Chapter 34: Whirlwind

I stood on the deck of the Pearl with my left hand clutching the crucifix of the rosary that hung from my neck. It was night and silver strips of moonlight broke through the dark clouds gathering overhead, and the robust, ailing wind left a stinging sensation on my face as I looked at Roland, who stood beside the rail. His back was turned to me, but I had no intention of speaking to him. There was nothing to talk about.

We thought that the worst had already happened. We had battled Anne and forced her to surrender, though I was unconscious during the entire event. From what my brother told me, of the two shots fired, both hit something. One nearly lodged itself into my brain but missed by a thread. The other embedded its hot, round self into Anne's shoulder, and she fell back. The shocking thing about the whole ordeal, however, was that she never fired, even though I could have sworn that she did. Roland had. Jack didn't even have his pistol primed and Tom's was still stuck in his belt. The other who had fired was someone from afar, and adventurous Cordelia was the one who continued Roland's story from that point onward.

Roland's shot was the one that hit me. He insisted that it was an accident, and I believed him. I knew he would never try to purposely and physically blow my brains out. Perhaps he had contemplated the thought after arguing with me on numerous occasions, but they were just empty thoughts, silly thoughts. Cord, having been with the gunman who shot Anne expressed the tale with such magnificent zeal that I had a good guess as to who fired the saving shot before she even said his name.

It was Hernán.

Roland interjected and took control over the story again and informed me that after he obeyed Anne's order and retrieved Cordelia out of the brig, he found Hernán trying to slide past Anne's henchmen on the upper deck. He left Cordelia with Hernán and instructed the Spaniard to guard his back at all times, but from a good distance. How he knew that Hernán would be a good shot, I had no clue, but it was a miracle indeed that the Spaniard turned out to be so helpful in the end.

Cordelia then regained authority over the storytelling and commenced to tell me that after Anne was shot, her men were detained and she was made to walk the plank with her bloody shoulder and all. She was gagged and nudged all the way off the plank and dropped into the water. Jack didn't want her to die, of course, as he was not a cruel man at heart. There was a nice little island nearby for her and her crew to live on until she was rescued (or died). And so as it was with the French, we, or rather, my pirate family, waved Mad Anne goodbye as she cursed them to the deepest pits of hell.

Of course, I was prompted to ask what happened to me while all of that occurred. Roland readily reported that I was hauled off to the lower decks and placed in a hammock where Gibbs tried to mop up the blood dribbling down the ugly gash on the side of my head. The wound was not too deep. It was easily stitched, and Roland teased me during the minor operation, which was thoughtfully conducted by Ana Maria. He never ceased to tell me that I was losing my perfect-portrait-of-a-lady image day by day. I didn't mind. A scar that stretched from my left temple to my ear was better than having a pretty mask to hide behind at all times. Scars were tangible evidence of truth and reality, and I had nothing to hide anymore.

I was unfortunate enough to have to wear a white dome of bandages around my head for a week or so while the wound healed, and my new temporary appearance earned me more nicknames from Tom. Domey.Momey. Headpiece. Along with the infamous bonnie. I, in return, had nothing to call him except for bloody Irishman, but with Roland back, I didn't need to really call Tom anything. Roland knew more sailor jargon than I did, and his list of insults was quite long.

I find it essential now to note that Jack was aware of Roland's nature too well, probably because of his adventures with Will, and before we sailed off to look for the treasure my rings led to, our captain made it clear that the crew would have to split: half on the Pearl and the other half on the French warship we captured. Jack's tiny boat wasn't in good shape anyway, and so we had it sunk after removing all its cargo. Jack, having a smidgen of paternal instinct in him, made it obligatory that his daughters stayed on the Pearl with him. He assigned Tom captain of the French vessel, and the Irishman made a smart move and called Baudin and his men to accompany him on the ship. He tried to convince the Spaniards to join his crew as well, but Cord was determined to continue her Spanish lessons, and she waved Tom off brusquely.

There was much debate over where Roland would end up. Jack partly wanted the boy to be on the Pearl so that he could make sure he didn't do anything stupid, although he was unashamed to admit that he was quite impressed with Roland's handling of Anne's surrender. However, Jack wasn't about to let Roland sail with Tom on account of the fact that Roland was a Navy man and Tom abhorred the Navy. In addition, surrounding Roland with Frogs wouldn't help his British patriotism either. So it was finally settled that he'd stay with Jack. And the rest of the crew was evenly separated afterwards on a unanimous accord.

