We followed Jean, Tumen, and Constance along a well-worn path; it led deeper into the island, directly towards the densest part of the jungle. With the canopy above us growing thicker and thicker, the heat of the sun was greatly lessened—it actually felt somewhat cool. And with the promise of good, fresh water, we four crew members of the Barnacle found our spirits renewed.
"Aren't ye a bit wee, lad?" Arabella questioned, her head tilted as she walked alongside Jean. "To serve on a ship, I mean."
Jean, who was at the head of our group while Tumen and Constance took up the rear, pushed aside a branch for her. "Maybe for a commercial ship, yes, but a private merchant ship?" A mischievous grin came to his lips as he innocently shrugged. "As the song says 'There are a lot of ships in the Caribbean…'. Tumen and I have an advantage over others, however: We are reliable, we are not married, and—unlike the old salts—we do not drink."
As he and Arabella continued to talk, behind me, I could somewhat hear Fitzy and Jack discussing the merits of letting the three castaways know about our ship and possibly even letting them join the crew.
"Are you going to tell them of our vessel?" Fitzy questioned.
"O' course I am." Jack's reply sounded rather dismissive, though in a way that told me he hadn't actually given it any thought. "They need a ship an' we need a crew."
"Assuming they even want to join us, are you certain that's a wise course of action?" He sounded unsure about the whole thing. "We don't know anything about them, really."
He had a point, but I kept quiet, wanting to hear what Jack had to say first. And, to be fair, none of us really knew much about one another, either.
"Well, besides the odd stroke o' luck that saved our tails from capsizin' in that storm, three out o' the four o' us don't know much about navigating, either. Unless you missed the bit where we got lost an' wound up in a hurricane?"
"I'm fairly certain the doldrums we got stuck in are to blame for that," I commented, looking over my shoulder at them.
A small pout came to his lips—whether it was because I had mildly startled him or because I was countering his point was up for debate. "We could have avoided said doldrums with better navigating, too," he said, waving a frivolous hand at me. "The point is, these lads know what they're doing an' we could use their help. If somethin' were t' happen to you, Drystan, we'd be left keel-up in the water an' unable t' find the Sword o' Cortes. We need decent navigators."
His words seemed to have a bit of an effect on Fitzy, who nodded in reluctant agreement. "Alright, then," he said, "but if anything happens, I will take Jean. You take Tumen." He tapped the pommel of his sword.
"While Drystan an' Arabella get the cat," Jack chuckled, his brow rising. "Hardly a fair fight, methinks. That cat's as feisty an' as dangerous as five men!"
I shook my head, my brow rising in amusement.
It was as I opened my mouth to speak when Jean suddenly spoke up. "Ah, here we are!" he proudly declared. "Drink up, mes amis!" He gestured at the area in front of him; while it looked like more brush, just beyond it we could see a rocky overhang.
Stepping out of the brush, we saw that there was a series of pools of clear water that were fed by a bubbling spring. Arabella let out a relieved sigh and hurried forward to kneel beside one of the pools. Then, using her cupped hands to bring the water to her face, she started to eagerly drink the stuff. I stepped forward as well, moving to fill up the bags I was carrying from one of the lower pools.
Fitzy, though, was a bit apprehensive. "You haven't suffered any ill effects from this water?" he questioned. Though I couldn't see him, I knew he was giving Jean a wary look just from his tone.
"It's been a full day since we drank from it," the younger lad answered, "and non. We've been perfectly fine."
Uncorking one of the flasks, I dunked it under the water; it was cold enough that it sent a small shiver down my spine. After the long, hot trek through the forest, it felt more than a little nice and, unable to stop myself, I let the flask sink to the bottom of the pool before splashing my face a few times. Goosebumps covered my skin as the cold water trickled down my neck and back, but I didn't care. It was refreshing.
"What do you plan to do with all this water?" I heard Jean asked Jack. From the corner of my eye, I saw Fitzy kneel down beside Arabella so he could start filling the bags he carried. "Please tell me the four of you have a ship to go back to?"
