Chapter 6, everybody! Wilson regrets teaming up with Maxwell and Willow regrets every decision leading up to this.

Shanghaied is a synonym for pressganging and usually happened if a ship needed some extra crew. Also it took me until writing this to realize it but when Captain Jack told Will about not being able to sail into Tortuga by himself, he was also saying yeah YOU can't sail this by yourself either. Also Maxwell's referencing Beetlejuice oh PLEASE Tim don't blow this for us.

And right about here is where we steer out of PotC and deeper into DS lore—Alter and all that is from Don't Starve Together, and while I haven't really played all that much of it I have done some digging in the wiki. Also this whole scene in the movie gets funnier the more time goes on because honestly they got the roles flipped—Cortez might have the reputation of being the big mean guy but he was the head of an exploration team and had to beg the king and queen for more men to even stand a chance against the Aztecs. What turned the tide was bargaining with the Aztecs' neighbors—turns out if you spend all your time kidnapping everybody around you and ripping their hearts out on top of your pyramids until rivers of blood run down the sides, you're not winning any neighborly awards. Basically, "wait you want to get rid of those guys? Sign me tf up what's the plan?"

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Pirates of the Caribbean © 2003 Disney

Okay. So while he was grateful that they were actually heading out to save Willow, action suited him more than idly twiddling his thumbs...that still left him stuck with the present company.

"You mentioned most people come to the Caribbean to get away from England," Wilson posed after a day of getting a crash course on sailing, going over how to best approach this in his head until he finally decided just straight asking was his best bet.

"Probably," Maxwell said, currently idling at the steering wheel and smoking a cigar he had procured from somewhere—probably had raided the captain's quarters. "It's either that or getting shanghaied, that gets the same basic result."

Oi. "And you didn't see fit to agree to this venture until I told you my name, despite you being able to get out anytime you wished."

"Oi pal is there going to be a point to this?"

"Did you know my father?"

"I know a lot of people's fathers, you're going to have to be more specific."

Good grief he wasn't going to be able to handle however long this venture was going to take with this as company. "Winston Higgsbury. He was a merchant sailor."

"Ah. Well was is probably the appropriate tense." Tug the cigar out of his mouth to grin at him. "Ran some quality moonshine, every pirate port looked forward to his ship coming in."

Ran hot at that, at that implication—"You, sir, are a liar."

"I am indeed, but not about this."

"My father was not a pirate!"

Maxwell looked distinctly unimpressed by the sword he had just drawn. "Put it away, pal, it's not worth you getting beat again."

"You didn't beat me," Wilson countered hotly. "I won that altercation, you cheated. In a fair fight I'd have killed you."

"Well that's not much incentive for me to fight fair then, is it? Example."

Him suddenly spinning the wheel and ducking was a conundrum for the entire second before the boom swung around and caught Wilson in the chest—clutch at it instinctively, wind driven out of him, feet kicking as he realized he had been swung out over the edge of the ship.

"While you're just hanging there let me go over some basic advice with you," Maxwell said, stooping to scoop up Wilson's sword before gesturing broadly with it. "In this particular line of work you're about to pursue there's only two things that matter: what a man can do, and what a man can't do. For example, you can accept that your dear old dad was a dirty scoundrel, or you can't—but that's in your blood and you're going to have to square with that someday. As for me, I could let you drown." Stab the sword into the deck. "But I can't exactly steer this ship into Tortuga all by my onesie—it raises too many eyebrows. So." Turn the wheel, bringing the boom back over the deck before Wilson lost his grip and fell, hitting wood instead of water. "Can you sail under a pirate, or can you not?"

Look at the sword handle Maxwell was offering him, smugly goading him into trying again...but what he just said applied to Wilson as well—he couldn't sail this ship by himself, he could barely sail. And saving Willow took priority. Take the handle, consider the man before him, aware his expression was still mulish but unable to fully swallow everything just yet. "Tortuga?"

Maxwell was grinning, apparently counting this as a win. "Tortuga."


Tortuga was an island that from a distance invoked its namesake animal.

The town on it, once they were in it, did not.

"I tell ya, pal, if every city were like this joint, no man would feel unwanted," Maxwell said at the tail end of extolling his praises of this pit of chaos—had Port Royal ever been like this? Theoretically and if so Wilson understood why half of it had slid into the waters. "Whatcha think?"

So his first ten answers would not help since he still technically needed Maxwell. "It'll linger," he managed finally.

"You like it," Maxwell jeered—looked at a woman who stopped in front of him. "Can I help you?"

Apparently not, since she slapped him and stalked off. "Not quite sure I deserved that," Maxwell muttered, rubbing his jaw. Arched an eyebrow at another woman who stopped in front of him. "Yes?"