Tom, to my utter grief, was compelled to bring up the matter of women to Jack. Teasingly, he said that he didn't find it very fair that all of the girls were on the Pearl, and Jack made the point that of those three girls, one was too young, one was too old and one was too stupid. Thanks, Daddy. Plus, the only woman he could trust to be on Tom's crew was Ana Maria, and Cord needed her mum.

"You'll let us, you know, weigh anchor sometime and come and visit, aye?" said Tom with a smirk.

"Why?" returned Jack. "Do you feel uncomfortable looking at the backs of men for a few weeks?"

"Of those," he jerked his thumb over at the Frenchmen, "then aye, I do."

Baudin humphed.

"And do I need to bring up the fact that the supposed woman you are trying to bed declared that what you have below your belt isn't up to par with what's below ours?" he questioned, frowning considerably.

So they bickered for a few moments before they ended up laughing over crude jokes and we went our separate ways afterwards.

The first task after setting up the crew was to figure out the coordinates to the treasure. The legend had it that the rings had the secret and I told Jack about the writings in them, but he told me that he wasn't talking about that particular hidden message.

He took the rings from me and scraped them vigorously against the edge of a table in the captain's quarters. It took a few scrapes before the gold surface began to peal and chip away. It wasn't real gold.

"Ah, there we go," he uttered as he stripped one ring entirely of its gold covering. "Cord, can ye get me that piece of paper and ink bottle over there, love?"

And once the paper and ink was placed on the table, he took the ink and poured a blot on the paper. He then rolled the outer surface of the ring into the ink and stamped it onto a clean space on the paper. There was a heading, or at least, part of one.

"Good God," I whispered in disbelief. "No wonder they were so heavy. They were made out of lead."

"Aye," said Jack. He stamped the other ring and we had our full coordinates.

It was my task to plot our voyage according to the coordinates and I took a compass and map and began to calculate and measure where the location of the treasure was and how far we were from it. It couldn't have been far.

I found the spot on the map and beckoned Jack over. He looked at it with a quizzical brow and flared his nose a bit uncertainly at the discovery.

"It's in the…" I started, awed with my eyes widening.

"Devil's Triangle," finished Jack, his eyebrows still wrinkled. "Well, that's convenient."

"We should have known that Jack Rackham would be clever when hiding his treasure."

"Aye." He nodded subtly. "Well, give Ana Maria the heading, Astrid. We have a treasure to find."

"Are you sure? It's the Bermuda Triangle, Jack." I wasn't ignorant about the dangers of such a place. I had heard of fleets getting lost at sea when entering that dreaded shape of ocean, men getting ill, sailors seeing odd and frightening things. I wasn't sure if I would risk all of that for treasure.

"Aye, it is, Astrid," he replied, taking a swig of rum. "But you forget who I am, love. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

For a few days, the weather was absolutely perfect for sailing. The wind was fair and refreshing, the sky was a deep, liquid blue, and the seas were lusciously mild and clear. I had a splendid time recovering from my head injury in the company of my sister, brother, father and fellow shipmates. We spent the days fooling around and working in flexible shifts. I loved the relaxed life as a pirate already, and it seemed that once aspiring Navy man Roland was even enjoying the lazy atmosphere.

We spotted dolphins the day before we entered the Devil's triangle. They were swimming in the opposite direction, down a southwestern path, and intrigued by the bulky, dark presences of our little fleet, they lingered around and wound around the perimeters of our ships with an adorable, memorable curiosity. Cord even named all of them as she stood on the rail, being steadied from behind by Roland. The only time she turned around during the whole show was to ask Hernán what the Spanish word for "dolphin" was. Equipped with her answer, she'd turn back and shout to her little glistening delfines.

But the dolphins eventually chose on a time to leave us, and they gradually departed as we sailed closer and closer to our impending doom. However, there was nothing we had seen in our days of sailing to foretell an unforgiving journey ahead. We had sailed for days with wonderful, perfect weather. Our suspicions were nonexistent.

Well, most of ours were. The Spaniards seemed mighty unnerved about heading into the Triangle, although at the time I didn't know why they would.

"Your men are ignoring their duty, Guerra," I said, approaching him one morning as he stood by the bow, his mustached mouth slightly drooping.

"Because we are entering evil territory, bonita," he answered bitterly.

"I don't sense anything evil. Besides, our captain is Jack Sparrow. He knows the strange and he knows the paranormal—intimately, if I might add."

He turned to me and his pale green eyes reflected a troubled worry in their dying glimmer. "He hasn't sailed here before. Ask him. He will tell you no."

"But he's been all over the world! He can't have missed this span of ocean, Guerra," I countered, not about to relinquish my faith in dear Captain Sparrow despite the fear Guerra was instilling in me.