"As a matter o' fact, we do," Jack chirped. Stealing a look over my shoulder, I could see his chest puffed out proudly. "The mighty Barnacle survived the storm with minimal damage. We just need t' strengthen the mast an' she'll be set t' sail the waters o' the Caribbean once again!"
"Where is the rest of your crew?" Tumen questioned. My brow rose slightly; it was the first time I had heard him speak and it had taken me a bit by surprise.
"You're lookin' at it, mate," Jack declared.
Jean snorted. "And 'mighty' you said your ship was?"
Before Jack could answer, Tumen asked, "Can you take us to our port?"
"Aye," Jack answered. And, from the bit of an awkward pause that came after, he had said it a bit too quickly for him to have thought that reply through entirely. He cleared his throat. "Well, I mean we could—if it's on our way…"
We all suddenly jumped as Arabella let out a sudden shriek. "Disgusting!" she cried, flinching away from Constance as the cat walked towards her. It almost looked as if she were trying to apologize for swiping her paw at her earlier, but then she dropped what was most definitely a human fingerbone in the grass.
Reaching over, I plucked it up (much to Arabella's disgust). "Where are these coming from?" I questioned, my brows furrowed as I inspected it. It had yellowed and turned brittle with age.
"Up the path there," Jean said, pointing off to the side. "If you'd like, we could take a closer look."
"Sounds like a good idea," Jack said, coming over and leaning down to inspect the bone himself. I offered it to him and, when he took it from me, I turned to continue filling the flasks.
It was as I was in the middle of filling my fourth and final waterbag that I started to feel it: Tingling in my fingertips. At first, I thought nothing of it; the water was quite cold and my hand had been underwater for many minutes, after all. But that was just one of my hands—the other was relatively dry—and when I realized this, I paused. Looking up at the canopy, I squinted in an attempt to try and see past all the leaves. It was futile, however, as it was just too dense.
When we were done filling our waterbags, Jean started to lead us further along the trail, which took us behind the spring and up a hill. The higher we climbed, the thinner the brush around us grew until, suddenly, we were standing in the clear. Above us, the sky was blue, but to the north, it was growing dark; as we looked out at the water, we could see that the surf had grown rough once more and the Barnacle was bobbing against the large swells.
'It's Torrents again,' I thought, a scowl coming to my face. 'But why is the bugger here of all places?'
"Not that storm again!" Arabella groaned. "It's like it's followin' us!"
Jean looked at her, his brow raised. "That is very strange," he commented. "It seemed to have gone past us—to the north, just as it should have. I've never seen a tropical storm come from the north…"
"It's headed right toward us," Jack sighed. "Again…We should press on, mates. Faster, too. We should be safer under the cover o' the jungle." He gestured ahead of us where the jungle began anew.
With no disagreements coming from the rest of us, we plunged forward, our pace having quickened a bit. The scrub in this part of the forest was thicker and the trail was more overgrown, making it somewhat difficult for us to travel. Poor Arabella was having the hardest time, given that she was constantly having to be wary of her skirt.
"I wish I could wear trousers," she sighed. She lifted her skirt a bit with one hand while the other took hold of my hand as she climbed over a fallen log. "Trousers would make this so much easier."
"You would make for a very pretty pirate," Jean complimented, a grin on his young face. "But…how did your friends let you aboard?" he then asked, a bit of confusion replacing the grin. "Women are bad luck on ships, you know."
"As are cats," she replied, her voice dry as she threw a glare at Constance.
"Touché," Fitzy said with a smile. Jack and I gave him an odd look while Arabella blushed ever so slightly; it was the first time we had seen him smile.
Jean, oblivious to our surprise, continued to smile. "Oh, you speak French, too?"
"Oui. French, German, Latin, and Greek," Fitzy proudly declared.
I was tempted to add in that I spoke French as well, but I remained silent. After all, them not knowing I spoke it may come in handy in the future—even if it was only for startling Fitzy at some point.
"Ah, yes, excellent—Greek," Jack snorted. "No doubt that'll be useful when we come up against natives on this island."
Tumen muttered something, though none of us could understand what he had said. We looked at Jean for a translation, but he merely shrugged.
"It wasn't French Creole," he told us.