He got slapped on the other cheek, blinked a few times as the second lady stomped off. "I might have deserved that one."

"Friends of yours?" Wilson asked mildly, a little sore he hadn't gotten a slap in as well.

"Meh. But speaking of."

Speaking of Wilson still had many doubts about all of this, not the least the sequence of events that had them in a pigsty throwing water on some grubby old man with two peg legs.

Said peg-legged man launched awake at the first bucket of water, brandishing a knife and hollering "CURSE YE FER BREATHIN' YE SLACK-JAWED IDIOTS!"

"And a hello to you too," Maxwell said, arching an eyebrow.

"Max!" the guy gasped, apparently recognizing him. "Ye know better than to wake a man when he's sleepin'—it's frightful bad luck!"

"Fortunately I'm well-versed in how to counteract that bad luck," Maxwell said, raising a finger. "The man that does the waking buys the man that was sleeping a drink. The man that was sleeping then listens to a proposal made by the man that does the waking. With me so far?"

The man squinted...finally nodded. "Aye, that'll do it." Struggled upright—

Wilson threw his bucket of water on the man then. "BLAST I'M ALREADY AWAKE!"

"That was for the smell," Wilson said matter-of-factly.

Not that the man—Woodlegs, as he introduced himself—smelled any better than the inside of the tavern they went in; yes he doubted that there was a more reputable location on this island but he was pretty sure that Maxwell was taking some extra pleasure out of Wilson's evident discomfort.

"Keep a sharp eye out," the man counselled when he passed Wilson with two drinks. "Some of these fellas are a little rough, you know?"

Wilson hoped his expression was repressive enough, kept his back plastered to the post near where Maxwell and Woodlegs were conversing, on the other side so as to appear like he was being polite and not eavesdropping. Not that listening into a conversation was easy in here, the din was equivalent to a dull roar with the occasional bursts of more intense roaring and raving where drunken brawls were breaking out. Heard something that might have been Woodlegs spluttering at Maxwell's proposal—understandable, they were going after pirates—managed to fend off someone's attention, missed a bit of the conversation—

"Let's just say it's a matter of leverage."

Glance back at that, something about the way Maxwell said that setting off every warning bell he possessed—couldn't keep listening, the lady who had been attempting to get his attention apparently had a beau who didn't appreciate her flirting with him—

Had the feeling that the sound of two mugs clinking and slamming onto the table signified bad news for him.


Willow was certain that the two pirates coming into the room she had been barricaded in was bad news.

Okay no scratch that, everything from the minute the pirates had raided Port Royal was bad news, it was just this felt more immediate because at least they had left her alone in this room for the most part, one or two occasionally peering in the window and leering. She hadn't had a moment's peace, she had no options for escape…okay fine so she was in the middle of the ocean but if she could just get to the longboat and row she was pretty sure she could get back to Port Royal, they couldn't be that far out just yet…maybe include in her half-baked plan of escape the need to grab some food and water on her way out.

But immediate problems: the two pirates in the room with her, one holding a wine-colored dress. "What?" she demanded.

"Cap'n Charlie requests your presence for dinner," the short one said.

"An' that you were this," the tall one said, holding out the dress.

Oi. "Tell her I'm disinclined to acquiesce to her request," Willow said primly.

The pirates were leering. "She said you might say that," the short one said. "She said if that were the case, you'd be dining with the crew. And you'll be naked."

So much for hoping a lady pirate would be nicer about all this. Snatch away the dress quickly, turning those smiles upside-down. "Fine then," the short one groused, skulking back to the door with the other one. Wouldn't leave the door, she knew, so she ducked behind a couple of empty crates and tugged the dress on over her nightgown. Huff, compose herself, tap on the door—

The pirates were back to leering when they opened the door. "Right this way, miss."


"Oh wonderful thank you for joining me on such short notice," Captain Charlie said, clasping her hands and beaming when Willow came in. "You know I thought that dress might be your size."

"Yeah whatever it's not like you gave me much of a choice," Willow bit out, glaring at her. "Why am I here?"

"Consider this an interview," Charlie said, still looking too pleased with herself. Gestured at the setup. "Have dinner while we talk."

Oh dang that spread looked good—squint suspiciously at Charlie, who waved her off.

"Oh come now I don't get much chance to show off—yes sure we have some fancy feasts sometimes, but it's nice to have something with just us girls, don't you agree?" she asked, sitting down. "Come come sit sit, you must be hungry."

Okay fine she was—kept an eye open during her moment of silence, apologized for that and a few other things...register that there were place settings, oh good grief.

"Don't worry about those, you must be hungry," Charlie said, waving that off. "So tell me about yourself," she said, adding some food to Willow's plate. "I'm sure you must be interesting."

Doubtful and she wasn't sure if she could lie her way out of this...maybe embellish.