"He hasn't. I've asked him," he returned curtly, biting his bottom lip. "There is something about Spanish men, bonita, that you must understand. We are more in touch with spiritual imbalances."

I scoffed weakly.

"Let me guess, because you're all Catholic, and Catholic people are highly superstitious and are therefore more in tune to communicate with otherworldly forces and beings."

"Si." He ignored my sarcasm for the sake of making me seem foolish. "You probably do not and probably will not trust our word, ever, but when it comes to the safety of our countrymen—"

"And captain," I intruded with a scold.

"—And captain," he repeated, rolling his eyes, "we're not going to be the ones comfortable with taking risks. You don't know what to expect from the ocean, Astrid."

A part of me knew what he was saying was true. There was no telling what almighty Neptune could conjure during our extended stay on his volatile territory, and I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to wait and find out if Guerra's premonitions were valid. The sky was still a cool, calming blue and the seas mirrored the façade of complacency visible in the sky. Therefore, I was apt to naively believe that our passage through the Devil's Triangle would be just like any other tread through tranquil waters.

But the concern Guerra and his men had for the well-being of their shipmates and captain was too evident on their light olive-skinned faces that I was obliged to ask Jack if the treasure was really worth all of that trouble.

"Guerra has every right to be worried," he said, tipping the wheel a bit to the right with his forefinger. "This fair weather won't last long. We'll soon be caught in a tempest of such terrible tempestuousness that we'll be trapped, terrified, in the tumultuous Triangle."

"That doesn't help my concerns, Jack."

"Oh, I know it doesn't. It doesn't help mine either, but these men came aboard looking for something to do, perhaps even adventure. And that's what I'm going to give them."

"Aye, you're right," I reasoned, nodding as I stared out at the distant horizon with him. "After all, you're Captain Jack Sparrow."

Guerra's assumptions were indeed correct, and we soon found ourselves stuck in the birthplace of several violent gusts that blew from every possible direction. The sails ripped and we dreaded each tear that sounded as the clouds began to collide and rumble in a growing gray mob. The once clear, collected water began to part, swirl and foam, turning dark as debris from below was brought up to the surface, turning the water into a metallic shade of grungy cobalt.

Jack stood firmly at the wheel, grinning out of the sheer excitement and danger of a brewing hurricane, and a cold, heavy rain pelted at us from all angles, soaking us from head to toe and leaving our deck slippery with its teary, dripping residue. Men skidded across the floor, struggling to keep balance while clinging to lines and rope for dear life. Our ship pitched left and right, forward and back, at such dangerous angles that I thought we'd all tumble off the boat and plummet straight into the roaring waves. What made it worse was that our vision was blighted in the torrent of rain, and I could barely discern the figure of a man standing but five feet away from me.

I kept Cord close to me. Her mum was too busy trying to gain control over the disoriented crew and she'd have no time to watch over her daughter in all the chaos. Roland attempted the same, to instill order amongst us all, but his voice, along with everyone else's was always pummeled by the bellows of the wind.

"Astrid!" he yelled, ducking as a wave lurched over the ship and crashed over the Waist. He was pushed into the railing, the only safety barrier between us and the merciless sea, and slid down toward where Cord and I ended up on the ship, tangled behind a mess of torn lines.

He came and pried Cordelia off of me, and managing to keep his balance quite well, lifted her up into his own arms as he directed me below.

"Get under-hatches!" He strained his voice in protest against the blasts of stinging air. I complied and made a run for the hatch near the shaking mainmast, hoping to make it down before the ship rocked again and sent me sliding down to some other part of the deck, but I wasn't fast enough.

A colossal wave pushed beneath the starboard side of the Pearl, water streaming up over the deck as the ship tilted on a horrific angle. We almost tipped over and I lost my footing and fell, having nothing to grab onto but the sleek deck that my nails scratched at to get a grip, but to no avail. I'd hit the rail any second and at the rate I was falling, I knew I'd either hit it and break my back or hit it and plunge into the sea.

"Roland!" I screamed, and I screamed all the harder as the ship slanted more. I fell faster.

"Astrid!" he shouted, his voice too distant for my own comfort. He yelled more but I couldn't understand him, and I collided into the rail, the wood cracking and breaking, my body pushing through, and the ocean's mouth ready to swallow me whole.

But I never fell through.

Someone had grabbed my shoulder and was in the process of hauling me up across the slanted deck, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me because I couldn't understand what he was saying, but I could hear him clearly.

"Roland," I murmured weakly.