A quarter of an hour passed and the wind was beginning to get stronger, as was the tingling in my hands. On the somewhat brighter side, the path was beginning to widen out and we could see flat paving stones hidden under the moss. On the darker side, however, we were starting to see bones littering the ground. At first, there weren't many—just the occasional bone laying splintered like fallen branches.
Soon, though, we started to find larger bones and partial skeletons laying about. Skulls and rib cages poked out of the earth, some with rotted clothing and leather belts still clinging to them.
"I wonder what killed them all," Arabella thought aloud. She had pulled her skirt a bit closer to her legs, as if trying to keep the fabric from brushing against any of the bones. "There aren't any marks on them an' it doesn't seem like there was a war—or any sort o' battle for that matter. They just seem t' have…died."
"There are so many," Fitzy murmured. He didn't sound nearly as brave as he had an hour ago.
"A mass death like this could have been brought by plague," I said, drawing my sword and using its point to poke at a rotting belt. The buckle, though tarnished by years of rain, still seemed to be in good condition. If I didn't know better than to steal directly from the dead, I would have been tempted to pocket it.
Jack shook his head. "Well, this is very excitin'. Our first meetin' with the natives. I wonder if they really do speak Greek?"
Before any of us could give him a sarcastic reply, Constance hissed and darted down the path, disappearing around the bend. Jean cried out and started to give chase.
"J-Jean, don't go—" I started to say, but he was already crashing into the underbrush.
"Blasted kids," Jack said through gritted teeth.
We both took off after him at a run. In just half a minute or so, we could hear him loudly scolding Constance. There was also an incredibly unpleasant scraping sound—it sounded like Constance was dragging her claws against a stone.
As we came around the corner, we found Jean standing all by his lonesome. His expression was strange—he looked surprised, but also horrified and we quickly saw why: The ground was giving way beneath his feet. I swore and darted forward, hoping to reach him in time. Before I could go more than three feet, however, Jack grabbed my baldric and yanked me backwards; I fell back and landed hard on the ground, my arse hurting something awful from the sudden impact.
Jack had pulled me back just in time, though. Both Jean and the ground below him disappeared down into the depths of what we thought was a pit. Fitzy, Arabella, and Tumen came crashing through the underbrush just in time to see the lad disappear down into the earth.
"Jean!" Tumen shouted before running forward. With the ground no longer sinking away, the others hurried after him; I jumped to my feet and joined them, doing my best to ignore my aching arse.
Upon reaching the edge of the 'pit', we found that it was actually the top of a wall. The boulders had been part of what was once a turret and hadn't fallen more than fifteen feet. Looking past that, though, we could see the city it once guarded, nestled in a small valley below. It was all but a graveyard now: Crumbling houses lined dust-covered streets that were blanketed by the bones of the city's former residents.
"Are you alright, Jean?" I called down, my brows furrowing.
"Oui, I'm fine!" he called back up, rubbing the top of his head. Then, upon looking around, he made a face that was a mixture of disgust and fear.
"This place is accursed," Fitzy stated, his tone grim. "We shouldn't tarry here."
"No, wait!" Arabella pointed at the stepped pyramid in the center of the city. "A city neat an' well-designed, like the Romans built—a pirate's paradise!" she continued, her voice getting more and more excited.
It was about then something shiny at our feet caught my attention and, crouching down, I plucked it up only to find that it was a coin. My brow rose; it was fairly plain, save for a single, crude eye carved into its surface. There were a dozen and a half things the eye could mean, but that was just going off of my knowledge of European and Near East mythologies. What this could mean for the peoples of the Caribbean—if it originated here, that is—I had no idea.
Arabella must've seen me inspecting the coin because she leaned over to get a look at it, too, only to quietly gasp. "That's the mark o' Captain Stone-Eyed Sam!" she squeaked. My brow rose and I glanced up in time see her stand upright, a wide grin on her lips. "This is his island! This is the pirate kingdom we were lookin' for!"
"You were looking for this place?" Jean called up, confused.
"No—We are lookin' for the Sword o' Cortes," Jack answered, a grin as big as Arabella's on his lips.
The two younger boys muttered something to themselves, though I couldn't hear what either had said.
