Chapter Five

Barbossa ignored the comments and complaints of his crew as they scuffled into the dense jungle. His mind was far too preoccupied with musings that had been turned over hundreds and hundreds of times before in his head. If nothing else, the curse had given him the gift of time.

The curse. A sneer curled the captain's lip as he recalled pleasures that had been once a simple part of life, yet now dominated his every thought. Food, rum, flesh. Even the small feeling of contentment one experiences when a soft breeze coasts across the skin. Every sensation was now a memory, and there was the rub: Barbossa could handle the curse if he'd been unable to remember the joys of mortality. As it was, he could remember every sensation he'd ever enjoyed, which only made him desire each one even more.

He slipped his hand into one of his coat's capacious pockets and withdrew the green apple he made sure was always there. Every morning he replaced the previous day's apple with a newer, fresher one, just in case that day was the day the curse was lifted. Something stirred in his mind as he looked meaningfully at the fruit, and an idea began to blossom.

The girl might serve some purpose after all, he thought, entertaining his new idea. Just as the apple was his instant gratification and affirmation of the curse being cancelled, so could the girl be. Locked up in the cell, Barbossa could keep her for an indefinite time purely as a reminder and motivation to break the curse. Once broken, he would have his ace in the hole. Pun intended.

Drums beat in the distance, and Barbossa smiled. He knew the natives of this particular island were scavengers and lovers of shiny objects. He had no proof but was almost certain one or more of the coins would be in the village, and then he would be that much closer to the mortal joys he'd been denied.

Miranda had always thought that the worst position in which a young woman could find herself would be a situation that jeopardized her dignity and reputation. That, however, was before she'd been hog-tied to a pole by natives and carried upside down through jungle underbrush.

To add insult to injury, Jack had talked his way out of being tied in any way, and was leading the group, pausing every so often to look back at Miranda and laugh.

"Jack! Have them let me go," Miranda said through gritted teeth. Jack's laughter sounded like barking as he mimicked, "Jakhaf them letmigoh!" The natives joined in laughing, and Jack added, "No speaky se-se. Just gabble babble."

Although clearly in another language, Miranda had a good idea of what he'd said. And she wasn't happy.

"Jack, let me go. Now."

"Or?" countered a delighted Jack. Miranda had about as much wit in her reply as she had leverage. "Please?"

Jack stopped walking to let the people carrying her catch up to him, and he stooped to her level, and managed to keep pace.

"Sorry, love. It's me or no one, and since I have to choose . . . " he stopped, his eyebrows furrowed, causing the painted antennae on his forehead to merge. After a moment's thought, he pointed his finger to the sky but gestured to Miranda. "Me. Definitely me."

"Bloody pirate," she growled through her teeth, closing her eyes as she tried to think of a plan, but her mind was drawing a blank. As she was despairing, one clumsy native spared her further depression as his grip slipped on the pole to which she was tied and her head connected solidly with a large root. The world went black.

Searing heat woke Miranda as it shot up her spine. She immediately opened her eyes and saw twilight above her. The heat persisted, and she realized she was hung like a stuck pig over a bonfire. She was dressed only in her under garments, which were beginning singe and smoke.

Islanders danced around the fire pit, and she passively noticed one was wearing her dress. Somewhere a drum that had been beating wildly ceased, and she heard a familiar voice.

"Ra-ta ummy sapey want! Pai go burny-burny, good!" And there was Jack, seated comfortably on a a throne, calmly ordering the people to eat her. Through her abject fear, Miranda felt fury burning her insides as the fire burned her skin.

"Save me!" she screamed, smelling burning hair. Jack opened his mouth but froze. His eyes darted around and he held up a hand. The dancing stopped and all was silent. Miranda writhed against the pole trying to avoid the licking flames as she watched in amazement as Jack jumped from his throne.

" 'Bye!" he shouted, and ran his high-kneed run out of the clearing. The islanders stood listlessly, unsure how to react to the hasty departure. Luckily, they were given something new to react to in seconds as a wave of pirates flooded over them. The pirates immediately began cutting them down with their swords. One native was cast into the fire, and fell heavily against one of the poles holding Miranda up. Her legs fell into the fire, and flames curled hungrily onto the rope, blinding her with pain. A scream ripped out of Miranda's throat as her mind was wiped clean of everything except pain. She'd never known what burning flesh smelled like, and quite frankly, could have gone the rest of her life in ignorance. However, now she knew, and the scent nearly made her vomit.

An arm wrapped around her and yanked her from the flames. The dirt smothered the fire on her skirts, but her legs still felt as if they were being devoured by flames. Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried to think of anything but the pain.

After several excruciating minutes the air was still. No more natives were shouting or pleading. There were none left. Miranda vaguely felt someone untying her wrists and saying, "Keep gettin' in the wrong sorts, don' we, darling?"

Beyond the pain, Miranda found herself thinking, not him.