"I'm an unrepentant arsonist," she tried. "I fled here from England after burning my orphanage down."

"Oh an arsonist—haven't had one of those on the crew in a while," Charlie said brightly, keeping with a shifting goblet as she poured some wine. "Did you really burn the orphanage down?"

Er. "Well I wanted to, does that count?"

"Intent does get you part of the way there," Charlie conceded, handing her the goblet—and not pouring herself one. Willow made a mental note that it was likely poisoned. "How are you with incendiary devices?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because ships are surprisingly flammable for being on so much water—or did you think I intended on killing you?" she added, indicating the goblet. "Don't worry about it, none of this is poisoned."

"So—what, you shanghaied me?" Willow demanded. "Why? You've got your dumb trinket, I'm of no further value to you!"

"Don't ever tell a pirate that, love," Charlie said, suddenly looking very dangerous even with the smile. Picked up the medallion, twirled it a little. "Do you know what this is?"

"Pirate medallion?"

"Mmm, no—this is a chunk of the moon itself, chipped off of one of its celestial champions. Well I won't bore you with all the minute details of Alter and everything it gets up to, but the sum and scope of it is, this is one of a set of eight-hundred and eighty-two identical pieces, offered as...well I suppose a scam is the best description. It gave this to a tribe asking for help in repelling invaders, the tribe offered the medallions to their foes, foes slaughter them and take the medallions anyway."

"Would those foes be you?" Willow asked bluntly.

"No, we came along after these things long after the fact. Unfortunately, Alter cursed these pieces—anyone who took even a single piece would fall prey to its machinations, doomed to wander the world in a half-life."

"Uh...huh." Like her situation wasn't scary enough. "I'm a little old for ghost stories, thanks."

"Let me guess, too far-fetched to be true?" Charlie asked. "Well I won't say that we thought it a load of hooey, but it was still a treasure worth hunting for. Stowed on an island that can't be found except by those who know where it is...but we find it, we take it, we have a good time with it for a while...at least until we realized that we ran afoul of its powers." Expression became distant as she stared at the coin in her hand. "Tell me, have you been enjoying the spread so far?"

"The meal's nice," Willow said, unsure at this change of subject. "Can't say much for the location."

"Funny. For ten years I haven't been able to taste any of it. All of it ash. I'm dying of thirst, but nothing cures it," she said, flicking a finger against the carafe. "And as for the rest of it...I let myself get greedy, and now I've been eaten alive by it."

Willow shuddered at that, flinched when the parrot started screeching—

Put the knife in her lap when Charlie got up to tend to the bird.

"There's a way out of this, though," Charlie said, stroking the bird and calming it. "Find all the pieces, return them to whence they came, and seal the deal with the blood of everyone who took a piece." Look at her. "Thanks to you, we have the final piece."

"And...the blood bit?" Willow asked tentatively.

"Don't worry, it'll just be a nick," Charlie said, waving that off airily. "I'll even be a dear and let you use the knife you think you're hiding in your napkin." Grinned, showing too many sharp teeth when Willow started. "Nothing happens on this ship without me knowing, honey. And I'd advise you to play your cards right—otherwise once I have no further use for you..."

Okay you know what there was nothing for it anyway—throw her goblet at Charlie, grab the knife and run for the door—Charlie intercepted as the parrot flew around, squawking madly—

Willow shrieked when she grabbed her wrist, spun around and buried the knife in Charlie's chest.

Charlie just arched an eyebrow like Willow had just inconvenienced her, tugged the knife out. "I'm curious, honest—after killing me, what was it you were planning on doing next?"

Stare, staggering back as terror iced her over—that—that should have killed her, she should be dead, be bleeding—

She had to get out of here—scrabble for the door, out—she didn't care that she was stuck on a ship and couldn't swim, anything had to be an improvement—

Ran out into a horror show.

Skeletons—crystal-ridden skeletons glowing in the moonlight, flesh and clothes all but rotted off, swabbing the deck and doing all sorts of jobs that she couldn't register as she staggered and stumbled, bumped this way and that and growled at by the corpse crew doing their jobs—managed to scramble under the stairs leading up to the aft deck, doing her best to try to catch her breath—

Ran screaming when a skeletal monkey dropped in and screeched at her—

Charlie caught her, spun her so she had to look.

"So you see my problem here," Charlie said, like they were discussing a minor inconvenience. "The moonlight shows us for what we really are—trapped between life and death, unable to live, unable to die." Push her away, Willow stumbling to face her—"For too long I've been starving, dying of thirst—I feel nothing, not the breeze or the spray or anything I used to love." Step out into the moonlight, showing that she too, was afflicted, a corpse riddled with crystals and yet still animate.

"You'd best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Willow," the skeletal Charlie snarled. "You're in one."