"No," he said. "Not him, but he's coming to get you." And that was all he said that I understood.

Brother did indeed come to get me and he got me safely below hatches and out of direct contact with the storm. I was locked in my cabin with Cord, and we huddled in one corner, waiting for the swaying to cease, for the lightning to fade, for the thunder to quiet, for the ocean to weaken. But her fury seemed fueled by an eternal power source. None of the things that we wished for ever came, and although I couldn't stand being trapped below while my father and brother and mates were up above taking in all the blows, I had to stay put for Cord's sake. I wouldn't risk her life because of my worry and curiosity. All we could do was wait, and wait…

…and wait.

I opened my eyes to darkness. I realized that I must have fallen asleep, and I predicted that Cord was fast asleep as well, for the weight of her head leaned against my shoulder, and I could hear her soft, steady breaths in the pitch darkness. Judging by the lack of light, I deemed that it was evening, and by the familiar lilt of the ship, I guessed that the storm had passed or was on the ebb.

Gently slipping away from Cord and making sure her head didn't plunk to the floor, I exited my cabin and was met with darkness again when I opened my door. Not even a lantern had been hung.

The floor was wet and the smell of the sea hung heavily in the still air. A mellowed-down saltiness was present in the humid atmosphere and I stepped in puddles as I crossed over to the ladder leading to the above deck. Though, it had occurred to me as I set my foot on the first step that I hadn't detected any footsteps here on the deck I stood on or on the deck above, which meant that no one was moving.

But if anyone's awake, it's Jack, I told myself as I climbed up and lifted the dripping hatch. As I took a peek around the deck, I noticed that no one was present. A pale light was shed on the ship from the moon that was shrouded with clouds, and wondering what had happened, I stepped fully onto the deck and tiptoed to the wheel.

No one was there. Our ship was being steered by no one. In fact, the ship wasn't even moving. At that specific observation, I hurried over to the capstan and noticed that the anchor had been weighed, and I had one of my questions answered. I still didn't know where everyone was.

"Hullo?" I called, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Jack! Roland!"

I received nothing. Getting a bit antsy and getting terribly worried, I searched all over the deck to see if I could find any of them but I couldn't. There weren't even clues.

Our rigging was a mess and so I counted out going up to one of the tops or the crow's nest to see if I could spot anyone or anything from above. I did, however, step up onto the quarterdeck and looked out, and still, nothing. I almost gave up on my search and was about to go below when I spotted some lights in the distance. They were incredibly bright in the thick blackness, and I watched them inquisitively, wondering who had made them and where they came from.

At first they all stood in a straight line, one light after another, seemingly glittering on the horizon itself. But then they started to move. They began to shake, and then they seemed to fly up, curving around in their paths as they intricately made their way up into the sky that was absent of stars. A ray of light from the moon pierced through the mist and landed on the deck, but like the distant lights, the ray moved, it swept over the entire ship before vanishing back into the dark, and I had stood deathly still during everything.

What the hell was going on!

Paranoid beyond belief and chilled to the bone from terror, I sprinted back below hatches as soon as the lights had passed and I didn't feel as if I was the only being alive on earth anymore.

Panting, and with a cold sweat streaming down my face, I ran back into my cabin and checked to see if Cord was all right.

She wasn't even there, and my heart stopped.

Seeing as something very strange was going on, I abandoned the unnerving silence of that deck and went to the deck below, and finally, finally, I found comfort.

The deck below mine was lit, although dimly, and I saw Cord in Roland's arms as he gently rocked her back to sleep as if she was but a babe. Even if it was a tender moment between the two, I couldn't help but express my relief in finding him and I ran to him and hugged him tightly.

"Good God! I thought Cord and I were the only ones left on the ship!" I remarked as I let him go.

"Sorry about that. We didn't want to disturb you, but the deck above is flooded, which you probably already know. Cord came down crying, saying that you had left her."

"I did not!" I defended, glaring at the sleeping countenance of my sister. "I went to look for everyone. I was well aware that it was too eerily silent and so I investigated."

"Ah," said Roland as he set Cord down in a slung hammock. His, I presumed. "Well, did you find anything?"

I pondered over whether I should tell him about the lights I had seen. I decided not to. He'd have thought me a loon anyway.

"No. Where's everyone else?"

"Sleeping!" grunted a voice in the shadows of a far off corner. It was Guerra. "My men are cold, ailing, sick and fatigued." He continued to rant. "Gives us our peace, bonita."

Frowning at the words, I turned to Roland and asked where Jack was.

