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

Chapter 17

The City of Whitened Bones

After another day of sailing, we came to Cuidad Blanca and anchored during the night. The next morning, I went on deck, eager to see the fabled City of Whitened Bones. Shading my eyes with one hand, I surveyed the landscape before me. It was not what I had expected.

To begin with, it was utterly flat. No majestic trees, no mountains, no dramatic waterfalls relieved its monotony. An endless stretch of white sand reflected the sun's glare and made my eyes water. Beyond it lay nothing but a scrubby forest of poison-green vegetation. There were no ruins: the city must have been razed to the ground.

Then I spied the round top of a single, low hill. I could not guess its distance from the beach, but it seized my attention at once. I frowned, unable to look away. What was so fascinating? And why did I feel a chill in my blood, despite the heat of the day?

"Mistress Bitter!" Jeremy's voice broke in on my musings. I turned towards the captain's quarters, lowering my hand and rubbing the back of it, where the sun was already beginning to burn my skin.

When I entered the great cabin, Jeremy, Jack, and Hector were all standing round the table, looking as grave as the Board of Admiralty. The table was covered with Jeremy's maps, crew assignments and lists of sites which were to be dug up.

"We are ready to go ashore," said Jeremy with a tight, confident smile, "and begin excavating the gold." His eyes slid from one restless captain to the other. "In an orderly fashion, gentlemen."

"Oh, naturally," Hector purred. He and Jack smiled obligingly. Neither man was quite convincing.

Jeremy turned his attention to me. "But you must understand, Miss Bitter; I cannot have Maroto observing my actions. He may yet prove to be a Spanish saboteur, for all I know."

My spine stiffened. "And what are you proposing? To lock him in the brig like a criminal?"

"No, my dear," he replied with a quiet chuckle. "However, it will be your task to remain here and keep an eye on him."

This put me in excellent spirits; I could not have conceived a better way to search Jeremy's papers than to be left to my own devices aboard the Medusa, whilst everyone else was occupied digging up gold on that bleak and unforgiving shore.

When we emerged from the great cabin, our boats were already being lowered, and the men were climbing aboard and taking up their oars. I approached Hector, intending to wish him every good fortune, but I was distracted by Jack the Monkey's odd behaviour. He sat frozen upon his master's shoulder, craning his neck to stare fixedly at Cuidad Blanca. Not even the tip of his tail was moving.

The pit of my stomach suddenly felt hollow. Hector was soon to set foot on those very sands. I hung back and tugged at his coat sleeve until he inclined his ear towards me. "Do you still keep it with you?" I whispered.

He glanced at me quickly, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smile as he straightened up. With a quick, subtle movement of his hand, he indicated a chain about his neck. I nodded. "Good."

On that chain hung the small, golden Basilikon – a prize that had nearly cost both of us our lives. It was a talisman that protected the wearer from cold steel, shooting and stabbing, and I had given it to Hector on our wedding day, charging him to wear it always. It gave me some measure of relief to know he had it with him.

As we approached the gangway, the monkey leapt off Hector's shoulder with a loud shriek, and landed in my arms. He curled up like a hedgehog, tucking his head down as he began to tremble. Surprised, I tried to hand him back, but he clung to me with tiny, pitiful whimpers that pierced my heart.

Unsure of what to do, I cradled the furry little ball, rocking him as I have seen wild adult monkeys do with frightened offspring. He burrowed into the crook of my elbow and his small fingers clutched at my arm. Jack did not generally seek me out, but something had made him feel threatened, and he had turned to me with innocent trust. I folded my arms over the frightened monkey.

"Give him t' me," Hector said, putting his hand on Jack.

Jack screamed and wrapped his tail about my wrist. "Leave him be. I'll look after him," I said.

Hector ignored me, and his tone became more overbearing. "None o' yer nonsense, Jack – yer comin' ashore with me!"

Out of nowhere, a surge of fierce protectiveness rose in my breast, and I glared at Hector. Though my heart was thumping in my throat, and I thought myself ridiculous, I wouldn't yield. "He's not going ashore!" I declared in a loud voice.

Barbossa's eyes widened at my outburst, but this was no place for an unseemly argument. He snorted and began to move away, but then turned back with a sharp, curious look. I tensed, suddenly feeling as though there was a large sign over my head announcing my impending motherhood. But the moment passed, and Hector joined the other men at the gangway.

