spaniards, lots a convicts, some torture maybe?"

"I do'n think so," shaking her head, Jack delighted in the way Maren's long braid swung to and fro when she did that particular action and had to suppress the juvenile urge to pull it. Instead, he made a mental promise to pull it later, to wrap it around his hand and tug her head back, slowly yet roughly…to expose that lovely throat and open her mouth in a helpless gasp…to use the end and tickle the most delectably sensitive spots on Maren's peach skin…he coughed, blinking the excellent image of Maren and the many helpful functions of her hair aside. 'Stay on subject Jack,' he chastised himself. "Would've been in his youth? No? Nothin'?" Maren shrugged and Jack waved it off, "Well perhaps I should caution ye then. The ruins we are 'bouts to tour are none other then the original fort and prison of Carcelero. Barbossa spent one year," and Jack paused to properly emphasize the dramatics, "of his boyhood here. Needless to state, it was a singularly volatile time for him. When the Portuguese and Spaniards sank the Alpha, they mercilessly execut'd every pirate survivor still in the water. Not that any pirate would've expect'd mercy from a sailor, but still a jackarse thin' to do, to be sure."

A warm breeze danced across the dirt path and Maren noticed that the foliage and brush was growing thicker and unkempt the further they traveled. Her stomach felt sickened just from the mention of Barbossa's name. She kept seeing him bent over poor Bill, taunting him, or ordering Jack's abandonment and sensing that lusty enjoyment as he watched Jack disappear overboard. She could almost smell his rotting flesh, forcing her to grimace. Jack took notice of her restlessness. "I only share this with ye for insurance purposes. Last time somethin' remind'd ye o' Barbossa ye were possess'd by him. I imagine it best to avoid such an episode, savvy?"

"No worries," squaring her soldiers, Maren's voice was so sharp with confidence it could've cut glass, "I know that son o' a bitch now. He ca'n be sneakin' ups on me no more."

"Aye," behind them, Kristy rolled her phantom eyes, biting out sarcastically, "and I suppose ye'll be doin' this all by yer onesies? No help from ole Kristy whatsoever?" But there was no real venom to her bitching, because the dead woman was presently distracted by Captain Sparrow's firm arse while he sashayed along. She tilted her head to the side for a better angle under his overcoat.

"Kristy be on her toes too," added Maren, primarily to stop the ghost from complaining. And as much as it was disconcerting, Maren had to ask, "How did Barbossa survive the attack on the Alpha?"

"He was permitt'd to live," absently reaching his arm across Maren's waist, Jack tugged her to his side and welcomed the warmth of her, "They spar'd him, because of his age, ye understand. Pirate o' no, killin' a boy is a task no Naval man be keen on. He was all o' thirteen and was the last member of the Alpha crew left alive. Incarcerat'd at Carcelero, in the blackest oubliette with the most nefarious criminals o' the Caribbean- well, let's just say it is most definitely evident where Barbossa acquir'd his madness from."

A breath of pity sparked in Maren for the poor boy Barbossa had been in his memory, the bright-eyed youth who had served Captain Romulus with such unabashed adoration, but it was quickly replaced by the sound of Barbossa's cold laugh as Jack was overpowered in the throws of mutiny. No, no room for mercy in her heart, not for that monster. Not when she had experienced the depth of Barbossa's evil soul herself, "He was releas'd after a year?"

"Not quite, he escap'd after a year," Jack's head nodded to stress his tone. "Start'd a fire as I recall and disappear'd in the sequential chaos. Personally, I always suspect'd it was more o' a suicide attempt rather then some brilliant scheme for exodus, but damn'd ifen that devil would ever admit somethin' like that," he whispered conspiratorially and winked.

"Hey Pet."

'Aye?'

"Borrow a shillin' from Jack."

Confused and almost dreading the answer, Maren turned her face to glance at the ghost over her shoulder, 'Why?'

"Cause I wanna see how far it bounces off that tight bum o' his,"Kristy drooled.

'Honestly, Kristy!'

"Christ, what an arse!"