"He's on Tom's ship. When the storm died down, we weighed anchor and Jack and a few others went off to see if Tom and the rest of our crew were all right. They should be back by morning if not sooner."

"Oh."

"An you," he began, pointing a finger at me, "should probably get some rest. We'll have a lot of work to do tomorrow. That was by far the worst storm I have ever been in. I'm surprised we didn't lose anybody."

"Let's hope it stays that way, brother," I said as I laid myself opposite Cord in Roland's hammock. "You don't mind if I sleep here, do you?"

"No," he sighed, clearly disappointed that he had nowhere to sleep now but too devoted a brother to see me sleep on the dank floor. "Go ahead."

When morning did come, it came with a most appetizing smell, and such a pleasant odor was what woke me from my deep, sweet slumber. I realized that I was the only one left in a hammock, which wasn't a surprise. No one ever bothered to wake me when something important was going on. I rose and stretched my arms, noticing that my clothes were still a bit damp from last night's downpour. The smell of the sea was less heightened in the decks of the ship and I was able to follow the smell, and I wound up at the galley, happy to see the majority of the crew up and eating a well-deserved breakfast of collops, biscuits and grog.

I sat myself down with the Spaniards, placing myself next to Guerra, and after reaching over the makeshift table for a piece of bacon, I asked him what he thought about our treasure hunt now. He still ended up disagreeing with me and my hope.

"Well, have you been above decks? How does the sky look?" I inquired, stuffing my face with the greasy meat and bone-dry biscuit pieces.

"It's blue," he said bluntly. One of his men laughed and added, in Spanish, "Like her eyes."

Obviously, Guerra was still upset. Why he was still upset, I did not quite know, but I chewed more slowly after the remarks, finding more conviviality in the food I was processing in my jaws than in the people around me. I was determined to find out what was bugging Guerra. If he was irritated, there'd be the likely chance that his men would also be, and that was the last thing Jack needed: disagreement.

"Don't mind him, Señorita," said Hernán suddenly, catching me completely off guard. I looked up and saw him further down the table, drinking from a tankard. "He didn't get much sleep last night."

"Was it because of me?" I asked timidly, remembering what he had said before I settled into a hammock with Cord.

"No," he answered. "He just couldn't sleep."

I bit my lip a bit at the information. Guerra had every opportunity to sleep last night, so why didn't he? I leaned in a bit, closer to him and looked up at his disgruntled face. I observed some beads of sweat on the sides of his face, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Guerra," I began, getting up and tapping his shoulder. He wouldn't look at me.

I glanced over at Hernán and he looked a bit uneasy himself over Guerra's strange behavior. I suspected that Guerra was sick, that perhaps he had a fever, but I wanted to make sure he wasn't just angry over something, especially if that something was Jack.

Hernán got up from his own seat across from us and leaned over, peering at Guerra and speaking to him directly in Spanish. Guerra would only murmur indiscreet things. I was moved at that point to feel his forehead, and when I laid my hand on his forehead, I discovered that the poor man was practically burning.

"He's sick. Get him to a hammock." And as I stepped back to let Hernán and another Spaniard help Guerra to the berth deck, Guerra confirmed my diagnosis and vomited on the floor.

Roland noticed immediately and had it cleaned up while I went after the Spaniards to make sure Guerra was given proper treatment. He was set in a hammock and given a drink of grog before being left alone to sleep. However, I lingered a bit behind, wondering with a great curiosity over how he could have gotten ill. There was the rain from the night before and many of us had slept in our damp clothes. That could have made anyone sick. I decided that his sickness would pass soon enough and left him to his rest and went up to the above decks.

The sky was blue as Guerra had described and I found that Jack had returned, with Tom back on board too. The French vessel was anchored right next to ours and I was glad to see that the other half of the crew and their ship didn't suffer much damage.

I was obliged to give Tommy a tight, genuine embrace and he seemed mighty happy to see me too, smiling at me without the lustful gleam in his eyes. However, as I had given Tom a welcomed, grateful greeting, I offered the same to my daddy and clung to him longer while he attempted to converse with Tom over the matters of repair.

"Guerra's ill," I interrupted. Though, it wasn't much of an interruption since illness was something that needed to be fixed and mended as well. "Do you have a medicine chest in case things get worse, Jack?"

"Not on this ship, love," he replied.

"There's one on my ship," said Tom.

"Well, there you go," Jack beamed. "Now go grab Astrid's chest, O'Brien."

I stared at Jack in disbelief, shocked and disgusted that he had just said a thing. Did he really say that without realizing the disgraceful pun in his words?

"Well, don't mind if I do," chuckled Tom, coming close. I shoved him away.