I thanked my stars there had been no time to question me. I would tell him my news as soon as possible, truly I would. Just as soon as I knew I could trust him completely. Just as soon as . . . as the moment was right.

Lingering at the railing, I watched the crews pull for shore and hardened my resolve. I told myself not to worry about Hector – he could take care of himself – but I could not suppress a creeping sense of unease.

Maroto joined me, and we watched until the boats went ashore and the pirates spread out to begin their work. Then he extended his hand to pet Jack, but the monkey jumped from my arms, and ran up the mainmast.

"He fears this place," I said.

I didn't wish to say so, but Jack was becoming as wary of Maroto as he was of Cuidad Blanca. The Spaniard continued to show unusual signs of aging, and was the only person on our ship to be so changed. But his health would have to wait on more urgent business.

"Padre," I said, "there is something important I must do in the great cabin, and I need you to act as my lookout. I mustn't be disturbed." My new-found distrust of him led me to add a warning. "I beg you to consider that the success of your own mission may depend on what I am about to do, and govern yourself accordingly."

Maroto gave me a sharp look, but then his face relaxed into a smile. "Of course." He pulled a small book from his pocket. "I shall sit outside the door, praying the Liturgy of the Hours. In Latin. That should discourage anyone from approaching," he added with a laugh.

-o-

I picked the lock on Jeremy's sleeping quarters and brought his map and dispatch case to the chart table. As I looked over the documents, I received my first shock: all except two were written in code.

"Judas devil rot their guts!" I whispered to the squares and squiggles. There was no time for this.

I recalled how Jeremy had talked of this venture – "we knew", "we have reason to believe" – and how flustered he looked when I asked if "we" meant the Crown.

"Why, yes. Of course I meant the Crown," was his answer. As if he had slipped, somehow.

What was he up to? Did this secret writing belong to the Messenger service? There was no one I could ask, and Captain Harry's cipher books were far away in London. "Stupid Nina," I muttered. Why hadn't I brought them?

One paper not in code was a letter from Lord Hervey, and the first thing I learnt from it was that Lord Hervey was not long for this world:

I fear I am past recovery and all regimens save one are palliatives, not remedies. I beg you to make haste with your business, not only for ourfriends' sake, but also for mine, else you shall find me fit for nothing but to attract flies when you return.

The "one" regimen might be a drink from the Fountain. But who were "our friends"? Would that be the Crown? The government? Neither one?

The other paper marked the sites of nearby mission houses. I compared it to my map, which showed no missions, but had other notes: "under the offering table" and "sleeping". Perhaps a mission house had held the "offering table"?

No, said my instincts, guiding me. Not a mission house. Wrong track.

There was something else peculiar about my map. It had a little circle with no label, almost like an afterthought. But having seen Cuidad Blanca, I knew it marked the ugly little hill.

My shoulders slumped. Not much to go on. I put away all the papers and left the day room.

Maroto was seated just outside the door. He looked up from his prayers, gave an imperceptible nod, then slowly raised his eyes to the quarterdeck. I followed his gaze and was unpleasantly startled.

"Digger!" I shouted. "Are you not needed on shore?" How long had he been leaning on the quarterdeck railing, pretending not to spy?

"Bless ye, no, miss," he grinned. "Mr Norrington left me 'ere in case ye needed help wiv 'im." He nodded at Maroto.

A likely story. "Well, I don't. Thank you, Digger. But you could try and get Jack down from the rigging, if you've a mind."

He shook his head, still grinning, and idled his way back to the wheel.

I looked towards the shore and the hill beckoned. If the circle on my map had indeed showed its location, it was close enough to walk the distance and explore whatever was there. A rash impulse overtook me: I would go to there now and satisfy my curiosity.

I turned to Maroto. "We're going ashore."

His eyes widened at my sudden decision. "What? But your orders-"

"I have no orders other than to assist Mr Norrington," I said. "He is not my superior and I may still use the discretion and common sense God gave me, feeble though it may be."

I strode to one of the few remaining longboats, determined that nothing should stand in my way. "You take that davit and I'll work this one."

It wasn't pretty, but we did manage to lower the boat and board her. Maroto insisted upon rowing for the both of us, and I decided that the best lesson would be to let him discover how much work it was.

As we neared the shore, I held up my hand. "Stop rowing for a moment," I said. "Just listen. Do you hear any birds calling? Do you see any fish?"

He lowered his head and looked doubtful.

"Padre," I said, "there are no animals here. None at all. What do you make of that?"

