Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

Chapter 16

Into That Silent Sea

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow follow'd free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

From the Medusa's quarterdeck, I stared out at the sea, my hands braced upon the stern railing. Something was wrong, had been wrong for several days in fact. There was a warning in the very air itself – a presence or an absence of some sort; but for the life of me, I could not discover what it was. I looked up at the vivid, cloudless sky, half expecting to see monstrous eyes looking back at me.

A week had passed since the night I unburdened my conscience to Hector, and we were only a day out from Cuidad Blanca. And yet we were not presently under sail. Instead, under the blazing heat of a tropical sun, the Pearl and the Medusa had thrown out their sea anchors and hove to, in order to investigate a most astonishing sight.

I was half aware of an animated conversation taking place on the main deck amongst Jack, Hector, and Jeremy. Theirs were the only voices – no one else on either ship had spoken a word for what seemed hours. Every man of them was gazing in wary silence at the Berwick, which was lying by peacefully off our starboard bow, apparently abandoned.

Was not that the obvious cause of my keyed up nerves? I sighed and drummed my fingers on the railing. No, it was not the Berwick; something unknown, with sharp, shadowy angles, flittered at the edge of my perception and made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The sounds of talking had tapered off. There was a cough at my elbow and I found Jack leaning on the railing next to me. "All sorted, darlin'," he said. "The four of us'll board her and 'ave a look about."

I lifted an eyebrow. "All four of us?"

He grinned. "Think I'd leave you here, Brat? And I'm not leaving him" – he pointed to Hector – "to steal me ship once I'm gone. And I'm not leavin' him" – pointing to Jeremy – "until he takes me to the gold." He sighed. "And they won't leave me-`

"Yes, yes," I said. "It never changes – no one trusts anyone. As usual."

He grinned approvingly and shrugged. "Pirates, love."

I followed him with my eyes as he sauntered away, and over his shoulder I glimpsed the Berwick - a beautiful ship with sleek, elegant lines. She was only a short distance away, all her canvas furled, not a trace of damage. But there wasn't a soul on deck, and she hadn't answered when we hailed her with a salute from our guns.

After some subdued talk, our crews had categorically refused to board her, even for a short time.

I descended the stairs to the main deck, and was immediately accosted by Hector, intent on instructing me. "We've t' keep an eye on both of 'em at all times," he muttered, frowning. "I'll not have either one of 'em makin' mischief. I'll watch Norrington, and ye'll watch yer brother."

I nodded and whispered, "Aye, Captain." He turned and made his way back to the gangway where Jack was waiting.

Jeremy had positioned himself a little apart from all this, and now he beckoned me to approach.

"You and I must keep watch over our two pirate captains," he began.

I waved my hand to silence him and stifled an urge to laugh. It had the makings of pure farce – everyone watching everyone else. "I shall watch Captain Sparrow, if you'll watch Captain Barbossa," I said.

"Very well." He gave me a quick, official sort of nod and moved away.

When he had gone, I recalled Stuffy's tale, and particularly his insistence that the Berwick had been chased and made to disappear by a caravel. I could only think of one captain who might still be sailing such an ancient ship. I spied Maroto and approached him.

"You aren't joining us, Padre?"

He looked away from me, as if the question embarrassed him. "None of them trust the others to be left in charge, and so they have asked me to keep order in their absence." He excused himself before I could say another word, and it struck me that he wanted to avoid any discussion of the Berwick.

I was first to descend the ladder to the longboat, refusing any helping hand. There were no noticeable changes in my appearance yet, but I was convinced that anyone who so much as took me by the elbow would instantly guess my condition. Jack took the seat opposite mine, and gave me an appraising sort of look. I turned away and gazed at the sea.

In the Caribbean, the colour of the water depends in large part on whether sand or grass lies beneath it. Sand turns the water to a light, radiant turquoise, while large, scattered areas of Prussian blue indicate grass beds.

But the water on which we sailed that day was so dark as to be nearly black, and nothing below the surface was visible, no matter how I squinted at the bright white reflections of sunlight that glittered across it. We were evidently over some vast underwater basin of untold depth, for a band of brilliant aquamarine ran all the way round the horizon, marking the shallower seas that encircled us. The entire sea bore an uncanny resemblance to the eye on a peacock's tail feather.

And still I could not pin down whatever was setting my nerves on edge.

As we drew closer to the Berwick, a chill travelled down my back in spite of the heat, and I rubbed my arms briskly to counter the goose bumps that suddenly covered my skin. The Berwick had a Jacob's ladder which we caught and unrolled with our boathook. In a few minutes, our party had boarded the ship and I got my first look at the Berwick.

She was immaculate. Scrubbed and polished to perfection, as though she had just come from the shipwright's yard. I sniffed the air, but there was no smell of gunpowder, tobacco, spoilt victuals, or death. All her lines were stowed with mathematical precision, and her longboats were neatly lashed to the deck.