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"And here's where I best'd a dubious, young lieutenant and eight o' his men, all arm'd with pistols and swords, layin' in wait for yers truly. Did I mention they were all in excess o' six feet in height? No? Well they were, bloody giants the lot o' 'em," bouncing from stone floor to the rotting wood of a haphazard set of stairs, Jack demonstrated with arms outstretched towards the horizon, "All the while, there's the Black Pearl, swimmin' akin to any shark and pulverizin' the livin' hell out o' the armaments. It pain'd me sorely to be apart from her durin' such a climatic engagement, but unfortunately, 'twas unavoidably necessary. I requir'd skill'd swordsmen for me plan to head four different groups. There was me, Bootstrap, may-his-mum-spit-on-his-grave-Barbossa, and Mister Warwick, otherwise known as Wart. Fine fencer, but impossibly ugly. Lost a leg on that very night, end'd up marryin' a blind woman if I remember correctly, happily ever after, so on and so forth. God bless Wart, good man."

The colors of the abandoned fort were all boney grays and decayed browns like the canvas of a corpse. Little still stood of the once notorious Carcelero, the guardian of the Caribbean Sea. Chipped stones still pillared at the corners of rooms with no walls or ceilings. Weeds grew through the cobblestones and hearths still stood, lopsided and tipsy. The overall foundation remained, scorched from a fire, and several wooden beams still managed to bear unseen weight. The so-called 'Prison Guard' was but a forgotten skeleton now.

Normally Maren would've found the scenery rather depressing; however, with Jack skipping around, narrating a hundred words a minute, enthusiastic and excitable, Maren couldn't help but be swept up in his adventures. She genuinely loved listening to his many epics and anecdotes, the endless lilts and slurs and bellows of his smoky pallet always hypnotizing her into a stupor. Kristy enjoyed them too. Of course, considering that she couldn't eat, drink, or fuck, Kristy was forced to seize upon any sort of entertainment that presented itself, whether it be 'pirate buggery' or 'pirate story time'.

"Wait, I be confus'd. Was Bootstrap's lot still scalin' the wall?" chewing thoughtfully on her fingers, Kristy glanced around as if the answer could still seen on the battlements.

"Kristy's wonderin' what happen'd to Bootstrap and his team," Maren spoke up for her. Upon arriving at the ruins, it had become quite apparent that Jack's only viable purpose for bringing Maren out here was to show off and squander an hour's time. Somehow, Maren found it very endearing when he was trying to impress her.

If it was even possible, Jack's face lit up even more, his grin stretching from ear to ear. While the majority of his tall tales were well appreciated in generic pubs and interchangeable taverns by strangers, they were usually avoided by all costs by his mates and friends who were familiar with his propensity to exaggerate and his tedious ramblings. But not his Maren, not this delightful, attentive, young woman who would stare at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed for hours on end! Jack had a very long list of things he liked; 'the Black Pearl' and 'a full bottle of rum' topped the list of course. ('The smell of his mother's clothes' and 'lullabies' were also high on the list, but there were certain things that pirates just didn't admit to.) In fact, the miraculous combination of 'helm and head' had been recently added, though separately both concepts were already listed in the top twenty. Being 'the center of attention' was in the top ten and 'women/the various activities one can perform with women' were in the top five, yet this category would waver between third and fourth place depending on when and how hard the last lass had slapped him. In short, Jack craved a woman's attention. It complimented his ego quite nicely and, truth be told, reassured him of his own…interestingness. A pirate couldn't afford to be boring or god-forbid mundane!

It was also becoming painfully obvious that the girl was desperately in love with him. Which granted, had potential for complications, but was not without some personal benefit. Love and loyalty were an inseparable set of virtues that could profit his sense of security. Since the mutiny, Jack had yet to actually trust anyone, not one-hundred-percent at least. He couldn't completely trust young Will not to do anything stupid. He couldn't trust that sod Norrington to take the bloody boats back to the Dauntless and wait patiently for the bleeding pirates to come out of the cave, and he was supposed to be a man of honor for Christ's sake! And Elizabeth! He trusted her enough to fall asleep (pass out) next to her and what happened? She burned the rum! If that wasn't the most textbook example of betrayal, then Jack didn't know what was! Now the actions of Anamaria, Gibbs, and the rest of the crew had admittedly shocked him when they had returned to save him from the Port Royal gallows, but that still didn't mean he could absolutely, completely, one-hundred-percent trust them. How many times had Barbossa saved his neck in their assorted past, only to play Judas to his Jesus when the opportunity presented itself? No, trust was not something Sparrow would misplace again, but there was potential in Maren.