"Don't you dare, you pirate bastard," I snarled. I glared at Jack. "Did you even hear what you just told Tom to do, old man?" I screeched.

"What? I just told him to…" His voice trailed as he came to realize what he had unintentionally hinted at. And at the discovery, he shuddered. "Oh."

I shook my head. "Just get the medicine, Tom, and be quick about it. I have Spanish lessons at noon."

Without further conflict, Tom went and got the medicine chest and set it down at my feet. It wasn't as big or grand as Cavanaugh's, but I deemed it would be enough for our meager crew. After all, only one man was sick at the moment, and by the way things were going, I doubted any more would fall ill.

I rummaged through the numerous bottles and containers in the wooden box, opening and sniffing them to identify what the hell was in each. I discovered that most of them were either cathartics or emetics, and I was not about to make Guerra purge his sickness away. However, there was the chance that they'd come in handy, and so I decided to keep them all. I had the medicine chest placed in Jack's cabin, seeing as they had made the proper surgeon's cockpit into another cabin. Afterwards, I decided that caudle would be the best treatment for Guerra and I went down to the galley to prepare it for him.

"Playing the crocus now, are you, sister?" Roland snuck up behind me and flicked my head. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow at the mock and glared at him.

"No one else seems to have the medical knowledge," I reasoned, shaking a bit of cinnamon into the tankard I was preparing. "And what's wrong with helping a fellow crewmember?"

He shrugged and took the tankard from me, sniffing it, exhaling, and then handing it back to me.

"That's quite strong," he commented. "You trying to kill the man?"

"No. I haven't added the wine yet, you idiot. Speaking of which, can you heat some wine up for me?" Roland didn't budge and crossed his arms, giving me one of his infamous looks of rebellion.

"I'm not going to be your loblolly boy," he said, annoyed. "And why all this tenderness to the Spaniard, eh? Do you like him, Astrid?"

"And why are you asking such an irrelevant question? I'm helping Guerra because I'm the only one who can, and no one else seems to care that he's sick, except for his comrades." I paused and considered that what I had just said was more significant an observation than I thought it to be. "And that's the problem on this ship. You are still being a bloody bigot, what with your undying love for Britain and all, and everyone else is sticking to their own little groups. There are no brotherly bonds between anyone."

"Well, what'd you expect?" was Roland's halfhearted answer. He reached for a tin cup and poured in some wine, heating it on the stove with a carelessness in his actions. "I'm a servant of the King."

"Not anymore," I replied forcibly. "By agreeing to board this ship, you have pledged your allegiance to Captain Jack Sparrow, not anyone else."

"Damn it all, Astrid," he burst. "I like Jack. I'll be honest about that. He's a good man, but I'm not going to follow him to the death. I could hanged for it." And with that, he took the heated wine and poured it into the tankard I had prepared and left me.

I swirled the wine in with the spices and then added some watered-down gruel to the solution, mixing it all together before dipping my finger in it and tasting it for myself. After finding it satisfactory, I went down to the berth deck and walked over to Guerra, who was accompanied only by Hernán.

"Here," I said, giving the mug to the young Spaniard. "He's to drink it." Hernán nodded and took the mug carefully out of my hands.

"Thank you," he mumbled weakly.

"De nada."

Cordelia and I didn't have Spanish lessons that day. Hernán was too busy taking care of Guerra, so we simply idled about. Cord spent most of the time with Roland, as she had taken a great liking to him despite the fact that he knew she was French and really didn't want anything to do with her. But as she had charmed me and everyone else on the ship, she had charmed Roland into feeling some sort of special attachment to her. I figured that by the time she became a young lady, the lads would have to be kept behind bars in order to keep from getting to her.

I laughed at the thought.

Oh, but Cord. What about poor Hernán? You're leaving him for this sorry man?

Of course, even if I teased her about liking Roland, she was never the one to feel the shame because all the blame would be placed on me, and I would be the one punished. And so with Cord and Roland off frolicking about, I helped out with the ship repairs, sitting atop the yardarm with Sefu, a runaway slave. His English was limited, but I still talked with him, and he wasn't a relatively reserved fellow despite having endured the horrors of a slave passage to the Americas. In fact, he made me laugh often as he described his coming to the new world. He told me that he had a wife and two daughters back in Eastern Africa, which I thought strange since most slaves were taken from the West. When I asked him about that peculiarity, he said that he had gone to the West with his brothers to aid their ailing father. Unfortunately, they were captured as slaves, but he was the only survivor after the long and treacherous sea voyage.

"You'd like to see your family again, wouldn't you?" I asked as I handed him a line to tie.