He tried to laugh, but the question seemed to make him uncomfortable. "It is the heat, señora. I'm sure they are only hiding from the heat."

I narrowed my eyes, but said nothing. Something had frightened Hector's normally bold pet, and it wasn't the heat.

-o-

Jeremy confronted me at once. "Were my orders not clear, Mistress Bitter?"

I turned to Maroto. "I require a moment with Mr Norrington, Padre. Please remain with the boat, if you would."

Maroto nodded, and I drew Jeremy aside. "I fear you are labouring under a misapprehension, sir," I said. "I was told to assist you. You were never given direct authority over me. Feel free to consult my warrant – you'll find it silent on all matters, save the original prisoner transfer. You may rely upon me to keep Augustin Maroto out of your hair, but I intend to assist you by having my own look round this place."

Jeremy had been surveying the beach as I spoke, which was thick with pirates, digging, shouting at each other, filling baskets and crates, and gradually loading the longboats. But now he faced me with an intent, challenging look. "Do you know, I think I could order any of these ruffians to see you back to the Medusa at once," he said.

I responded to his penetrating stare in kind. "Shall we try your theory?" I said. "Shall we see what happens when you ask my friends to lay hands on me? I only wish for pleasant relations with you, but I will not be coerced in this manner. It insults both my commission and my person."

As he listened, sly amusement crept into his expression. "Ah, my dear!" he said. "You do not disappoint. Very well." And with that, he stepped aside, and made a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting me to proceed with my plan.

Maroto and I crossed the hard-packed sand, through the heat that radiated from its smooth surface. By the time we reached the trees, we were both perspiring heavily. I turned for one last look at the beach, still puzzling over the deadness of sea and sky. Here and there, smooth white objects, rather like half-buried sea shells, glinted in the sun. "What do you suppose those things are?" I asked Maroto in a hushed voice.

He looked at the beach, then at me. "You know what they are," he said. "I have told you."

Indeed he had. They had given the city its name: Huesos Blanqueados, the whitened bones. I wondered how many there were.

We made our way towards the hill, struggling through the dense underbrush as the voices of the pirates grew fainter behind us. The silence of the forest became oppressive. There was no trail, and our progress was slow and laborious. After an hour or so, I stopped and wiped my dripping face with the hem of my shirt. We were both tired and panting with the heat, but I thought I might be able to get on at a quicker pace without Maroto.

"Wait for me here," I said. "Don't let anyone pass. I'm just going to have a quick look at the hill. I won't be long."

He was too weary to argue, and I left him leaning against a small lignum vitae tree. I went on, stepping over roots and fallen trunks, and pushing through more vines and thorn bushes. Their branches left countless scratches on my face and arms, which would require thorough cleaning later. I hoped that rashes and heatstroke were the worst things I had to fear. At least the absence of animals made the risk of a snake bite almost nil.

At last, after fighting my way through a tangled mass of giant heliconias, I stepped into a small, weedy clearing. The foot of the hill was perhaps thirty feet away. I sat down on a limestone rock to rest.

Although the hill rose away from the jungle, it was still dotted with fern and understory trees. I would have to climb to the top of it if I wanted to see more, and my strength was ebbing. Now that it was at hand, the hill was just a hill; neither fear nor fascination remained. Around me lay small pieces of limestone, some with square corners.

I pulled up one or two stones with my hands, and found that they were pieces of broken stelae, carved stone markers that are sometimes found near ancient structures. The bits of limestone were finely carved with flowing curves, the work of skilled craftsmen. The sort who could engrave a map in stone.

I was elated at first – perhaps I was holding the very artefact we sought – but I soon realised that there weren't nearly enough fragments to make a whole. If this were the map, it was all but pulverised. I began to circle back and forth, around the base of the hill, looking for more traces of man.

In a very short time, I came upon what looked like a partly collapsed entrance to a cave or barrow of some sort, and near it, the weedy, overgrown remnants of a few crooked stone steps. The steps might have led me to the top of the hill, but the afternoon light told me there wouldn't be time to explore my discoveries. I retraced my steps, looking for the point where I had entered the glade.

Then I stopped, transfixed by the sight of the first animals I had encountered here.

A flock of perhaps twenty graceful, pure white birds were feeding in a clearing. They were similar to ibises, but more than twice as tall. How had I missed them before? Their lovely curved beaks were flame-coloured, and they clucked as they ruffled their snowy feathers.

Enchanted, I edged forward, wary of frightening the creatures.