Jack had already innocently inquired on the pastimes of the Black Pearl's only resident ghost and was devilishly thrilled to discover that Kristy spent most of her time observing the men. Consequently, she was privy to every scrap of gossip and event that occurred outside of the Captain's eyesight. This phantom eavesdropper was the ultimate insurance policy. What mutiny could possible stir while the men were under constant unseen surveillance? To add a delicious layer of safety to his newfound security was the assurance that the medium in charge of informing him on any insubordination was loyally and utterly in love with him. It was so good to be so clever!

Still, his plan was not without some degree of risk. Just as love and devotion coincide, hate and treachery were bosom buddies as well. It was all a matter of keeping Maren happy, keeping her in love, which in all honesty, might be a little more difficult then Jack originally supposed. After all, his record with happy women was not a stellar one. But of course, he had never had any personal stake in a woman's contentment before.

Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't care for Maren. Jack couldn't deny he had a certain, strange…affection for her.

He liked the girl…

…liked her a lot, truth be told.

His musings snapped back into reality and he grabbed Maren by the wrist, tugging her along and down a fallen hallway. "Look-see here, sweetness," Jack raised his arms and hands to indicate a ceiling that was no longer there, "Imagine if ye will, a storage space between floors right here, a perfect place to crawl into from the outside and sneak behind enemy lines. That be where ole Bill and his boys were lyin' in wait. See, back here," and Jack leapt into what was essentially a hole in the ground, "was a stronghold. Weapons, supplies, and stonewalls would guarantee that the Spaniards could hold out for 'nother two days if need be, mayhap even three. That would've been long 'nough for reinforcements to arrive and would've been assuredly disastrous for the overall success of my master scheme." Theatrically pointing in one direction, Jack explained, "So Barbossa's got the east flank," he pointed in the other direction, "and I'm pushin' forward from the west. The last organiz'd Spanish resistance is bein' herd'd here, to retreat in the stronghold. But 'fore they can dig themselves 'way like the rats they are, Bootstrap and his lot leapt down form the ceilin' and cut them off. Some impressive swordplay and combat ensue and voila," Jack literally posed, "An immediate and unconditional surrender was pronounced." Maren and Kristy applauded.

"As for the Pearl," like a gunshot, Jack was up and running across a grassy clearing and up the crumbling fortress walls. "She had sustain'd some damage while shootin' down these wooden lofts that connect the wings and armaments. See, o'er here? Knock out these crossovers and all movement in the fort stops, savvy? A couple cannonballs tore through her hull, but she was still in good shape. Wart was the one takin' out those bloody canons…" he bellowed back at her.

"He runs like a sissy," snickered Kristy, before floating quickly after Jack. Straying behind and listening to the continuing saga of 'the sack of Carcelero', Maren strolled along the empty land and caught up at her own pace. It was a surprisingly peaceful little patch of ground in the middle of such dank ruins. Green grass stretched and smelled sweet under her feet, unperturbed except for the single standing doorway that loomed innocently at the end of the clearing-

"Hey! Hey miss, come here, o'er here!"

Slowly, Maren glanced at the ruined doorway. It was dark inside, though the room that it lead to no longer existed, so there technically shouldn't have been an 'inside' to darken. Still, it was covered in shadow, curious and foreboding, but empty. Yet even as Maren stared, brow knotted and eyes squinting, a shape became apparent in that mysterious blackness like someone approaching through a silver fog. It was clearly a man, hunched over as if in hiding, "Hullo Miss."

Immediately, Kristy was at Maren's side, "Pet!"

'I sees him,' she watched the figure jerk when she used her power and his face rose. He had heard her, probably the first understandable sentence he had heard in a long while and, though she couldn't see it clearly, she knew he was smiling. A flash of sunlight reflected against his eyes, making Maren shiver, "Hey miss, do ye know where the key is, miss? Fetch us the key!"

She ignored him, turning about to continue across the path-

"I know ye can hear me! Miss! The KEY! Give me the damn'd key!"

Sighing, Maren stopped without looking back at him, 'I do'n have the key.' Sometimes a little explanation could move a ghost along-

"Lyin' whore! Give me the fuckin' KEY!" –and sometimes it didn't.