Fitzy shook his head. "But how is this even possible?" he demanded. "The island we just happen to land on after the storm just so happens to be the one we were looking for?"
"That's luck for you," I said with a small shrug. I started to make my way down the wall, taking care to not get my foot caught on anything lest I go tumbling like Jean.
"It's not luck," Arabella countered. "We're here because we were lookin' for it. The sword—or the scabbard—clearly drew us t' this place." As a few pebbles came rolling past me, I knew she had to be following me. When I peeked over my shoulder, I could see everyone except Fitzy beginning to make the descent.
"Stuff and nonsense," he grumbled before begrudgingly starting to follow us.
It was hard to keep our spirits up as we explored the city. When there were so many skeletons scattered about, not even the promise of the Sword of Cortes was enough to make us smile. What didn't help was the fact that we had to search everywhere for the sword—we didn't know where it was, after all.
If the place hadn't been so eerie, we would have split up to make searching easier. As it was, though, we stayed relatively close together. We passed by all sorts of skeletons—human and animal alike—and all had been stricken down in the midst of their daily activities: A washerwoman's skeleton was half on the ground, half dangling over the edge of her wash basin; a large group of dead filled the seats in a tavern, their mugs rotting with age; a dog on the heels of a cat…
During our search, the wind had picked up and was whistling through any little crack it could fit through. Whenever a particularly loud whistle filled our ears, we jumped. It sounded a great deal like a person screaming.
"What could've possibly happened here?" Fitzy questioned as we made our way to the pyramid. "It's really looking more and more like a plague…or eve a fire."
"Can't be either o' those," Arabella told him. "If it were a fire, the bones would be more disturbed an' charred."
"And a plague would have left behind piles of bones from where the citizens of the city would have piled up the dead," I added. "They would have then either buried them in a mass grave or done their best to burn them."
"It was a curse that did this," Tumen muttered, shaking his head.
Jack nodded in agreement. "The Sword o' Cortes," he said. "As soon as Stone-Eyed Sam lost the scabbard, his kingdom went t' ruin."
"The loss o' the scabbard will cause kingdoms t' scab over," I heard Arabella quietly recite.
Jack then waved his hand frivolously. "This is just where the commoners lived. There's nothing royal about all…this." He gestured at the area around us. "Drystan an' I will go t' the top o' the pyramid an' get a better view o' things, savvy?" Before anyone had the chance to object to this, he was turning around and beginning to make his way towards the pyramid.
I looked up at the top of the structure; just looking at it made my hands tingle more. Or, maybe, the tingling was intensifying because the storm—and Torrents—was drawing ever closer? It was hard to tell at this point and only became more difficult to tell when we reached the top.
"Bloody hell," I mumbled, my eyes widening.
The horizon was as black as tar; to make matters worse, it was coming directly towards us. Though they were hard to see, we watched as a couple of waterspouts began to form in the distance.
"We need t' get inside," Jack gawked. His skin had paled a bit and his eyes were as wide as saucers.
"I'm not sure that'll help," I admitted. Looking at him, I swallowed hard. "Jack, I'm damned certain this storm isn't caused by mother nature."
He glanced up at me, his brows furrowed deeply. "You think it's Torrents, don't you?" When I nodded, he sighed. "Good t' know I'm not the only one who's been thinkin' that. He might not know we're here, so we have two choices: Take cover or hurry up our search for the sword."
I nodded at a building just a couple dozen yards away; in its heyday, it had surely been grand and opulent. Now, however…? "Other than the inside of this pyramid, that's the only place we haven't looked yet. We can take shelter in there and look for the sword."
"Aye, that sounds good," he agreed. He moved to start descending the steps only to pause with one foot sticking out. "Oh, an' Drystan?"
"Hm?"
"Best not t' let the others know about Torrents just yet," he said. "We wouldn't want them gettin' more frightened than they already are."
"Good idea. I'll stay in the rear of the group, too—If he ambushes us, I might be able to give the rest of you a fighting chance of escape."
He frowned at that. "Are you crazy, Drystan!? You're too useful. Let mister fancy-breeches handle Torrents. Now c'mon; we need t' get inside that building!"