"Yes, I would," he answered in his deep voice. "I hope they are all right."

"Well, once we find the treasure," I said, reaching for another torn rope end, "you'll have more than enough to go back to your family, and I'm sure Jack wouldn't mind you leaving. I think you deserve the reward."

He chuckled at that and returned to me the mended line. "You are very different from what I thought you would be."

"Why?" I questioned. "You thought I'd be like him?" I pointed down at Roland who was playing marelle with Cord. He looked ridiculous hopping on the squares she had drawn on the deck with chalk, trying to get to the little bag of grain she had made him toss onto one of the shapes. "You thought I'd be mean and rude?"

"Everyone can be mean and rude," he stated. "But you seek answers. So you ask questions. And then you learn."

I smiled. "Well, sometimes it's hard asking questions. Some people aren't like you. Some people don't answer."

Suddenly, from below, someone had called my name and I excused myself from Sefu's company and went down to the deck, finding that Hernán was the one who had summoned me. I came up to him and noticed he was sweating, and he seemed out of breath. He light brown eyes were glazed.

"What's the matter?" I inquired, trying not to peer too closely at him. I never realized how many freckles he had.

"Guerra is getting worse. He vomited again, and now he is shaking. There was blood in the spittle." His words were racked with panic and I was compelled to ask him if he himself was feeling a little bit ill.

"No," he answered. "It's just hot below." Sure it is, I said inwardly, well aware of the fact that he was out here, in the fresh breeze, but was still suffering a bad case of sudation.

"You're lying to me." I set my hands on my hips and raised my eyebrows at him. He only grew more frustrated.

"I am not! Guerra is ill. Help him, for God's sake!" His outbursts were enough to convince me that his mind was mad with fever, and I took his arm and led him below, proud that I had proved him wrong but worried about the way things were going. If Hernán was now ill, there was no telling who else could catch the infection, whatever it was. Two people down with fever in a day was not a good sign at all.

"You stay in a hammock," I ordered. "I'll be back with something for you to drink."

"No," he replied stubbornly. "Guerra is the one ill. Not me. Get him medicine." I ignored him and left to get him his own mug of caudle, and on the way, I decided to make the issue known to Jack.

"Another one is sick," I said nonchalantly as I came up beside him at the wheel. "Hernán."

"The Spaniards are getting a bit of flu then, aren't they?" said Jack, not amused.

"I'd say so. Possibly an omen?"

"Possibly."

"What if the number of invalids increases? You won't have the manpower to sail the Pearl."

"Then you'd better make sure those Spaniards get well soon. The sooner we're out of this damned territory, the sooner we'll be safe."

I said nothing afterwards. I merely stared at him for a good minute, wondering how he could seem so aloof when two of his men were ill. Perhaps two wasn't enough to cause too much worry, but it was definitely worrying me, especially after all that turmoil from the night before. Too many lives were being put at risk.

But, as promised, I went down below, back to the galley, to make Hernán his tonic, and after giving it to him, he seemed eager to quaff it down, even though he had denied needing it earlier. Silly Spaniard. After putting him to rest and giving Guerra another dose of the same tonic, I let them be, hoping that no more would get ill.

But I was wrong.

Barely a week had passed and we were now down to four able people: Jack, Tom, Sefu and me. Everyone else was swaying in their hammocks, groaning and moaning as illness coursed through their fever-plagued veins. I was especially worried about Cord, as she was still a child and her cries of pain and agony were the ones that stuck out in the horde of low, manly grunts. Guerra hadn't woken up in days, but I continued to check his pulse. He was worrying me too as he was the one who was the first to fall. But no matter what I did or what I gave him, he didn't get better. So nobody else did either.

Even Roland had fallen ill and he was incredibly angry about it too. He cursed and raged while bedridden and his fever seemed to have made such an impact that it was now forcing his malcontent to a new level, one that even I was not familiar with.

But what puzzled me most, other than what the hell was making all of my crewmates sick, was why Jack, Tom, Sefu and I hadn't caught ill yet. I had been tending to the sick for days and no sign of illness from me. All three men helped me continuously, although it hurt their pride to do so (well, save for Sefu's), and I had to have them work quite aggressively in order to tend to the many, many sick. They were always exhausted by the end of the day, but they issued no complaints. It was all they could do. All I could do.

"You haven't tried blood-letting, bonnie," mentioned Tom, more as a mumble than a clear suggestion. He sat in a wooden chair by Cord's hammock, his limbs splayed out and his head leaning back, his red hair matted to his skin from under his green hat.