"Here lassie, lassie, laasssiee," another one had joined the figure at the door. This one was bolder; it kept attempting to lean outside, but would turn away from the light at the last moment, hissing all the while, "I like lassies, so pretty, so nice. I'm nicceee."

"Please!" a hand thrust up from the ground, startling both Maren and Kristy. It waved frantically back and forth, clawing helplessly at the air. On closer inspection, Maren saw that the grassy clearing was not empty at all. Skylights covered in iron bars lined the empty space on the ground and as two more ghostly hands started reaching through, Maren realized she was actually standing on the prison. It was underground! "Please, 'twas an accident I swear. I ne'er touch'd the gel!" the owner of the first hand pleaded.

Maren didn't think it wise to tell him she knew he was lying.

"The natives be restless," kicking harmlessly at an offending hand, Kristy nodded, "We should leave. There was nasty business here."

"Laassiee-"

"Please, they let the rats at us at night!"

"The key o' I'll cut ye…"

Terrible screams arose form one of the grates, so hysterical it was barely recognizable as human. There were gurgling sounds too, heavy breathing, whispers-

"-the rats! Their teeth, they gnaw on us at night!"

A third specter, much older then the others, appeared at the door and its eyes glowed a foreboding yellow in the darkness, "getout"

Uh-oh…

A brief warning to all those who might discover themselves in a similarly unfortunate situation, the ghostly term 'get out' should always be taken very, very seriously. Consider it the equivalent of a pistol being cocked between one's eyes. It is the 'end all', 'last word', 'don't you dare fuck with me' of the supernatural world. Usually, Maren was not one to argue. Ghosts who say 'get out' are always very old, very aware, and always very hateful, but harmless if left alone. Most were not worth her time or effort. Only once had she deliberately defied a 'get out' and the ensuing conflict had knocked Kristy clear back into her haunting place. That time it had been worth the peril, the spook was four-hundred years old and had become violent. She was nine years old then and still living back in London on the Low East, and still harboring the incredibly naïve belief that her gifts were some benevolent blessing to use for the benefit of mankind. How things change…

Abruptly, Maren spun about on her heel, deciding it best to leave these demented spirits to their suffering, and shrieked in surprise when she collided soundly with Jack.

"Whoa, careful now," grasping her by the elbows, the pirate noticed the minute shrinking to her pupils and the pale pallid of her skin. He had been in the middle of another more-or-less-accurate description of his victory celebration (pillaging and plundering) in Carcerlero's lucrative port, when he became suddenly aware of Maren's total lack of attention to his person. Instead, she had been watching the prison courtyard intently, ignoring his babbling, which was rude and intolerable in Jack's stalwart opinion. But now watching her, startled and a tad breathless, Jack grew concerned. His dark eyes skittered around the clearing, but of course he saw nothing. "Come on sweetheart, Gibbs'll be waitin'," he tugged at her elbow and wrapped a secure arm about her shoulders.

"Bad things happen'd here," she whispered as they walked away, allowing the ghosts' wails to fade.

"Oh God, the rats!"

"Bitch! The key, we need the key, cunny whore!"

"Oh shut up and stick it where yer uncle did!" Kristy screamed back, though they couldn't hear her.

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The apothecary's was a small veiled shop in Carcelero's port. Stacks of fresh herbs and colored bottles were perched atop wooden shelves that lined the gray walls. It was a dry, dark place, yet impeccable clean, much like its owner; a withered, tan old woman who walked with a limp but her hands were steadier then any surgeon's. As the old apothecary weighed some dried cuccos leaves, her husband sat anxiously at a heavy table. His eyes would drift from his eldest son by his side to his youngest son behind the curtains. Absently, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and readjusted his hold on the firearm under the table.

Kristy snorted loudly, before turning about and sticking her head through the wall into the street outside where Jack, Maren, and Gibbs waited. "There's a lad behind the curtain to the far wall with a sword, mighty firm thighs too. The ole fellow's got a pistol under the table and there be 'nother bloke with a knife tucked 'way behind his back, and what a fine backside 'tis too! Not too bad in the face either. Oh and also an ole woman, but she do'n look not half-interest'd," she reported.

Maren relayed this information to the two pirates, except for the mention of thighs and backsides.