The clean, spotless deck.

I frowned. One would think there would be traces of . . . I looked at the sky. Not a gull in sight. All at once, the thing that had nagged at me came into focus. I hadn't heard the cry of seabirds for days. And that wasn't all - the jellyfish had ceased to follow us at night. Neither dolphins nor devilfish had accompanied us, leaping joyfully beside our ships. There were no sea creatures of any sort. We had come to a part of the ocean where we were the only living beings; where, but for the sigh of the breeze and the occasional lapping of the water, all was silence.

Jeremy and Hector drew their weapons and, leaving Jack and me on deck, went below to see if anyone could be found.

Jack studied the ocean. "Not much point tryin' to set her anchor," he said, nodding his chin towards the water. "It's too deep. And she won't drift much, with seas this flat."

He didn't suggest tying her to one of our ships; we both knew that would stir up a hornet's nest of fear and panic among the superstitious pirates. I waited, but Jack was still taking stock of the Berwick. At last he turned to me.

"Rum sort of ship, innit, Brat? The smuggler's delight. Not that she carries more cargo than most; in fact, she don't." He waved towards her bow with a sly smile. "It's her speed. Look at 'er bow. She's built for outrunnin' other ships, savvy?"

"Well, we know Jeremy isn't interested in how much gold he can bring back," I said.

Jack's eyes flashed knowingly. "Aye, but here's what I ask meself: what is he interested in? And who's he plannin' to outrun?"

Although I had told Hector everything, I had no intention of bringing Jack into my confidence. I shrugged. "No idea, really."

I followed Jack into the captain's quarters, and caught my breath. The room had been thrown into great disorder – ransacked, in fact. Papers, bedsheets and clothes lay strewn about the floor. The mattress had been slashed. Sea chests were open. Drawers had been pulled out, emptied and cast aside. After a moment, I realised what must have happened; there was nothing supernatural about it. Once they had disposed of Jeremy, his mutinous crew must have been searching for the rumoured treasure map.

Having more interest in gold than paper, Jack had been pushing the mess aside with the toe of his boot. Suddenly he stooped and retrieved something shiny from under a crumpled shirt.

With a triumphant smile, he held up a small jasper and gold signet ring, with something black wound about the band. "Not hair, is it?" he asked, curling his upper lip.

My heart gave a single, great thump, and I took the ring with unsteady fingers. "No, it seems to be thread." I stared at the small trinket and felt my world shift on its axis. For a moment I was fifteen once more. It was snowing and I was attending my first ball, feeling frightened and awkward. But a beautiful young man with dark, melting eyes was introducing himself and offering his hand, his perfect young hand. On it had been this ring.

Jack knew as well as I did whose ring it was. He patted my shoulder, and I realised that my eyes were welling with tears.

I wiped my face. "Sometimes," I said. "Where we're very young, we don't see how much . . ."

Jack gave my arm a squeeze. "We've all got to go sometime, mouse," he said.

I nodded, clearing my throat, and continued to gaze at James' ring. The thread, of course, had been added later, making it look almost like a mourning ring. Unaccountably, I turned it over so I could see the underside of its face. Jack saw me grow pale, and snatched back the ring to look for himself.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. The inside of the ring bore a small engraving of a skull, surrounded by a date – the date poor James had been killed.

We looked at each other and Jack narrowed his eyes. "Odd he'd have it, innit?" he said. "I mean, if he despised his brother as much as you say." He pocketed the ring, adding, "Let him think the crew took it."

Just then we heard the sound of boots and Hector's loud voice outside the door. I quickly took a snuffbox from the floor, and invented a cough to accompany my teary eyes. "Not half clever, are you," Jack said, shaking his head, just as the door opened to admit Jeremy and Hector.

Jeremy observed the snuffbox with a light laugh. "Giving you a bit of bother, is it?" he asked. I nodded and handed him the box. Hector looked sharply out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing.

"There's not a trace of anyone, living or dead," said Jeremy, looking about him. "Although I see they amused themselves in here. We found supper set out in the mess. Food cold, naturally. Everything neat as a pin, and the ship's provisions scarcely touched."

Jack had begun to rock on his heels during this speech, and now he took up the matter that most concerned him. "How's the supply of rum?"

Hector's mouth tightened into a disapproving smile. "Jack, Jack . . . I prefer t' keep me eyes on what matters most – the gold in Cuidad Blanca."

"In other words, you've no idea! I knew I should've looked meself."He swayed towards the door, hands waving. "I'll be quick, then."

Hector scowled and started after him, leaving me with Jeremy, who had begun collecting papers from the floor and putting them in an empty despatch box. "You needn't follow them," he said, not looking up. "There's nothing they can turn to ill use." He sighed and his gaze strayed over the floor.