Jack was in a similar position, lounging in another chair by Roland's hammock, his hat over his eyes and a bottle of rum in his resting hand. Sefu was above decks, keeping watch and keeping us aware of any changes in the weather or wind. Both of our ships had weighed anchor after Jack was unable to sail anymore due to decreased manpower.

"I won't bleed anyone, Tom," I returned from my own place by Guerra's hammock. "It's too messy and too time consuming. Nearly a hundred men need our help and frankly, I do not trust you to bleed anyone."

"All you do is take a lancet—" He thrust his fist into some imaginary object "—take it back out, put a bowl beneath the cut and there! Bloodletting!"

I did not value his sarcasm at all and snorted in reply.

"This all just atonement for your sins," Tom persisted, gesturing at Jack and me. We Sparrows instantly shifted our glances to him and frowned simultaneously. "God's punishing you."

Jack obviously disagreed with him judging by the look of disbelief on his face, and he happily put his hat back over his eyes before he spoke, his fingers moving and pointing at, really, nothing and no one.

"I dunno 'bout what sins you're talking about, O'Brien," he said indifferently, grinning afterwards. "I got that squared away years ago… when I was a member of the clergy."

"Ha! Right!" bellowed Tom with a raucous laugh. "Father Sparrow. That'll be the day."

"Clergy? Priest?" I echoed, a laugh on the tip of my tongue, but a sudden intrigue took over me at the mentioning of the church.

"Aye, love," confirmed Jack, pleased with himself. I knew it was a lie, but it suddenly gave me an idea.

"Prayer," I said, mostly to myself. "I haven't tried prayer yet."

"Oh, bollocks," muttered Tom. "Prayer doesn't bloody solve anything."

"You're probably praying incorrectly then," I countered, walking over and showing them the rosary Tia Dalma had given me. "You use this, don't you? It's some sort of sacred relic people use to pray, aye?"

Removing his hat from his face, Jack sat up and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Aye, but I don't know how to use it. I wasn't a priest, Astrid. It was a disguise."

"I'm not that bloody simple, Jack. 'Course I know you weren't a priest."

"Then why are you asking?"

"So I can pray." Both men lost their interest in my idea right then and there.

"Forget it, Astrid. Their sickness has nothing to do with their sins. I was just joking," said Tom, shrugging and about to rest his feet on Jack's lap. However, Daddy beat him to it and rested his own dirty boots on Tom's knees before the Irishman could even lift his heel. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"What you were about to bloody do," Jack muttered before the first snore escaped him.

"I'm going to pray," I told them both, though I could tell neither of them was listening to me anymore. With a scowl and a roll of my eyes, I left them and headed over back to Guerra, pulling a chair over plopping myself in it before I took the rosary off my neck and ran my fingers over the crucifix.

Then, after staring at the item for a good minute or two, I sighed and put my face in my hands. "I don't even know how to begin," I uttered miserably. "I have tried my best to help everyone here but no one is getting better. Why? What have I done or what has anyone else done to deserve this? This is horrible. First the storm, now this, our bad luck is having such a jolly week while we are stuck here suffering, trapped in a crowded ship with sick people and smelling like the rotting sea."

"I do not think the rosary starts that way, Señorita."

I looked up, my eyes readjusting to the dimness of the berth deck and saw Hernán looking at me from his hammock. His eyes were barely open, but he was the one who spoke. I was sure of it. Plus, he must have heard me. His hammock was right next to Guerra's. He had heard every word I had said.

"Then how does it begin?"

"It's a Catholic tradition," he informed me, his voice hoarse and weak. He beckoned for the rosary with a feeble movement of his fingers and I scooted over closer to his hammock and set the thing in his hand. "And you're not Catholic."

"I don't care. Why should it matter?"

"It doesn't, but not being British obviously does." He wedged the first bead above the crucifix between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes flicking upwards to look at me before he continued further. "Repeat what I say," he said. "I need to do this for Guerra also."

I nodded and patiently waited for him to begin.

"Don't just do it for him," I added. "Do it for everyone. We all need the prayer."

He didn't display any sign of consensus on my addition, but there was a very long pause between what I said and when he actually began praying the rosary. He didn't look at me when he uttered the starting sequence of words. He closed his eyes instead.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…"

I interrupted him.

"Don't close your eyes. I don't want you to sleep."

"I won't. I'm closing my eyes so that I don't have to look at you." Well, I never. "I'm not looking for you, after all," he said. "I already know where you are. You're here. Now, I'm looking for God." There was another pause and he opened one of his eyes and grinned somewhat despite his fatigue. "You should too."