"I warn'd him 'bout the weapons," sighed Gibbs, sneaking bewildered glances at Maren for the miraculous trick she just performed. Somehow he thought communicating with dead would be more 'mystical'.

"Terrible ole world, innit?" Jack swaggered to the door, slurring all the way, "Ca'n even trust a traitor to deal some honesty into his criminal dealings. Honestly, how rude." Wrapping at the door, Jack hollered out, "Good day to ye Mister Izmir. I've with me Mister Gibbs with whom ye are familiar and one Miss Attle, both unarmed. I am Cap'n Jack Sparrow and, as always, possess on me person one sword and pistol. Ye may keep yer firearm if it thus secures your sense of safety. Nonetheless," and Jack's voice dropped to a growl, "yer two men shall immediately and hastily disarm themselves and may I suggest the fellow behind the curtain present himself properly o' we shall not do business on this day, savvy?"

From inside, Spanish mutterings were heard, punctuated with a few bumps and clamors. Jack grinned. How had he ever managed this job without a ghost handy?

"Enter por favor, Cap'tain Sparrow," a voice in accented English called out.

Thrusting the door open, Jack strode into the strange-smelling shop and beamed at the four inhabitants. The sword and knife were in plain view on the table and Izmir had his gun tucked into his belt. "Forgivie'ness please, sir," Izmir's hands circulated as he struggled with his words, "But such times as these…" he shrugged. "Might I ques'ion on how yu knew the h'appenings of my shop?"

"No," was Jack's simple answer. Three potted plants very close to where he sat distracted him for a moment. They consisted of several celery-like stalks that sprouted fluffy green leaves. Why Jack hadn't seen this particular shrub in years, not since his mother's had withered! Mindfully, he touched his brow to the lady apothecary who ignored him in favor of her cuccos leaves, before he took the one seat before the table. Glancing around, Maren awkwardly wondered what she was supposed to do with herself since no one in the room gave her a second glance. She decided to stand next to Gibbs by the door and tried her damnedest to appear intimidating.

The retired Spanish gunner and the pirate studied each other in silence for a while. Izmir had a long white scar that ran lengthwise down the left side of his haggard face and his smile was even more golden then Jack's. The man was stout but well muscled with silver hair. Finally, Jack spoke to him, curtly and to the point, "I do'n see any maps, Izmir."

"I do not see any payment, Cap'tain Sparrow," he snapped back just as quickly.

They kept staring at each other.

Wordlessly, Jack reached into the breast of his overcoat and removed a weighty sack. When he tossed it onto the table, it clinked in the delicious way that only cut gems can manage. An overwhelmingly gold smile spread over Izmir's face and he waved one of his sons forward. The eldest scooped up the coarse sack, ripping it open, and glared carefully at the contents. Pinching one green jewel in his fingers, he held it up to the candlelight. The orange glow leaked and bounced through the stone perfectly. Izmir's eldest son nodded.

Now the apothecary was finally paying attention to the events in her shop and when her son nodded, she dusted the bits of soil from her hands, reaching under her counter where a leather satchel had been secured. The old woman limped over to Jack, handing the package over with a grunt. "Gracias Senora," Jack positively purred while he tore open the satchel and thumbed through the parchments inside. For many minutes, he was silent, holding up the papers to the light, comparing ink stains, studying the handwriting and assorted signatures. He even tasted the paper, though what he could've been checking for was beyond Maren. At last he seemed satisfied, "I trust that Commodore Cruz will not miss these documents and change procedure accordingly?"

Something about Jack's question made Izmir and his sons laugh. "Beg yur pardon, Cap'tain. I aszure yu, these papers will not be miszed," clearing his throat, Izmir's lips straightened, "espe'sially by Commodore Cruz who has been, shall we say 'relocated'?"

"His sheer incompetence finally did him in, then?"

"Unofficially."

"Under whose directory has la Cabra Robado been 'unofficially' assign'd to?"

Izmir frowned, "Cap'tain Sandoval."

"The Bastard?" Gibbs gasped from the door, startling Maren.

"Si," answered the old gunner, never taking his eyes from Jack.

"Fuck," striking the tabletop with his fist, Jack absorbed this new dilemma, "I thought he was brought up on charges. Insubordination and disobedience and let's not forget murder?"