One by one, the birds stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at me. Their eyes had the colour and shape typical of most birds, but the way they stared was most un-birdlike. They were, unquestionably, evaluating me with a cold, inhuman intelligence I did not understand, but which struck fear into me. But if they weren't birds, what could they be?

My gaze fell upon their slender, elegant beaks. What sort of worms were they eating - those long, thin fleshy strips that dripped red? I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle a scream.

Under their feet lay the corpse of a man in ragged clothes, partially consumed and crawling with ants. The sight, the blood, and the peculiar smell made my stomach heave.

One bird took a step towards me.

I bolted from the clearing and ran through the jungle towards what I hoped was the shore. When I came to the spot where Maroto was waiting, he caught me by my arms. "There are birds here," I gasped. "But they aren't like birds – the way they look at you – and they had, they were eating-"

"No, no, no. Please, señora," he said, holding me by my elbow and hushing me. "Listen to me." He stared into my eyes, and I tried to fix my attention on his words. "There are no animals here. Do you understand? You were right." He waited, but I made no reply. "There are no animals here," he repeated.

I gazed at him, uncomprehending. "Then what did I see?"

He hesitated. "Nothing. A hallucination perhaps. Caused by the heat."

I frowned and pulled my arm away. "Very well," I said. "If that's how you choose to deal with me." I glared at him. "You make an abominable liar, Padre."

He swallowed, but said nothing. I turned on my heel and set out for the beach, with Maroto following close behind me. Neither of us spoke another word the entire way back.

Jeremy and Hector were talking together when I emerged from the jungle, and I joined them. "We'll be dining on the Pearl this evening," said Jeremy, "at Captain Sparrow's invitation."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Unless you mean to debate me over that, as well," he said drily.

"I don't." What possible reason would Jack have for inviting us? I pictured the birds' gory meal. The last thing I wanted now was a hearty supper – or to have to explain my reasons.

"Good." He smiled. "I expect all the walking sharpened your appetite."

-o-

We were rowed over to the Pearl that evening, under a canopy of stars in a rich, lapis-coloured sky. I was feeling much calmer, and Jack the monkey had settled on my shoulder, much to Hector's annoyance. As soon as we boarded the ship, however, he jumped from my shoulder straight up into the rigging and scrambled out of sight.

At table, Jeremy talked of his day, which had brought him only disappointment. "Mind you," he told us, "I've a few places yet to explore."

"And if it don't turn up," said Jack, "when might we be cuttin' our cables and returnin' to, ah, better travelled waters?" He spoke in a cheerful, bantering tone, but his eyes watched Jeremy rather closely.

"Anxious to get back to pirating, are you?" Jeremy said. "A ship full of gold only goes so far, I see."

Jack leaned forward. "Provisions, mate. As in, victuals. I can't eat gold, now, can I? I intend to be underway while I still have enough t' feed me crew. If I let the Pearl's provisions run out, what d' ye think they'll do, after they kill me an' roast me on a spit, eh?"

My fork clattered to my plate, and Jack regarded me with surprise. "Just a figure of speech, love."

Jeremy gave him a steely look. "Patience, Captain Sparrow. I hope you won't deprive me of your company just yet. Tomorrow I shall finish searching the mission house sites. After that, we will all set sail."

"Perhaps you've only to dig deeper holes," I suggested, hoping he would not decide to search in the jungle. "When my father was a Messenger, he collected a few curiosities in his travels near Shiraz. He said one must know the site well, and dig down quite far."

Jeremy laughed. "Shiraz was part of an ancient civilization. This place is merely a Carib settlement – simple dwellings, ancestor worship, nature gods, and so on."

I looked at Hector out of the corner of my eye. He was much quieter than usual, and feigning a lack of interest, but I saw that he was listening closely to every word.

"What were they like, these nature gods?" I said. "They sound quite diverting."

"I won't spoil your supper with gruesome tales," Jeremy replied. "The Caribs were cannibals, you know. Their deities were said to look like freakish animals and strange beings, and to run about the woods doing good or evil as they liked."

This information sent a little jolt of alarm through my veins, but I made an effort to appear bored. "Tales to fright naughty children, I see."

"Indeed," said Jeremy. He raised his tankard to drink, and looked at me over its rim. "But just in case, I wouldn't venture too far inland, my dear – the way you did today." He took a long swig, and the conversation returned to more trivial subjects.