I knelt down. "Let me help you," I said, and started picking up documents.

We gathered his papers in silence. Once the floor was cleared and the box filled, Jeremy looked round him again. "Have you got everything?" I asked.

He seemed perplexed, and I was certain he was trying to guess what had become of the ring. "I suppose I do," he said at last, and withdrew a key from his waistcoat.

He tried to lock the box, but the key turned uselessly where the mutineers had damaged the mechanism. "Broken, of course," he commented, looking away from me. An awkward pause followed.

Trying to fill the silence, I said, "These old boxes are so familiar to me. My father always had one or more to hand."

Without turning, he said, "Perhaps you have wished for the power to bring him back?"

The question struck me as odd and I was in doubt how to answer. He might be seeking nothing more than conversation with a trusted colleague to counter the solitary nature of his work. I stole a look at his profile, and saw that he awaited my answer with keen interest.

What did he expect me to say? I cleared my throat. "Oh, many times, of course."

I sensed that he was about to say something more, but the door banged open, and Jack swaggered in with four bottles of rum in his arms, followed by Hector, who began speaking at once.

"Gents," - he eyed me - "and lady. 'Tis time we return to our ships."

"But what shall we tell everyone?" I asked him. "That the fate of this crew is unknown, yet we're making for the same lost city? If you think they're frightened now-"

"If ye'd do me the courtesy, madam," he replied, giving me a steely look. "I was about to tell ye." Then he raised his chin in that defiant posture I knew so well.

"There be a sad but simple reason fer the crew a-vanishin'," he proclaimed. "Seein' the calm waters, they were inclined to take a relaxin' swim, an' all jumped off the ship. But lackin' a captain" – he bowed towards Jeremy –"there be no one t' remind 'em that the Jacob's ladder were still stowed away. When they'd refreshed themselves, they couldn't get back aboard, an' sadly, they all be drownded." He raised his eyes heavenward, then glanced at my sour expression.

"It ain't uncommon," he snapped, dropping his pious attitude. "P'raps sharks ate 'em! Ye'd be surprised . . ."

I nodded. "Then I say let's be off. The Berwick gives me the horrors."

-o-

By afternoon, we had discovered a fair breeze and were sailing once more.

I had not been in the surgery more than ten minutes when Hector arrived. I told him of James' ring and Jeremy's odd question, but Hector brushed it off.

"So he keeps a memento of his brother – so what?" he said with a shrug. "We've other concerns." He looked me in the eye, engaging my full attention. "We need to know more about this map, m' girl. We need t' find it."

Seeing my surprise, he quickly added, "So's we can destroy it before Norrington puts his hand on it."

He wanted me to elicit details from Maroto regarding the map's appearance and where it might be hidden, regardless of all of my fears and forebodings.

"What of the Berwick?" I demanded. "What of the caravel Stuffy saw?"

"What of it?" he answered crossly. "The Berwick were abandoned! And a drunken scallywag of a lookout dreamed of a fancy ship! Naught to do with us."

I twisted my hands together. "Hector-" But it was hopeless. He was set on getting his hands on the map, and I could only hope that when he did, he wouldn't be led into some foolish act. The map must be destroyed.

He saw my distress and coaxed me towards him. "Don't fret, little bird. There be many a mystery out on the wide ocean, an' the answers won't be known 'til the last trump sounds. Trust me - I'd tell ye if I reckoned aught was amiss."

I rested my arms across his shoulders and resolved to rely upon him. After all, who was I to trust, if not Hector?

He gave me a final squeeze before departing. "Now, I'll find Maroto an' send him t' ye."

However, when Maroto arrived, he proved rather unhelpful at first, and my questions appeared to exasperate him.

"¿Por qué lo llaman un mapa?"he exclaimed more than once. "Te dije que era un dibujo!"

I had no taste for being clever with words, and I summoned all my patience. "Yes, I know that you called it a drawing and not a map," I said, clipping my words. "But a drawing that shows the way to something is, generally speaking, a map. Can we keep this discussion to English, please?"

"As you like." He gave a heavy sigh. "I do not know what sort of object it is. It was something my ancestor was able to copy. Perhaps an inscription in stone or bronze; no one knows." He sat looking at his hands. "But it is still there, and he protects it, just as he protects the Fountain."

"Is that what happened to the Berwick?"

"Possibly. What did you see?"

I told him. Then I told him Stuffy's tale. There was a long pause, and he finally replied, "Ah."

My suspicions were confirmed. "So Stuffy did see a caravel!" Recalling the Flying Dutchman, I added, "What happened to the men? Did they join Ponce de Leon's crew?"

Maroto laughed nervously. "No, señora. He doesn't need them. He has someone already."

Ponce de Leon had a crew of . . . one?

"But there must have been more to start with," I said when I managed to gather my wits, "What became of them?"