The old man shrugged, "Dismiszed."

"Me arse, 'dismiss'd," Jack tucked the pages that detailed the Spanish Fleet's routes into the satchel, "What the devil is the matter with the world's navies these days? Two-hundred years 'go they would've hang'd him on the spot, no questions ask'd."

"No sir," Izmir corrected, "Two-hundred year' ago, he would have been a Conquistador."

"No shit. Ne'er mind it, I suppose it ca'n be help'd now," standing, Jack respectfully shook Izmir's hand, but before releasing him, Jack stared him straight into the eye and grinned manically, "If these papers turn out to be forgeries o' ifen ye tip off Sandoval, I wo'n go after ye," Jack's eyes fell on the two sons, "I go after them. Understand?"

Slowly so Jack could see his sincerity, Izmir nodded and the pirate abruptly released his hand. "Excellent," he was cheerful again, holding up a ringed finger, "but one more thin', if ye please. Oh Senora?" Addressing the apothecary, Jack flirtingly leaned against her counter and spoke in fluent Spanish, "Have my senses taken leave of me or is that perchance silphium on the shelf over there?" He waved to the three plants that had caught his attention earlier.

The apothecary's lips twitched and she nodded, her eyes darting briefly to Maren, "The Captain has a sharp eye for botany. After all, this specimen only comes from Europe and does not grow in the wild anymore."

It was a testimony to Jack's charisma that one of his saucy winks still made an arthritic, old woman blush like a maiden. "My mother had four when I was a child," he drawled sexily.

"Four?" the apothecary seemed taken aback, but this time she was fully and toothlessly smiling at him, "Tell me, was your mother truly in need of such a surplus amount?"

Leaning in closer, he whispered, "Abundantly." She cackled in the carefree way of old women everywhere who know to take laughs when they can get them. "I would like to purchase one of your hearty silphium, if you would be so kind?" Jack really caught her attention then.

Her white eyebrows rose, "Surely the Captain is aware that silphium," she spoke carefully, "is worth its weight in gold?"

"Agreed," his hands disappeared into his assorted pockets and produced five gold crowns. Tactfully, he placed them in front of the apothecary, blinking innocent. Izmir and his sons watched intently as the apothecary stared at the gold coins and snorted.

From the door, Maren also watched curiously while the old woman hobbled over to her many shelves and picked up a strange shrub. The conversation between Jack and the apothecary was a mystery to Maren, since it far excelled the extent of Spanish she knew, but it appeared as if Jack had purchased a plant of some sort, an extremely expensive plant of some sort. The old woman limped right past Jack and huffed her way to Maren instead. "He'e," the pot was unceremoniously shoved into her arms and Maren struggled to understand the woman's broken English, "Lissen senorita, yu pick stalk, yes? Take leaf's off stalk. Dry leaf's. Boil stalk in water. Take water an' make the tea with dry leaf's. Every week yu do this, si?" Maren became aware of everyone in the room looking at her expectantly.

"Uh," she managed, "all right."

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"Reckon we gots littl' over three hours 'til the sun goes down and Anamaria brings the men," from around his neck, Gibbs procured his trusty flask, "So what shall we do to kill time 'til then, Jack?"

Appearing thoughtful and wicked, Jack literally started twirling his moustache.

"Jaa-ack," Maren whined, still glaring at the stupid shrub in her arms, "What she give me this for, eh? It's not even pretty!"

"That," Jack said, never losing his devious expression, "is goin' to prevent the inopportune arrival o' any clairvoyant littl' Sparrows."

"What the devil-," things abruptly clicked in Maren's head, "-oh, thanks, I guess."

"Us'd a sea sponge meself. Minds ye, 'tis a messy business removin' the damn thin' and you could'n always keep it clean-."

"Trust me, me mum swears by it and who'd know better then 'Madame Diamanta' herself?" Jack was using his incubus smile again, trailing his hands up and down Maren's arms and cooing in her ear, "Maren, somethin' I've been meanin' to ask ye. Have ye and Kristy ever play'd…cards?"

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Silphium: ancient Greek medicinal plant. Unlike most oral contraceptives of the time, this one claimed to be preventive. The plant was so well used it is extinct now.

Translations- Carcelero "Prison Guard"

Cabra Robada "The Stolen Goat"