I toyed with the food on my plate, unable to shut out the image of those white birds with their strange eyes and appalling feast. I wanted no more to do with this deadly place, and I hoped Jeremy would give up his search after tomorrow. A strong intuition told me the map wasn't near a mission house. It was in a more ancient place — one that was holier to the Carib, and far more dangerous.

-o-

After supper, I tried to coax Jack the monkey down from the rigging. "Ye spoilt him; now ye can catch him," Hector announced, as he began to climb down to the longboat.

"Never mind, love," said my brother, drawing his pistol. "I'll shoot him down for you."

"That's enough out of the both of you!" I said. "I'll bring the monkey to you shortly, Captain Barbossa. Alive," I added, glaring at Jack.

As soon as Hector and Jeremy had departed, Jack turned to me. "It's a hell of a job to get you alone these days. I want a word with you."

"Is that why you asked us all to supper?"

"Why else? The less I see of Norrington and your dearly beloved, the happier I am and the longer the rum lasts." He drew me back into his quarters, away from the ears of his crew. "Brat, I've a feeling there's mischief afoot."

I chewed my lip, trying to guess. Had he, too, seen the birds? "Oh? Why do you say that?" I asked.

But it wasn't a vision of outlandish birds that troubled him. "You heard Jeremy," he said. "He don't want the Pearl to sail without his say-so. We're in range of the Medusa's guns right now. An' what I think is, what if he actually does blame pirates – specifically, me – for 'is brother's death? What if he wants revenge – perhaps leavin' me marooned here, or worse? So, once the Pearl's hold is full, Jack'll be off, thank ye, love. Just givin' you the word. You'll be alright, will you?"

Relief washed over me. He hadn't seen the things I had. He didn't know what the artefact was. "I'll be fine, Jack. No worries, dear." I smiled.

He looked as if he didn't quite believe me. "Just…try not to do anything stupid," he said finally.

-o-

"Vultures be what ye saw," Hector insisted. "Naught but vultures, likely strippin' a weasel's carcass, an' the heat made ye-"

"Made me what? Mad?" I snapped. "If you mean to talk me round, you're going about it the wrong way!"

I had returned from the Pearl without capturing Hector's pet, which no doubt annoyed him. But he seemed set on dismissing everything I had seen – the terrifying birds, the bits of carved stone and the steps going up the hill. I had gone straight to his berth and spent almost an hour recounting every moment of my adventure, to no avail. Why was he being so obstinate?

I crossed my arms and scowled at him. "Perhaps my time at Tia Dalma's was wasted. Perhaps I learnt nothing from her. But I tell you, if there was an old temple or holy place near that hill, then that's where the map is." I paused. "Or, was. I think I found parts of it, and they're no bigger than those apples." I nodded towards the apples next to his berth.

Hector looked thoughtful, then asked slowly, "We be in agreement to keep this from Norrington an' from Jack?"

"Yes, my heart – that's exactly what I wish. It's best that Jeremy give up his search. But-"

He darted a quick look at me. "But ye made an accord with Maroto t' find the map an' destroy it."

I nodded. "Yes, so that no one can use it find the Fountain."

He began to stroke my arm. "Tell me, sweet - did ye ever think he knows more than he's tellin'? Perhaps ye might get round the sacrifice, an' still drink o' the Fountain."

I stopped his hand and held it fast. "He can't be lying, Hector. It's in the old journals." This sort of talk alarmed me. Was he foolish enough to set his eye on such a dangerous prize?

He saw the dismay in my eyes, and comforted me with a sweet smile, as he drew me into his arms. "So ye said, so ye said. Well, then! The map must be destroyed an' that be the end of it."

He began caressing me and disordering my clothes. "Since we ain't able t' live forever, we must use the time we have." He buried his face against my chest, and kissed me, as the weight of his lips and the rasp of his beard stirred a primal craving in the very depths of my being.

As I warmed to his touch and the pleasures of our bed, I warned, "Have a care that Jeremy doesn't catch us out."

He twined his fingers in my hair, and whispered, "He's abed every night now, drunk as his brother ever was. There be naught t' fear from him." Then we shared such fevered kisses that I thought I would die of love. I gave myself to the man who owned my heart and, for a few hours, put aside the ominous feelings that were casting their lengthening shadows across my spirit.

Next: Chapter 18 – A Change in the Weather – The ships are filled with gold, and Jeremy realises that he may never find the object he seeks. It seems as though the venture must draw to a close. But you can never trust a pirate.