"When Cuidad Blanca was abandoned, they turned on each other; now only one remains. But the Santiago still sails, and takes victims when there is need for another sacrifice."

He gave me a long look, and appeared to be waiting for me to ask one particular question. I made a guess at what it might be. "How does he sail a ship if he has no crew?"

His expression relaxed. That was evidently the question he had wanted me to ask. "With a magical object," he said. "A magical object that does all the work of a crew, setting the sails, turning the wheel, coiling the lines – whatever is needed. All he must do is focus the power of his mind."

I sat there stupidly, unable to take in his words. He must have thought I doubted him, for he offered up the only proof he could – the Berwick.

"You said you found the Berwick in perfect order," he reminded me gently. "How do you explain the . . . the precision?"

I couldn't. The fact was that the ship had been not merely tidy, nor even abnormally tidy. It had been inhumanly tidy. No mortal hands could have stowed those lines so precisely. But if Maroto was right, then his quest was the dream of a madman. I gazed at him steadily.

"If your ancestor is so powerful," I said, "May I ask how you expect to destroy the Fountain, or even get near it?"

"I cannot destroy the Fountain yet. I must first stop him."

I heaved a weary sigh. "Stop him? Can you even find him?"

He looked down at his hands and smiled. A secret smile. "If the map, as you call it, is disturbed, I think you'll find he is not far."

His words turned my blood to ice.

-o-

When I met Hector that night in the surgery, I had nothing useful to report as far as the map's appearance or location; however, I did have something important to tell him.

"This venture is far more perilous than I had thought," I said. "It seems the map is somehow guarded by Ponce de Leon – and it was he who attacked the Berwick!"

Hector answered with a short laugh. "That Spaniard and his yarns! He means to make ye stand off so's he can take the map fer himself. No battle was fought on the Berwick - where be the dead from either ship?"

"It wasn't the sort of battle you think," I replied. "Ponce de Leon acted alone – he has no crew, save for one man."

"Ye can't sail a ship without a crew," he retorted. "Not even Davy Jones could do that."

"But Ponce de Leon can," I insisted. "Maroto said there was something aboard the Santiago, a magical object that sails the ship, and has other powers besides."

"A likely tale," he said scornfully. But he stood pondering for a short time with eyes half closed, and I would have given a great deal to be able to peer inside that nimble mind of his. He seemed determined to disregard any obstacle or danger that might stand between him and the map, and his unshakeable resolve was beginning to make me uneasy. Would he be tempted to seize the map instead of destroying it? Was he tempted already?

He must have noticed my uncertain air, for he sat down on the only chair in the surgery, and took my hand, drawing me towards him and seating me upon his lap. He rested his chin on my head and rocked me slightly, keeping his own counsel on whatever thoughts occupied him.

Nestled drowsily against his chest, I puzzled over all the people pursuing us, from Ponce de Leon to the rider in England, and perhaps others of whom I knew nothing. In this unsettled state, I dozed off and dreamed briefly of a very large pirate ship. There was a bearded man with black hair swimming around it, and I understood him to be a fierce and triumphant enemy. This rattled my nerves sharply, and I awoke.

"Bad dreams," I told Hector, with a forced smile.

"Be easy, lass," he murmured. "That be Maroto's nonsense, fillin' yer head." He gave me an affectionate kiss. "'Tis late, and I be needed at the wheel, else I'd see ye back t' yer cabin."

We went our separate ways – he to the helm, and I to my berth. As I crossed the main deck, I noticed Maroto at the larboard railing, looking out to sea. I caught my breath and stopped, aware of my pulse quickening.

Had I actually not noticed how thin and weary he had become, or was there something uncanny about his appearance? The moonlight dusted his hair with silver, and he had the angular, stiffened shoulders of an older man. I stared, unable to take in what I saw. He made as if to turn towards me, and I quickly slipped away, before he could catch me gawping at him.

Once settled in my bed, I made a concentrated effort not to think on what I had just seen, assuring myself that moonlight made strange creatures of us all. But this proved a weak argument. Recollections of Maroto in daylight sprang to mind, and I recalled the alarming changes in his appearance – the slow wasting away, the greyness and pallor of his hair and face. I pulled the bedclothes up to my eyes as fear washed over me. I was surrounded by forces both ancient and terrible, their slow advance encircling our ships, drawing us in. But what could I do?

For all I knew, some titanic, unthinkable creature could be swimming silently below the Medusa at this very moment.

"Angels on high, I'll never get to sleep at this rate!" I shivered as I sat up to light a candle. I needed answers and, at that moment, an idea came to me. It might not solve the mystery in its entirety, but it would almost certainly help, as long as I wasn't caught at it.

I needed to look at the papers in Jeremy's despatch box, and the sooner the better.

Next: Chapter 17 - The City of Whitened Bones - The pirates reach the lost city, and Jeremy begins his hunt for the map.